Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde ; The Merry Men: And Other Tales and Fables

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THE MERRY MEN

AND OTHER TALES AND FABLES

STRANGE CASE OF
DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE,

^

THE STORY-TELLER

Rol)crt Louis Stevenson at thf vr..c
of liis first a()i-H';irauc(.' as a tell'.': '>.
tales. The orig-iuai r^'i'-'tograpl-' ^vas
taken in Boston. Kngland

Strange Case of

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

The Merry Men

and other Tales and Fables

By
ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

MBDALLION BDITXON

New York

Current Literature Publishing Co.

1 906

\

My dear Lady Taylor^

To your namey if I wrote on brasSy I could add
^ nothing; it has been already written higher than I

could dream to reachy by a strong and a dear hand,
^ and if I now dedicate to you these taleSy it is not as

0, the writer who brings you his worky but as the friend

^ who would remind you of his affection,

ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON

Skerryvorc^ Bournemouth^

CONTENTS

CHAPTBR PAGH

THE MERRY MEN i

I. ElLEAN ArOS 3

II. What the Wreck Had Brought to Aros . 12

III. Land and Sea in Sandag Bay ... 28

IV. TbE Gale 42

V. A Man Out of the Sea .... 56

WILL O' THE MILL 75

MARKHEIM 115

THRAWN JANET . 139

OLALLA 157

THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

I. By the Dying Mountebank . 219

II. Morning Talk 225

III. The Adoption 234

IV. The Education of a Philosopher . 244
V. Treasure Trove ....... 257

VI. A Criminal Investigation, in Two Parts . 274

VII. The Fall of the House of Desprez 288

VIII. The Wages of Philosophy .... 299
STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND MR.
HYDE

Story of the Door 307

vii

viii CONTENTS

PAGE

Search for Mr. Hyde 315

Dr. Jekyll Was Quite at Ease . . . 326

The Carew Murder Case 328

Incident of the Letter 334

Remarkable Incident of Dr. Lanyon . . 340

Incident at the Window 345

The Last Night 348

Dr. Lanyon's Narrative 363

Henry Jekyll's Full Statement of the Case 373

THE MERRY MEN

CHAPTER I

EILEAN AROS

IT was a beautiful morning in the late July when
I set forth on foot for the last time for Aros.
A boat had pat me ashore the night before
at Grisapol; I had such breakfast as the little inn
afforded, and, leaving all my baggage till I had an
occasion to come round for it by sea, struck right
across the promontory with a cheerful heart.

I was far from being a native of these parts, spring-
ing, as I did, from an unmixed lowland stock. But
an uncle of mine, Gordon Darnaway, after a poor,
rough youth, and some years at sea, had married a
young wife in the islands; Mary Maclean she was
called, the last of her family; and when she died in
giving birth to a daughter, Aros, the sea-girt farm,
had remained in his possession. It brought him in
nothing but the means of life, as I was well aware;
but he was a man whom ill-fortune had pursued;
he feared, cumbered as he was with the young child,
to make a fresh adventure upon life; and remained
in Aros, biting his nails at destiny. Years passed over
his head in that isolation, and brought neither help
nor contentment. Meantime our family was dying

3

4 THE MERRY MEN

out in the lowlands; there is little luck for any of
that race; and perhaps my father was the luckiest
of all, for not only was he one of the last to die, but
he left a son to his name and a little money to support
it. I was a student of Edinburgh University, living
well enough at my own charges, but without kith
or kin; when some neyfs of me found its way to
Uncle Gordon on the Ross of Grisapol; and he, as
he was a man who held blood thicker than water,
wrote to me the day he heard of my existence, and
taught me to count Aros as my home. Thus it was
that I came to spend my vacations in that part of the
country, so far from all society and comfort, between
the codfish and the moorcocks ; and thus it was that
now, when I had done with my classes, I was returning
thither with so light a h^eart that July day.

The Ross, as we call it, is a promontory neither
wide nor high, but as rough as God made it to this
day ; the deep sea on either hand of it, full of rugged
isles and reefs most perilous to seamen — all over-
looked from the eastward by some very high cliffs and
the great peak of Ben Kyaw. The Mountain of the
Misty they say the words signify in the Gaelic tongue;
and it is well named. For that hill-top, which is more
than three thousand feet in height, catches all the
clouds that corpe blowing from the seaward; and,
indeed, I used often to think that it must make them
for itself; since when all heaven was dear to the sea
level, there would ever be a streamer on Ben Kyaw.
It brought water, too, and was mossy ^ to the top in
consequence. I have seen us sitting in broad sun?

EILEAN AROS 5

shine on the Ross, and the rain falling black like crape
upon the mountain. But the wetness of it made it
often appear more beautiful to my eyes; for when
the sun struck upon the hill sides, there were' many
wet rocks and watercourses that shone like jewels
even as far as Aros, fifteen miles away.

The road that I followed was a cattle-track. It
twisted so as nearly to double the length of my journey;
it went over rough boulders so that a man had to leap
from one to another, and through soft bottoms where
the moss came nearly to the knee. There was no
cultivation anywhere, and not one house in the ten
miles from Grisapol to Aros. Houses of course there
were — three at least ; but they lay so far on the one
side or the other that no stranger could have found
them from the track. A large part of the Ross is
covered with big granite rocks, some of them larger
than a two-roomed house, one beside another, with
fern and deep heather in between them where the
vipers breed. Anyway the wind was, it was always
sea air, as salt as on a ship ; the gulls were as free as
moorfowl over all the Ross; and whenever the way
rose a little, your eye would kindle with the brightness
of the sea. From the very midst (rf the land, on a day
of wind and a high spring, I have heard the Roost
roaring like a battle where it runs by Aros, and the
great and fearful voices of the breakers that we call
the Merry Men.

Aros itself — Aros Jay, I have heard the natives
call it, and they say it means the House of God — Aros
itself was not properly a piece of the Ross, nor was it
quite an islet. It formed the south-west corner of the

6 THE MERRY MEN

land, fitted close to it, and was in one place only
separated from the coast by a little gut of the sea, not
forty feet across the narrowest. When the tide was
full, this was clear and still, like a pool on a land river;
only there was a difference in the weeds and fishes,
and the water itself was green instead of brown; but
when the tide went out, in the bottom of the ebb,
there was a day or two in every month when you could
pass dryshod from Aros to the mainland. There was
some good pasture, where my uncle fed the sheep he
lived on; perhaps the feed was better because the
ground rose higher on the islet than the main level of
the Ross, but this I am not skilled enough to settle.
The house was a good one for that country, two storeys
high. It looked westward over a bay, with a pier hard
by for a boat, and from the door you could watch the
vapours blowing on Ben Kyaw.

On all this part of the coast, and especially near
Aros, these great granite rocks that I have spoken of
go down together in troops into the sea, like cattle on
a summer's day. There they stand, for all the world
like their neighbours ashore ; only the salt water sob-
bing between them instead of the quiet earth, and
clots of sea-pink blooming on their sides instead of
heather; and the great sea conger to wreathe about
the base of them instead of the poisonous viper of the
land. On calm days you can go wandering between
them in a boat for hours, echoes following you about
the labyrinth; but when the sea is up, Heaven help
the man that hears that cauldron boiling.

Off the south-west end of Aros these blocks are verj'
many, and much greater in size. Indeed, they must

EILEAN AROS 7

grow monstrously bigger out to sea, for there must be
ten sea miles of open water sown with them as thick as
a country place with houses, some standing thirty feet
above the tides, some covered, but all perilous to ships;
so that on a clear, westerly blowing day, I have
counted, from the top of Aros, the great rollers break-
ing white and heavy over as many as six-and-forty
buried reefs. But it is nearer in shore that the danger
is worst; for the tide, here running like a mill race,
makes a long belt of broken water — a Roost we call
it — at the tail of the land. I have often been out
there in a dead calm at the slack of the tide; and a
strange place it is, with the sea swirling and combing
up and boiling like the cauldrons of a linn, and now
and again a little dancing mutter of sound as though
the Roost were talking to itself. But when the tide
begins to run again, and above all in heavy weather,
there is no man could take a boat within half a mile
of it, nor a ship afloat that could either steer or live
in such a place. You can hear the roaring of it six
miles away. At the seaward end there comes the
strongest of the bubble; and it's here that these big
breakers dance together — the dance of death, it
may be called — that have got the name, in these
parts of the Merry Men. I have heard it said that
they run fifty feet high; but that must be the green
water only, for the spray runs twice as high as that.
Whether they got the name from their movements,
ivhich are swift and antic, or from the shouting they
.make about the turn of the tide, so that all Aros shakes
with it, is more than I can tell.

The truth is, that in a south-westerly wind, that part

S THE MERRY MEN

of our archipelago is no better than a trap. If a ship
got through the reefs, and weathered the Merry Men,
it would be to come ashore on the south coast of Aros,
in Sandag Bay, where so many dismal things befell
our family, as I propose to tell. The thought of all
these dangers, in the place I knew so long, makes me
particularly welcome the works now going forward to
set lights upon the headlands and buoys along the
channels of our iron-bound, inhospitable islands.

The country people had many a story about Aros^
as I used to hear from my uncle's man, Rorie, an old
servant of the Macleans, who had transferred his
services without afterthought on the occasion of the
marriage. There was some tale of an unlucky creature,
a sea-kelpie, that dwelt and did business in some fear*-
ful manner of his own among the boiling breakers of
the Roost. A mermaid had once met a piper on
Sandag beach, and there sang to him a long, bright
midsummer's night, so that in the morning he was
found stricken crazy, and from thenceforward, till
the day he died, said only one form of words; what
they were in the original Gaelic I cannot tell, but they
were thus translated : " Ah, the sweet singing out of
the sea." Seals that haunted on that coast have been
known to speak to man in his own tongue, presaging
great disasters. It was here that a certain saint first
landed on his voyage out of Ireland to convert the
Hebrideans. And, indeed, I think he had some claim
to be called saint ; for, with the boats of that past age,
to make so rough a passage, and land on such a
ticklish coast, was surely not far short of the miracu-
lous. It was to him, or to some of his monkish under*

EILEAN AROS 9

lings who had a cell there, that the islet owes its holy
and beautiful name, the House of God.

Among these old wives' stories there was one which
I was inclined to hear with more credulity. As I was
told, in that tempest which scattered the ships of the
Invincible Armada over all the north and west of
Scotland^ one great vessel came ashore on Aros, and
before the eyes of some solitary people on a hill-top,
went down in a moment with all hands, her co1q.ui;s
flying even as she sank. There was some likelihood
in this tale; for another of that fleet lay sunk Qn, the
north side, twenty miles from Grisapol. It was tol4> I
thought, with more detail and gravity than its; cpm*-
panion stories, and there was one particularity which
went far to convince me of its truth : the name, tha:^ is,
of the ship was still remembered, and sounded, in my
ears Spanishly. The Espirito Santo they qalled it,, a
great ship of many decks of guns, laden with treasure
and grandees of Spain, and fierce soldadoes, that nom
lay fathom deep to all eternity, done with her w^rs aad
voyages, in Sandag bay, upon die west of Aros. No
more salyos of ordinance for that tall ship, the '* Holy
Spirit," no more fair winds or happy ventures ; only to
rot there deep in the sea-tangle and hear the shoutings
of the Merry Men as the tide ran high about the island.
It was a strange thought to me first and last, and, only
grew stranger as I learned the more of Spain, from
which she had set sail with so proud a company, and
King Philip, the wealthy king, that sent her on that
voyage.

And now I must tell you, as I walked from Grisapol
that day, the Espirito Santo was very much in my

lo THE MERRY MEN

reflections. I had been favourably remarked by our
then Principal in Edinburgh College, that famous
writer, Dr. Robertson, and by him had been set to
work on some papers of an ancient date to rearrange
and sift of what was worthless; and in one of these^
to my great wonder, I found a note of this very ship,
the Espirito SantOy with her captain's name,^and how
she carried a great part of the Spaniard's treasure, and
had been lost upon the Ross of Grisapol ; but in what
particular spot, the wild tribes of that place and period
would give no information to the king's inquiries.
Putting one thing with another, and taking our island
tradition together with this note of old King Jamie's |

perquisitions after wealth, it had come strongly on my
mind that the spot for which he sought in vain could
be no other than the small bay of Sandag on my uncle's
land; and being a fellow of a mechanical turn, I had
ever since been plotting how to weigh that good ship
up again with all her ingots, ounces, and doubloons,
and bring back our house of Damaway to its long*
forgotten dignity and wealth.

This was a design of which I soon had reason to
repent. My mind was sharply turned on different
reflections ; and since I became die witness of a strange
judgment of God's, the thought of dead men's treasures
has been intolerable to my conscience. But even at
that time I must acquit myself of sordid greed; for
if I desired riches, it was not for their own sake, but
for the sake of a person who was dear to my heart —
my uncle's daughter, Mary Ellen. She had been
educated well, and had been a time to school upon the
mainland; which, poor girl, she would have been

EILEAN AROS ii

happier without. For Aros was no place for her, with
old Rone the servant, and her father, who was one of
the unhappiest men in Scotland, plainly bred up in a
country place among Cameronians, long a skipper
sailing out of the Clyde about the islands, and now,
with infinite discontent, managing his sheep and a
little 'long shore fishing for the necessary bread. If
it was sometimes weariful to me, who was there but
a month or two, you may fancy what it was to her who
dwelt in that same desert all the year round, with the
sheep and flying seagulls, and the Meriy Men singing
and dancing in the Roost I

CHAPTER II

WHAT THE WRECK HAD BROUGHT TO AROS

IT was half-flood when I got the length of Aros;
and there was nothing for it but to stand on the
far shore and whistle for Rorie with the boat.
I had no need to repeat the signal. At the first sound,
Mary was at the door flying a handkerchief by way
of answer, and the old long-legged serving-man was
shambling down the gravel to the pier. For all his
hurry, it took him a long while to pull across the bay;
and I observed him several times to pause, go into the
stern, and look over curiously into the wake. As he
came nearer, he seemed to me aged and haggard, and
I thought he avoided my eye. The coble had been
repaired, with two new thwarts and several patches of
some rare and beautiful foreign wood, the name of it
unknown to me.

" Why, Rorie," said I, as we began the return
voyage, ** this is fine wood. How came you by
that?"

" It will be hard to cheesel," Rorie opined reluc-
tantly; and just then, dropping the oars, he made
another of those dives into the stern which I had
remarked as he came across to fetch me, and, leaning

WHAT THE WRECK BROUGHT 13

his hand on my shoulder, stared with an awful look
into the Waters of the bay.

" What is wrong ? " I asked, a good deal startled.

" It will be a great feesh," said the old man, return-
ing to his oars; and nothing mcMre could I get out of
him, but strange glances and an ominous nodding of
the head. In spite of myself, I was infected with a
measure of uneasiness ; I turned ako, and studied the
wake. The water was still and transparent, but, out
here in the middle of the bay, exceeding deep. For
some time I could see naught; but at last it did seem
to me as if something dark — a great fish, or perhaps
only a shadow — followed studiously in the track of the
moving coble. And then I remembered one of Rorie's
superstitions: how in a ferry in Morven, in some
great, exterminating feud among the clans, a fish, the
like of it unknown in all our waters, followed for some
years the passage of the ferry-boat, until no man dared
to make the crossing.

" He will be waiting for the right man," said Rorie.

Mary met me on the beach, and led me up the brae
and into the house of Aros. Outside and inside there
were many changes. The garden was fenced with the
same wood that I had noted in the boat; there were
chairs in the kitchen covered with strange brocade;
curtains of brocade hung from the window; a clock
stood silent on the dresser; a lamp of brass was swing-
ing from the roof; the table was set for dinner with the
finest of linen and silver ; and all these new riches were
displayed in the plain old kitchen that I knew so well,
with the high-backed settle, and the stools, and the
closet bed for Rorie; with the wide chimney the sun

14 THE MERRY MEN

shone into, and the clear-smouldering peats; with the
pipes on the mantelshelf and the three-cornered spit-
toons, filled with sea-shells instead of sand, on the
floor; with the bare stone walls and the bare wooden
floor, and the three patchwork rugs that were of yore
its sole adornment — poor man's patchwork, the like
of it unknown in cities, woven with homespun, and
Sunday black, and sea-cloth polished on the bench of
rowing. The room, like the house, had been a sort of
wonder in that country-side, it was so neat and habit-
able; and to see it now, shamed by these incongruous
additions, filled me with indignation and a kind of
anger. In view of the errand I had come upon to Aros,
the feeling was baseless and unjust; but it burned high,
at the first moment, in my heart.

" Mary, girl," said I, " this is the place I had
learned to call my home, and I do not know
it."

" It is my home by nature, not by the learning," she
replied; *' the place I was bom and the place I'm like
to die in ; and I neither like these changes, nor the way
they came, nor that which came with them. I would
have liked better, under God's pleasure, they had gone
down into the sea, and the Merry Men were dancing on
them now."

Mary was always serious; it was perhaps the only
trait that she shared with her father; but the tone
with which she uttered these words was even graver
than of custom.

" Ay," said I, " I feared it came by wreck, and
that's by death ; yet when my father died, I took his
goods without remorse."

WHAT THE WRECK BROUGHT 15

** Your father died a clean strae death, as the folk
say," said Mary.

" True," I returned; " and a wreck is like a judg-
ment. What was she called ? "

" They ca'd her the ChrisuAnnay* said a voice
behind me; and, turning round, I saw my uncle
standing in the doorway.

He was a sour, small, bilious man, with a long face
and very dark eyes; fifty-six years old, sound and
active in body, and with an air somewhat between that
of a shepherd and that of a man following the sea.
He never laughed, that I heard; read long at the
Bible; prayed much, like the Cameronians he had
been brought up among; and indeed, in many ways,
used to remind me of one of the hill-preachers in the
killing times before the Revolution. But he never
got much comfort, nor even, as I used to think, much
guidance, by his piety. He had his black fits when he
was afraid of hell; but he had led a rough life, to
which he would look back with envy, and was still a
rough, cold, gloomy man.

As he came in at the door out of the sunlight, with
his bonnet on his head and a pipe hanging in his but-
ton-hole, he seemed, like Rorie, to have grown older
and paler, the lines were deeplier ploughed upon his
face, and the whites of his eyes were yellow, like old
stained ivory, or the bones of the dead.

" Ay," he repeated, dwelling upon the first part of
the word, " the Christ-Anna. It*s an awfu* name."

I made him my salutations, and complimented him
upon his look of health, for I feared he had perhaps
been ill.

i6 THE MERRY MEN

" I'm in the body," he replied, nngracioudy enough;
" aye in the body and the sins of the body, like your-
sel'. Denner," he said abruptly to Mary, and then
ran on to me : " They're grand braws, thir that we
hae gotten, are they no ? Yon's a bonny knock,^ but
it'll no gang; and the napery's by ordnar. Bonny,
bairnly braws ; it's for the like o' them folk sells the
peace of God that passeth understanding; it's for the
like o' them, an' maybe no even sae muckle worth,
folk daunton God to His face and burn in muckle hell;
and it's for that reason the Scripture ca's them, as I
read the passage, the accursed thing. Mary, ye
girzie," he interrupted himself to cry with some
asperity, " what for hae ye no put out the twa candle-
sticks ? "

" Why should we need them at high noon ? " she
asked.

But my uncle was not to be turned from his Idea.
" We'll bruik * them while we may," he said ; and so
two massive candlesticks of wrought silver were added
to the table equipage, already so unsuited to that
ifough sea-side farm.

" She cam' ashore Februar' lo, about ten at nicht,"
he went on to me. " There was nae wind, and a sair
run o' sea; and she was in the sook o' the Roost,. as I
jaloose. We had seen her a' day, Rorie and me, beat-
ing to the wind. She wasnae a handy craft, I'm think-
ing, that Christ-Anna; for she would neither steer nor
stey wi' them. A sair day they had of it; their hands
was never afFthe sheets, and it perishin' cauld — ower
cauld to snaw; and aye they would get a bit nip o*
' Clock. » Enjoy.

WHAT THE WRECK BROUGHT tf

windy and awa' again, to pit the emp y hope into thtttis
Eh, man! but they had a sair day for the last o'tl
He would have had a prood, prood heart that won
ashore upon the back o' that."

"And were all lost?" I cried. " God help them ! "

" Wheesht ! " he said sternly. " Nane shall pray
for the deid on my hearth-stane."

I disclaimed a Popish sense for my ejaculation ; and
he seemed to accept my disclaimer with unusual
facility, and ran on once more upon what had evidently
become a favourite subject.

" We fand her in Sandag Bay, Rorie an' me, and a*
thae braws in the inside of her. There's a kittle bit, ye
see, about Sandag; whiles the sook rins strong for the
Merry Men; an' whiles again, when the tide's makin'
hard an' ye can hear the Roost blawin' at the far-end of
Aros, there comes a back-spang of current straucht
into Sandag Bay. Weel, there's the thing that got the
grip on the Christ-Anna, She but to have come in
ramstam an' stern forrit ; for the bows of her are aften
under, and the back-side of her is clear at hie-water o'
neaps. But, man! the dunt that she cam doon wi'«
when she struck ! Lord save us a' ! but it's an unco
Hfe to be a sailor — a cauld, wanchancy life. Mony's
the gliff I got mysel' in the great deep ; and why the
Lord should hae made yon unco water is mair than
ever I could win to understand. He made the valea
and the pastures, the bonny green yaird, the halesome^
canty land —

And now they shout and sing to Thee,
For Thou hast made them glad.

i8 THE MERRY MEN

as the Psalms say in the metrical version. No that I
would preen my faith to that clink neither; but it's
bonny, and easier to mind. * Who go to sea in ships/
they hae't again —

And in
Great waters trading be,
Within the deep these men God's works
And His great wonders see.

Weel, it's easy sayin' sae. Maybe Dauvit wasnae very
weel acquant wi' the sea. But troth, if it wasnae
prentit in the Bible, I wad whiles be temp'it to think
it wasnae the Lord, but the muckle, black deil that
made the sea. There's naething good comes oot o't
but the fish; an' the spentacle o' God riding on the
tempest, to be shure, whilk would be what Dauvit was
likely ettling at. But, man, they were sair wonders
that God showed to the Christ-Anna — wonders, do I
ca' them? Judgments, rather: judgments in the
mirk nicht among the draygons o' the deep. And
their souls — to think o' that — their souls, man,
maybe no prepared! The sea — a muckle yett to
hell!"

I observed, as my uncle spoke, that his voice was
unnaturally moved and his manner unwontedly de-
monstrative. He leaned forward at these last words,
for example, and touched me on the knee with his
spread fingers, looking up into my face with a certain
pallor, and I could see that his eyes shone with a deep-
seated fire, and that the lines about his mouth were
drawn and tremulous.

Even the entrance of Rorie, and the beginning of

WHAT THE WRECK BROUGHT 19

our meal, did not detach him from his train of thought
beyond a moment. He condescended, indeed, to ask
me some questions as to my success at college, but I
thought it was with half his mind; and even in his
extempore grace, which was, as usual, long and wan-
dering, I could find the trace of his preoccupation,
praying, as he did, that God would " remember in
mercy fower puir, feckless, fiddling, sinful creatures
here by their lee-lane beside the great and dowie
waters."

Soon there came an interchange of speeches be*
tween him and Rorie.

" Was it there ? " asked my uncle.

**Ou, ay!" said Rorie.
, I observed that they both spoke in a manner of
aside, and with some show of embarrassment, and that
Mary herself appeared to colour, and looked down on
her plate. Partly to show my knowledge, and so
relieve the party from an awkward strain, partly
because I was curious, I pursued the subject.

" You mean the fish ? " I asked.

" Whatten fish ? " cried my uncle. " Fish, quo'
he I Fish 1 Your een are fu' o' fatness, man ; your
heid dozened wi' carnal leir. Fish ! it's a bogle ! "

He spoke with great vehemence, as though angry;
and perhaps I was not very willing to be put down so
shortly, for young men are disputatious. At least I
remember I retorted hotly, crying out upon childish
superstitions.

" And ye come frae the College ! " sneered Uncle
Gordon. " Gude kens what they learn folk there;
it's no muckle service onyway. Do ye think, man,

20 THE MERRY MEN

that there's naething in a' yon saut wilderness o* a
world oot wast there, wi' the sea grasses growin', an'
the sea beasts fechtin', an' the sun glintin' down into
it, day by day? Na; the sea's like the land, but
fearsomer. If there's folk ashore, there's folk in the
sea — deid they may be, but they're folk whatever;
and as for deils, there's nane that's like the sea deils.
There's no sae muckle harm in the land deils, when
a's said and done. Lang syne, when I was a callant
in the south country, I mind there was an auld, bald
bogle in the Peewie Moss. I got a glisk o' him mysel',
sittin' on his hunkers in a hag, as grey's a tombstane.
An', troth, he was a fearsome-like taed. But he steered
naebody. Nae doobt, if ane that was a reprobate,
ane the Lord hated, had gane by there wi' his sin still
upon his stamach, nae doobt the creature would hae
lowped upo' the likes o' him. But there's deils in the
deep sea would yoke on a communicant! Eh, sirs,
if ye had gane doon wi' the puir lads in the Christ-
Anna ^ ye would ken by now the mercy o' the seas.
If ye had sailed it for as lang as me, ye would hate the
thocht of it as I do. If ye had but used the een God
gave ye, ye would hae learned the wickedness o' that
fause, saut, cauld, buUering creature, and of a' that's
in it by the Lord's permission : labsters an' partans,
an' sic like, howking in the deid; muckle, gutsy,
blawing whales; an' fish — the hale clan o' them — -
cauld-wamed, blind-eed uncanny ferlies. O, sirs,"
he cried, " the horror — the horror o' the sea 1 "

We were all somewhat staggered by this outburst;
and the speaker himself, after that last hoarse apos-
trophe, appeared to sink gloomily into his own

WHAT THE WRECK BROUGHT 21

thoughts. But Rorie, who was greedy of super-
stitious lore, recalled him to the subject by a question.

" You will not ever have seen a teevil of the sea ? '*
he asked.

" No clearly/' replied the other, *' I misdoobt If a
mere man could see ane clearly and conteenue in the
body. I hae sailed wi' a lad — they ca'd him Sandy
Gabart; he saw ane, shiire eneuch, an' shiire eneuch
it was the end of him. We were seeven days oot frae
the Clyde — a sair wark we had had — gaun north wi'
seeds an' braws an' things for the,Macleod. We had
got in ower near under the CutchuU'ns, an' -had just
gane about by Soa, an' were off on a lang tack, we
thocht would maybe hauld as far's Copnahow. I mind
the nicht weel; a mune smoored wi' mist; a fine gaun
breeze upon the water, but no steedy; an' — what
nane o' us likit to hear — anither wund gurlin' ower-
heid, amang thae fearsome, auld stane craigs o' the
CutchuU'ns. Weel, Sandy was forrit wi* the jib sheet;
we couldnae see him for the mains'l, that had just
begude to draw, when a' at ance he gied a skirl. I
luffed for my life, for I thocht we were ower near Soa ;
but na, it wasnae that, it was puir Sandy Gabart's
deid skreigh, or near hand, for he was deid in half
an hour. A't he could tell was that a sea deil, or sea
bogle, or sea spenster, or sic-like, had clum up by the
bowsprit, an' gi'en him ae cauld, uncanny look. An',
or the life was oot o' Sandy's body, we kent weel what
the thing betokened, and why the wund gurled in the
taps o' the CutchuU'ns ; for doon it cam' — a wund
do I ca' it ! it was the wund o' the Lord's anger — an'
a* that nicht we foucht like men dementit, and the

22 THE MERRY MEN

niest that we kenned we ashore in Loch Uskevagh,
an' the cocks were crawin' in Benbecula."

" It will have been a merman," Rorie said.

" A merman 1 " screamed my uncle with immeasur-
able scorn. " Auld wives' clavers ! There's nae sic
things as mermen."

" But what was the creature like ? " I asked.

" What like was it i Gude forbid that we suld ken
what like it was 1 It had a kind of a heid upon it —
man could say nae mair."

Then Rorie, smarting under the aflFront, told several
tales of mermen, mermaids, and sea-horses that had
come ashore upon the islands and attacked the crews
of boats upon the sea ; and my uncle, in spite of his
incredulity, listened with uneasy interest.

" Aweel, aweel," he said, " it may be sae; I may be
wrang; but I find nae word o' mermen in the Scrip-
tures."

" And you will find nae word of Aros Roost, maybe,"
objected Rorie, and his argument appeared to carry
weight.

When dinner was over, my uncle carried me forth
with him to a bank behind the house. It was a very
hot and quiet afternoon; scarce a ripple anywhere
upon the sea, nor any voice but the familiar voice of
sheep and gulls ; and perhaps in consequence of this
repose in nature, my kinsman showed himself more
rational and tranquil than before. He spoke evenly
and almost cheerfully of my career, with every now and
then a reference to the lost ship or the treasures it had
brought to Aros. For my part, I listened to him in a
sort of trance, gazing with all my heart on that remem-

WHAT THE WRECK BROUGHT 23

bered scene, and drinking gladly the sea-air and the
smoke of peats that had been lit by Mary.

Perhaps an hour had passed when my uncle, who
had all the while been covertly gazing on the surface
of the little bay, rose to his feet and bade me follow
his example. Now I should say that the great run of
tide at the south-west end of Aros exercises a perturb-
ing influence round all the coast. In Sandag Bay, to
the south, a strong current runs at certain periods of
the flood and ebb respectively; but in this northern
bay — Aros Bay, a^ it is called — where the house
stands and on which my uncle was now gazing, the only
sign of disturbance is towards the end of the ebb, and
even then it is too slight to be remarkable. When
there is any swell, nothing can be seen at all; but
when it is calm, as it often is, there appear certain
strange, undecipherable marks — sea-runes, as we
may name them — on the glassy surface of the bay.
The like is common in a thousand places on the coast;
and many a boy must have amused himself as I did»
seeking to read in them some reference to himself or
those he loved. It was to these marks that my uncle
now directed my attention, struggling as he did so,
with an evident reluctance.

" Do ye see yon scart upo* the water ? ** he in-
quired; " yon ane wast the grey stane ? Ay ? Weel,
it'll no be like a letter, wuU it ? "

" Certainly it is," I replied. " I have often re-
marked it. It is like a C."

He heaved a sigh as if heavily disappointed with my
answer, and then added below his breath : '* Ay, for
the Christ-Anna."

Z4 THE MERRY MEN

** I used to suppose, sir, it was for myself," said I;
" for my name is Charles/'

" And so ye saw't afore ? *' he ran on, not heeding
my remark. " Weel, weel, but that's unco strange.
Maybe, it's been there waitin', as a man wad say,
through a' the weary ages. Man, but that's awfu'.*'
And then, breaking off: " Ye'U no see anither, will
ye ? " he asked.

" Yes," said L ** I sec another very plainly, near
the Ross side, where the road comes down — an M."

"An M," he repeated very low; and then, again
after another pause : " An' what wad ye make o*
that ? " he inquired.

" I had always thought it to mean Mary, sir," I
answered, growing somewhat red, convinced as I was
in my own mind that I was on the threshold of a
decisive explanation.

But we were each following his own train of thought
to the exclusion of the other's. My uncle once more
paid no attention to my words; only hung his head
and held his peace; and I might have been led to
fancy that he had not heard me, if his next speech had
not contained a kind of echo from my own.

" I would say naething o' thae clavers to Mary," he
observed, and began to walk forward.

There is a belt of turf along the side of Aros Bay
where walking is easy; and it was along this that I
silently followed my silent kinsman. I was perhaps
a little disappointed at having lost so good an oppor-
tunity to declare my love ; but I was at the same time
far more deeply exercised at the change that had
befallen my uncle. He was never an ordinary, never,

WHAT THE WRECK BROUGHT 25

in the strict sense, an amiable, man; but there was
nothing in even the worst that I had known of him
before, to prepare me for so strange a transformation.
It was impossible to close the eyes against one fact^
that he had, as the saying goes, something on his
mind; and as I mentally ran over the different words
which might be represented by the letter M — misery,
mercy, marriage, money, and the like — I was arrested
with a sort of start by the word murder. I was still
considering the ugly sound and fatal meaning of the
word, when the direction of our walk brought us to a
point from which a view was to be had to either side,
back towards Aros Bay and homestead,, and forward
on the ocean, dotted to the north with isles, and lying
to the southward blue and open to the sky. There
my> guide came to a halt, and. stood staring for awhile
on that expanse. Then he turned to me and laid a
hand on my arm.

" Ye think there's naething there ? *' he said, point-
ing with his pipe; and then cried out aloud, with a
kind of exultation : " Til tell ye, man ! The deid are
down there — thick like rattons ! "

He turned at once, and, without another word, we
retraced our steps to the house of Aros.

I was eager to be alone with Mary ; yet it was not till
after supper, and then but for a short while, that I
could have a word with her. I lost no time beating
about the bush, but spoke out plainly what was on my
mind.

" Mary," I said, " I have not come to Aros without a
hope. . If that should prove well founded, we may all
leave and go somewhere else, secure of daily bread and

26 THE MERRY MEN

comfort; secure, perhaps, of something far beyond
that, which it would seem extravagant in me to prom-
ise. But there's a hope that lies nearer to my heart
than money." And at that I paused. " You can guess
fine what that is, Mary," I said. She. looked away
from me in silence, and that was small encouragement,
but I was not to be put off. " All my days I have
thought the world of you," I continued ; " the time
goes on and I think always the more of you ; I could
not think to be happy or hearty in my life without you :
you are the apple of my eye." Still she looked away,
and said never a word ; but I thought I saw that her
hands shook. " Mary," I cried in fear, " do ye no
like me ? "

" O, Charlie man," she said, " is this a time to speak
of it ? Let me be, a while; let me be the way I am;
It'll not be you that loses by the waiting ! "

I made out by her voice diat she was nearly weeping,
and this put me out of any thought but to compose her.
" Mary Ellen," I said, " say no more; I did not come
to trouble you : your way shall be mine, and your time
too; and you have told me all I wanted. Only just
this one thing more : what ails you ? "

She owned it was her father, but would enter into no
particulars, only shook her head, and said he was not
well and not like himself, and it was a great pity. She
knew nothing of the wreck. " I havenae been near it,"
said she. " What for would I go near it, Charlie lad ?
The poor souls are gone to their account long syne;
and I would just have wished they had ta'en their gear
with them — poor souls ! "

This was scarcely any great encouragement for me

WHAT THE WRECK BROUGHT 27

to tell her of the Espirito Santo; yet I did so, and at
the very first word she cried out in surprise. " There
was a man at Grisapol," she said, " in the month of
May — a little, yellow, black-avised body, they tell me,
with gold rings upon his fingers, and a beard ; and he
was speiring high and low for that same ship."

It was towards the end of April that I had been
given these papers to sort out by Dr. Robertson : and
it came suddenly back upon my mind that they were
thus prepared for a Spanish historian, or a man calling
himself such, who had come with high recommenda-
tions to the Principal, on a mission of inquiry as to
the dispersion of the great Armada. Putting one thing
with another, I fancied that the visitor " with the gold
rings upon his fingers " might be the same with Dr.
Robertson's historian from Madrid. If that were so,
he would be more likely after treasure for himself
than information for a learned society. I made up
my mind, I should lose no time over my undertaking;
and if the ship lay sunk in Sandag Bay, as perhaps
both he and I supposed, it should not be for the ad-
vantage of this ringed adventurer, but for Mary and
myself, and for the good, old, honest, kindly family
of the Darnaways.

CHAPTER III

LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY

I WAS early afoot next morning; and as soon as I
had a bite to eat, set forth upon a tour of explora-
tion. Something in my heart distinctly told me
that I should find the ship of the Armada; and al-
though I did not give way entirely to such hopeful
thoughts, I was still very light in spirits and walked
upon air. Aros is a very rough islet, its surface strewn
v\ath great rocks and shaggy with fern and heather;
and my way lay almost north and south across the
highest knoll ; and though the whole distance was in-
side of two miles, it took more time and exertion than
four upon a level road. Upon the summit, I paused.
Although not very high — not three hundred feet, as I
think — it yet outtops all the neighbouring lowlands
of the Ross, and commands a great view of sea and
islands. The sun, which had been up some time, was
already hot upon my neck; the air was listless and
thundery, although purely clear; away over the north-
west, where the isles lie thickliest congregated, some
half-a-dozen small and ragged clouds hung together in
a covey; and the head of Ben Kyaw wore, not merely
a few streamers, but a solid hood of vapour. There

28

LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY 29

was a threat in the weather. The sea, it is true, was
smooth like glass : even the Roost was but a seam on
that wide mirror, and the Merry Men no more than
caps of foam; but to my eye and ear, so long familiar
with these places, the sea also seemed to lie uneasily;
a sound of it, like a long sigh, mounted to me where I
stood ; and, quiet as it was, the Roost itself appeared
to be revolving mischief. For I ought to say that all
we dwellers in these parts attributed, if not prescience,
at least a quality of warning, to that strange and
dangerous creature of the tides.

I hurried on, then, with the greater speed, and had
soon descended the slope of Aros to the part that we
call Sandag Bay. It is a pretty large piece of water
compared with the size of the isle ; well sheltered from
all but the prevailing wind; sandy and shoal and
bounded by low sand-hills to the west, but to the east-
ward lying several fathoms deep along a ledge of rocks.
It is upon that side that, at a certain time each flood,
the current mentioned by my uncle sets so strong into
the bay; a little later, when the Roost begins to work
higher, an undertow runs still more strongly in the
reverse direction ; and it is the action of this last, as I
suppose, that has scoured that part so deep. Nothing
is to be seen out of Sandag Bay but one small segment
of the horizon and, in heavy weather, the breakers
flying high over a deep sea reef.

From half-way down the hill, I had perceived the
wreck of f ebruary last, a brig of considerable tonnage,
lying, with her back broken, high and dry on the east
comer of the sands ; and I was making directly towards
it, and already almost on the margin of the turf, when

30 THE MERRY MEN

my eyes were suddeiily arrested by a spot, cleared oi
fern and heather, and marked by one of those long,
low, and almost human-looking mounds that we see so
commonly in graveyards. I stopped like a man shot.
Nothing had been said to me of any dead man or in-
terment on the island; Rorie, Mary, and my uncle had
all equally held their peace; of her at least, I was
certain that she must be ignorant; and yet here, before
my eyes, was proof indubitable of the fact. Here was
a grave; and I had to ask myself, with a chill, what
manner of man lay there in his last sleep, awaiting the
signal of the Lord in that solitary, sea-beat resting-
place ? My mind supplied no answer but what I feared
to entertain. Shipwrecked, at least, he must have
been; perhaps, like the old Armada mariners, from
some far and rich land over-sea ; or perhaps one of my
own race, perishing within eyesight of the smoke of
home. I stood awhile uncovered by his side, and I
could have desired that it had lain in our religion to
put up some prayer for that unhappy stranger, or, in
the old classic way, outwardly to honour his misfor-
tune. I knew, although his bones lay there, a part of
Aros, till the trumpet sounded, his imperishable soul
was forth and far away, among the raptures of the ever-
lasting Sabbath or the pangs of hell; and yet my mind
misgave me even with a fear, that perhaps he was near
me where I stood, guarding his sepulchre, and lingering
on the scene of his unhappy fate.

Certainly it was with a spirit somewhat overshad-
owed that I turned away from the grave to the hardly
less melancholy spectacle of the wreck. Her stem was
above the first arc of the flood; she was broken in two

LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY 3^

a little abaft the foremast — though indeed she had
none, both masts having broken 'short in her disaster;,
and as the pitch of the beach was very sharp and
sudden, and the bows lay many feet below the stem,,
the fracture gaped widely open, and you could see right
through her poor hull upon the farther side. Her
name was much defaced, and I could not make out
clearly whether she was called Christianiay after the
Norwegian city, or Christiana^ after the good woman^
Christian's wife, in that old book the ** Pilgrim's
Progress." By her build she was a foreign ship, but
I was not certain of her nationality. She had been
painted green, but the colour was faded and weathered,,
and the paint peeling off in strips. The wreck of the
mainmast lay alongside, half buried in sand. She was
a forlorn sight, indeed, and I could not look without
emotion at the bits of rope that still hung about her,,
so often handled of yore by shouting seamen; or the
little scuttle where they had passed up and down to
their affairs; or that poor noseless angel of a figure-
head that had dipped into so many running billows.

I do not know whether it came most from the ship
or from the grave, but I fell into some melancholy
scruples, as I stood there, leaning with one hand
against the battered timbers. The homelessness of
men and even of inanimate vessels, cast away upon
strange shores, came strongly in upon my mind. Ta
make a profit of such pitiful misadventures seemed an
unmanly and a sordid act; and I began to think of my
then quest as of something sacrilegious in its nature.
But when I remembered Mary, I took heart again*
My uncle would never consent to an imprudent mar«

32 THE MERRY MEN

riage^ nor would she, as I was persuaded, wed without
his full approval. It behoved me, then, to be up and
doing for my wife; and I thought with a laugh how
long it was since that great sea-castle the Espirito
SantOy had left her bones in Sandag Bay, and how^
weak it would be to consider rights so long extin-
guished and misfortunes so long forgotten in the
process of time.

I had my theory of where to seek for her remains.
The set of the current and the soundings both pc»nted
to the east side of the bay under the ledge of rocks.
If she had been lost in Sandag Bay, and if, after these
centuries, any portion of her held together, it was there
that I should find it. The water deepens, as I have
said, with great rapidity, and even close alongside the
rocks several fathoms may be found. As I walked
upon the edge I could see far and wide over the sandy
bottom of the bay; the sun shone clear and green and
steady in the deeps; the bay seemed rather like a great
transparent cr3rstal, as one sees them in a lapidary's
shop ; there was naught to show that it was water but
an internal trembling, a hovering within of sun-glints
and netted shadows, and now and then a faint lap and
a dying bubble round the edge. The shadows of the
rocks lay out for some distance at their feet, so that
my own shadow, moving, pausing, and stooping on the
top of that, reached sometimes half across the bay.
It was above all in this belt of shadows that I hunted
for the Espirito Santo; since it was there the under-
tow ran strongest, whether in or out. Cool as the
whole water seemed this broiling day, it looked, in
that part, yet cooler, and had a mysterious invitation

LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY 35

for the eyes. Peer as I pleased, however, I could see
nothing but a few fishes or a bush of sea-tan^e, and
here and there a lump of rock that had fallen from
above and now lay separate on the sandy floor. Twice
did I pass from one end to the other of the rocks, and
in the whole distance I could see nothing of the wreck,
nor any place but one where it was possible for it to be.
This was a large terrace in five fathoms of water, raised
off the surface of the sand to a considerable height, and
looking from above like a mere outgrowth of the rocks
on which I walked. It was one mass of great sea-
tangles like a grove, which prevented me judging of its
nature, but in shape and size it bore some likeness to a
vessel's hull. At least it was my best chance. If the
Espirito Santo lay not there under the tangles, it lay no-
where at all in Sandag Bay; and I prepared to put the
question to the proof, once and for all, and either go
back to Aros a rich man or cured for ever of my dreams
of wealth.

I stripped to the skin, and stood on the extreme
margin with my hands clasped, irresolute. The bay
at that time was utterly quiet; there was no sound but
from a school of porpoises somewhere out of sight
behind the point; yet a certain fear withheld me on
the threshold of my venture. Sad sea-feelings, scraps
of my uncle's superstitions, thoughts of the dead, of the
grave, of the old broken ships, drifted through my
mind. But the strong sun upon my shoulders warmed
me to the heart, and I stooped forward and plunged
into the sea.

It was all that I could do to catch a trail of the
sea-tangle that grew so thickly on the terrace; but

34 THE MERRY MEN

once so far anchored I secured myself by grasping a
whole armful of these thick and slimy stalks, and,
planting my feet against the edge, I looked around me.
On all sides the clear sand stretched forth unbroken ; it
came to the foot of the rocks, scoured into the likeness
of an alley in a garden by the action of the tides ; and
before me, for as far as I could see, nothing was visible,
but the same many-folded sand upon the sun-bright
bottom of the bay. Yet the terrace to which I was
then holding was as thick with strong sea-growths as a
tuft of heather, and the clifF from which it bulged hung
draped below the water-line with brown lianas. In this
complexity of forms, all swaying together in the cur-
rent, things were hard to be distinguished ; and I was
still uncertain whether my feet were pressed upon the
natural rock or upon the timbers of the Armada treas-
ure-ship, when the whole tuft of tangle came away in
my hand, and in an instant I was on the surface, and
the shores of the bay and the bright water swam before
my eyes in a glory of crimson.

I clambered back upon the rocks, and threw the
plant of tangle at my feet. Something at the same
moment rang sharply, like a falling coin. I stooped,
and there, sure enough, crusted with the red rust, there
lay an iron shoe-buckle. The sight of this poor human
relic thrilled me to the heart, but not with hope nor
fear, only with a desolate melancholy. I held it in my
hand, and the thought of its owner appeared before me
like the presence of an actual man. His weather-
beaten face, his sailor's hands, his sea-voice hoarse with
singing at the capstan, the very foot that had once
worn that buckle and trod so much along the swerving

LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY 35

decks — the whole human fact of him, as a creature
like myself, with hair and blood and seeing eyes,
haunted me in that sunny, solitary place, not like a
spectre, but like some friend whom I had basely in-
jured. Was the great treasure ship indeed below there,
with her guns and chain and treasure, as she had sailed
from Spain ; her decks a garden for the seaweed, her
cabin a breeding place for fish, soundless but for
the dredging water, motionless but for the waving of
the tangle upon her battlements — that old, populous,
sea-riding castle, now a reef in Sandag Bay ? Or, as I
thought it likelier, was this a waif from the disaster
of the foreign brig — was this shoe-buckle bought but
the other day and worn by a man of my own period in
the world's history, hearing the same news from day to
day, thinking the same thoughts, pra}ring, perhaps, in
the same temple with myself? However it was, I was
assailed with dreary thoughts; my uncle's words,
" the dead are down there," echoed in my ears; and
though I determined to dive once more, it was with a
strong repugnance that I stepped forward to the
margin of the rocks.

A great change passed at that moment over the
appearance of the bay. It was no more that clear,
visible interior, like a house roofed with glass, where
the green, submarine sunshine slept so stilly. A breeze,
I suppose, had flawed the surface, and a sort of trouble
and blackness filled its bosom, where flashes of light
and clouds of shadow tossed confusedly together.
Even the terrace below obscurely rocked and
quivered. It seemed a graver thing to venture on
diis place of ambushes; and when I leaped into the

36 THE MERRY MEN

sea the second time it was with a quaking in my
soul.

I secured myself as at firsts and groped among the
waving tangle. All that met my touch was cold and
soft and gluey. The thicket was alive with crabs and
lobsters, trundling to and fro lopsidedly, and I had to
harden my heart against the horror of their carrion
neighbourhood. On all sides I could feel the grain
and the clefts of hard, living stone; no planks, no
iron, not a sign of any wreck ; the Espirito Santo was
not there. I remember I had almost a sense of relief
in my disappointment, and I was about ready to leave
go, when something happened that sent me to the
surface with my heart in my mouth. I had already
stayed somewhat late over my explorations; the cur-
rent was freshening with the change of the tide, and
Sandag Bay was no longer a safe place for a single
swimmer. Well, just at the last moment there came
a sudden flush of current, dredging through the
tangles like a wave. I lost one hold, was flung sprawl-
ing on my side, and, instinctively grasping for a fresh
support, my fingers closed on something hard and cold.
I think I knew at that moment what it was. At least I
instantly left hold of the tangle, leaped for the surface,
and clambered out next moment on the friendly rocks
with the bone of a man's leg in my grasp.

Mankind is a material creature, slow to think and
dull to perceive connections. The grave, the wreck
of the brig, and the rusty shoe-buckle were surely
plain advertisements. A child might have read their
dismal story, and yet it was not until I touched that
actual piece of mankind that the full horror of the

LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY 37

chamel ocean burst upon my spirit. I laid the bone
beside the buckle, picked up my clothes, and ran as I
was along the rocks towards the human shore. I
could not be far enough from the spot; no fortune
was vast enough to tempt me back again. The bones
of the drowned dead should henceforth roll undis-
turbed by me, whether on tangle or minted gold. But
as soon as I trod the good earth again, and had covered
my nakedness against the sun, I knelt down over
against the ruins of the brig, and out of the fulness of
my heart prayed long and passionately for all poor
souls upon the sea. A generous prayer is never pre-
sented in vain; the petition may be refused, but the
petitioner is always, I believe, rewarded by some
gracious visitation. The horror, at least, was lifted
from my mind ; I could look with calm of spirit on that
great bright creature, God's ocean; and as I set off
homeward up the rough sides of Aros, nothing re-
mained of any concern beyond a deep determination
to meddle no more with the spoils of wrecked vessels
or the treasures of the dead.

I was already some way up the hill before I paused
to breathe and look behind me. The sight that met
my eyes was doubly strange.

For, first, the storm that I had foreseen was now ad-
vancing with almost tropical rapidity. The whole sur-
face of the sea had been dulled from its conspicuous
brightness to an ugly hue of corrugated lead ; already
in the distance the white waves, the " skipper's daugh-
ters," had begun to flee before a breeze that was still
insensible on Aros; and already along the curve of
Sandag Bay there was a splashing run of sea that I.

38 THE MERRY MEN

could hear from where I stood. The change upon the
sky was even more remarkable. There had begun to
arise out of the south-west a huge and solid continent
of scowling cloud; here and there, through rents in its
contexture, the sun still poured a sheaf of spreading
rays; and here and there, from all its edges, vast inky
streamers lay forth along the yet unclouded sky. The
menace was express and imminent. Even as I gazed,
the sun was blotted out. At any moment the tempest
might fall upon Aros in its might.

The suddenness of this change of weather so fixed
my eyes on heaven that it was some seconds before they
alighted on the bay, mapped out below my feet, and
robbed a moment later of the sun. The knoll which I
had just surmounted overflanked a little amphitheatre
of lower hillocks sloping towards the sea, and beyond
that the yellow arc of beach and the whole extent of
Sandag Bay. It was a scene on which I had often
looked down, but where I had never before beheld a
human figure. I had but just turned my back upon it
and left it empty, and my wonder may be fancied when
I saw a boat and several men in that deserted spot.
The boat was lying by the rocks. A pair of fellows,
bareheaded, with their sleeves rolled up, and one with
a boathook, kept her with difficulty to her moorings,
for the current was growing brisker every moment.
A little way off upon the ledge two men in black
clothes, whom I judged to be superior in rank, laid
their heads together over some task which at first I
did not understand, but a second after I had made it
out — they were taking bearings with the compass;
and just then I saw one of them unroll a sheet of paper

LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY 39

and lay his finger down, as though identifying features
in a map. Meanwhile a third was walking to and fro,
poking among the rocks and peering over the edge into
the water. While I was still watching them with the
stupefaction of surprise, my mind hardly yet able to
work on what my eyes reported, this third person
suddenly stooped and summoned his companions
with a cry so loud that it reached my ears upon the
hill. The others ran to him, even dropping the com-
pass in their hurry, and I could see the bone and the
shoe-buckle going from hand to hand, causing the
most unusual gesticulations of surprise and interest.
Just then I could hear the seamen crying from the
boat, and saw them point westward to that cloud
continent which was ever the more rapidly unfurling
its blackness over heaven.^ The others seemed to con-
sult; but the danger was too pressing to be braved,
and they bundled into the boat carrying my relics
with them, and set forth out of the bay with all speed of
oars.

I made no more ado about the matter, but turned
and ran for the house. Whoever these men were it
was fit my uncle should be instantly informed. It was
not then altogether too late in the day for a descent of
the Jacobites; and may be Prince Charlie, whom I
knew my uncle to detest, was one of the three superiors
whom I had seen upon the rock. Yet as I ran, leap-
ing from rock to rock, and turned the matter loosely
in my mind, this theory grew ever the longer the less
welcome to my reason. The compass, the map, the
interest awakened by the buckle, and the conduct of
that one among the strangers who had looked so often

40 THE MERRY MEN

below him in the water, all seemed to point to a differ-
ent explanation of their presence on that outlying, ob-
scure islet of the western sea. The Madrid historian,
the search instituted by Dr. Robertson, the bearded
stranger with the rings, my own fruitless search that
very morning in the deep water of Sandag Bay, ran
together, piece by piece, in my memory, and I made
sure that these strangers must be Spaniards in quest
of ancient treasure and the lost ship of the Armada.
But the people living in outlying islands, such as
Aros, are answerable for their own security; there is
none near by to protect or even to help them ; and the
presence in such a spot of a crew of foreign adven-
turers — poor, greedy, and most likely lawless —
filled me with apprehensions for my uncle's money,
and even for the safety of his daughter. I was still
wondering how we were to get rid of them when. I
came, all breathless, to the top of Aros. The whole
world was shadowed over; only in the extreme east,
on a hill of the mainland, one last gleam of sunshine
lingered like a jewel; rain had begun to fall, not
heavily, but in great drops; the sea was rising with
each moment, and already a band of white encircled
Aros and the nearer coasts of Grisapol. The boat was
still pulling seaward, but I now became aware of what
had been hidden from me lower down — a large,
heavily sparred, handsome schooner, lying to at the
south end of Aros. Since I had not seen her in the
morning when I had looked around so closely at the
signs of the weather, and upon these lone waters where
a sail was rarely visible, it was clear she must have
lain last night behind the uninhabited Eilean Gour,

LAND AND SEA IN SANDAG BAY 41

and this proved conclusively that she was manned by
strangers to our coast, for that anchorage, though
good enough to look at, is little better than a trap for
ships. With such ignorant sailors upon so wild a
coast, the coming gale was not unlikely tp bring death
upon its wings.

CHAPTER IV

THE GALE

I FOUND my uncle at the gable end, watching
the signs of the weather, with a pipe in his
fingers.

" Uncle," said I, " there were men ashore at Sandag
Bay "

I had no time to go further; indeed, I not only for-
got my words, but even my weariness, so strange was
the effect on Uncle Gordon. He dropped his pipe and
fell back against the end of the house with his jaw
fallen, his eyes staring, and his long face as white as
paper. We must have looked at one another silently
for a quarter of a minute, before he made answer in
this extraordinary fashion : '' Had he a hair kep on ? '*

I knew as well as if I had been there that the man
who now lay buried at Sandag had worn a hairy cap,
and that he had come ashore alive. For the first and
only time I lost toleration for the man who was my
benefactor and the father of the woman I hoped to
call my wife.

** These were living men," said I, " perhaps Jaco-
bites, perhaps the French, perhaps pirates, perhaps
adventurers come here to seek the Spanish treasure

42

THE GALE 43

ship; but) whatever they may be, dangerous at least
to your daughter and my cousin. As for your own
guilty terrors, man, the dead sleeps well where you
have laid him. I stood this morning by his grave;
he will not wake before the trump of doom/'

My kinsman looked upon me, blinking, while I
spoke; then he fixed his eyes for a little on the ground,
and pulled his fingers foolishly; but it was plain that
he was past the power of speech.

" Come," said I. " You must think for others.
You must come up the hill with me, and see this ship:"

He obeyed without a word or a look, following
slowly after my impatient strides. The spring seemed
to have gone out of his body, and he scrambled heavily
up and down the rocks, instead of leaping, as he was
wont, from one to another. Nor could I, for all my
cries, induce him to make better haste. Only once
he replied to me complainingly,- and like one in bodily
pain ; " Ay, ay, man, Tm coming." Long before we
had reached the top, I had no other thought for him
but pity. If the crime had been monstrous, the pun-
ishment was in proportion.

At last we emerged above the sky-line of the hill,
and could see around us. All was black and stormy
to the eye; the last gleam of sun had vanished; a
wind had sprung up, not yet high, but gusty and un-
steady to the point; the rain, on the other hand, had
ceased. Short as was the interval, the sea already ran
vastly higher than when I had stood there last; al-
ready it had begun to break over some of the outward
reefs, and already it moaned aloud in the sea-caves of
Aros. I looked at first, in vain for the schooner.

44 THE MERRY MEN

" There she is/' I said at last. But her new posi-
tion, and the course she was now lying, puzzled me.
" They cannot mean to beat to sea," I cried.

" That's what they mean," said my uncle, with
something like joy; and just then the schooner went
about and stood upon another tack, which put the
question beyond the reach of doubt. These strangers,
seeing a gale on hand, had thought first of sea-room.
With the wind that threatened, in these reef-sown
waters and contending against so violent a stream of
tide, their course was certain death.

" Good God ! " said I, '' they are all lost."

" Ay," returned my uncle, " a' — a' lost. They
hadnae a chance but to rin for Kjde Dona. The gate
they're gaun the noo, they couldnae win through an
the muckle deil were there to pilot them. Eh, man,"
he continued, touching me on the sleeve, " it's a braw
nicht for a shipwreck! Twa'in ae twalmonthl Eh,
but the Merry Men'U dance bonny ! "

I looked at him, and it was then that I began to
fancy him no longer in his right mind. He was peer-
ing up to me, as if for sympathy, a timid joy in his
eyes.' All that had passed between us was already
forgotten in the prospect of this fresh disaster.

" If it were not too late," I cried with indignation,
" I would take the coble and go out to warn them."

" Na, na," he protested, " ye maunnae interfere; ye
maunnae meddle wi' the like o' that. It's His," —
doffing his bonnet — ** His wull. And, eh, man J but
it's a braw nicht for't!"

Something like fear began to creep into my soul;
and, reminding him that I had not yet dined, I pro-

THE GALE 45

posed we should return to the house. But no; nothing
would tear him from his place of outlook.

" I maun see the hail thing, man, Cherlie," he ex-
plained; and then as the schooner went about a
second time, " Eh, but they han'le her bonny ! " he
cried. " The Christ-Anna was naething to this.**

Already the men on board the schooner must have
begun to realise some part, but not yet the twentieth,
of the dangers that environed their doomed ship. At
every lull of the capricious wind they must have seen
how fast the current swept them back. Each tack was
made shorter, as they saw how little it prevailed.
Every moment the rising swell began to boom and
foam upon another sunken reef; and ever and again
a breaker would fall in sounding ruin under the very
bows of her, and the brown reef and streaming tangle
appear in the hollow of the wave. I tell you, they
had to stand to their tackle : there was no idle man
aboard that ship, God knows. It was upon the prog-
ress of a scene so horrible to any human-hearted man
that my misguided uncle now pored and gloated like
a connoisseur. As I turned to go down the hill, he
was lying on his belly on the summit, with his hands
stretched forth and clutching in the heather. He
seemed rejuvenated, mind and body.

When I got back to the house already dismally af-
fected, I was still more sadly downcast at the sight of
Mary. She had her sleeves rolled up over her strong
arms, and was quietly making bread. I got a bannock
from the dresser and sat down to eat it in silence.

" Are ye wearied, lad ? " she asked after a while.

" I am not so much wearied, Mary/' I replied.

46 THE MERRY MEN

getting on my feet, " as I am weary of delay, and per-
haps of Aros, too. You know me well enough to
judge me fairly, say what I like. Well, Mary, you
may be sure of this : you had better be anywhere but
here."

" rU be sure of one thing," she returned : " I'll be
where my duty is." ^

" You forget, you have a duty to yourself," I said.

" Ay, man ? " she replied, pounding at the dough ;
" will you have found that in the Bible, now ? "

" Mary," I said solemnly, " you must not laugh at
me just now. God knows I am in no heart for laugh-
ing. If we could get your father with us, it would be
best; but with him or without him, I want you far
away from here, my girl ; for your own sake, and for
mine, ay, and for your father's too, I want you far —
far away from here. I came with other thoughts;
I came here as a man comes home; now it is all
changed, and I have no desire nor hope but to flee —
for that's the word — flee, like a bird out of the fowl-
er's snare, from this accursed island.'*

She had stopped her work by this time.

" And do you think, now," said she, " do you
think, now, I have neither eyes nor ears ? Do ye think
I havenae broken my heart to have these braws (as
he calls them, God forgive him !) thrown into the sea ?
Do ye think I have lived with him, day in, day out,
and not seen what you saw in an hour or two ? No,"
she said, " I know there's wrong in it; what wrong,
I neither know nor want to know. There was never an
ill thing made better by meddling, that I could hear
of. But, my lad, you must never ask me to leave my

THE GALE 47

father. While the breath is in his body, Til be with
him. And he's not long for here, either : that I can
tell you, Charlie — he's not long for here. The mark
is on his brow; and better so — maybe better so."

I was a while silent, not knowing what to say; and
when I roused my head at last to speak, she got be-
fore me.

" Charlie," she said, " what's right for me, neednae
be right for ydu. There's sin upon this house and
trouble; you are a stranger; take your things upon
your back and go your ways to better places and to
better folk, and if you were ever minded to come back,
though it were twenty years syne, you would find me
aye waiting."

" Mary Ellen," I said, " I asked you to be my ¥rife,
and you said as good as yes. That's done for good.
Wherever you are, I am; as I shall answer to my
God."

As I said the words, the wind suddenly burst out
raving, and then seemed to stand still and shudder
round the house of Aros. It was the first squall, or
prologue, of the coming tempest, and as we started
and looked about us, we found that a gloom, like the
approach of evening, had settled round the house.

" God pity all poor folks at sea I " she said. " We'll
see no more of my father till the morrow's morning."

And then she told me, as we sat by the fire and
hearkened to the rising gusts, of how this change had
fallen upon my uncle. All last winter he had been
dark and fitful in his mind. Whenever the Roost ran
high, or, as Mary said, whenever the Merry Men
were dancing, he would lie out for hours together on the

48 THE MERRY MEN

Head, if it were at night, or on the top of Aros by day,
watching the tumult of the sea, and sweeping the
horizon for a sail. After February the tenth, when
the wealth-bringing wreck was cast ashore at Sandag,
he had been at first unnaturally gay, and his excite-
ment had never fallen in degree, but only changed in
kind from dark to darker. He neglected his work,
and kept Rorie idle. They two would speak together
by the hour at the gable end, in guarded tones and
with an air of secrecy and almost of guilt ; and if she
questioned either, as at first she sometimes did, her
inquiries were put aside with confusion. Since Rorie
had first remarked the fish that hung about the ferry,
his master had never set foot but once upon the main-
land of the Ross. That once — it was in the height of
the springs — he had passed dry-shod while the tide
was out; but, having lingered over-long on the far
side, found himself cut off from Aros by the returning
waters. It was with a shriek of agony that he had
leaped across the gut, and he had reached home
thereafter in a fever-fit of fear. A fear of the sea, a
constant haunting thought of the sea, appeared in
his talk and devotions, and even in his looks when he
was silent.

Rorie alone came in to supper; but a little later my
uncle appeared, took a bottle under his arm, put
some bread in his pocket, and set forth again to his
outlook, followed this time by Rorie. I heard that the
schooner was losing ground, but the crew were still
fighting every inch with hopeless ingenuity and cour-
age; and the news filled my niind with blackness.
. A little after sundown the full fury of the gale broke

THE GALE 4©

forrii, such a gale as I have never seen ts!i summery
nor, seeing how swiftly it had come, even in winter,
Maiy and I sat in silence, the house quaking over-
head, the tempest howling without, the fire between
us sputtering with raindrops. Our thoughts were far
away with the poor fellows on the schooner, or nay
not less unhappy uncle, houseless on the promontory;
and yet ever and again we were startled back to our-
selves, when the wind would rise and strike the gable
like a sdid body, or suddenly fall and draw away, so
that the fire leaped into flame and our hearts bounded
in our sides. Now the storm in its might would seize
and shake the four corners of the roof, roaring like
Leviathan in anger. Anon, in a lull, cold eddies of
tempest moved shudderingly in the room, lifting the
hair upcHi our heads and passing between us as we
sat. And again the wind would break forth in a
chorus of melancholy sounds, hooting low in the
chimney, wailing with fiute*like softness round the
house.

It was perhaps eight o'clock when Rorie came in and
pulled me mysteriously to the door. My uncle, it
appeared, had frightened even his constant comrade;
and Rorie, uneasy at his extravagance, prayed me to
come out and share the watch. I hastened to do as
I was asked; the more readily as, what with fear and
horror, and the electrical tension of the night, I was
myself restless and disposed for action. I told Mary
to be under no alarm, for I should be a safeguard on
her father; and wrapping myself warmly in a plaid>
I followed Rorie into the open air.

The night, though we were so little past nudsummer»

so THE MERRY MEN

was as dark as January. Intervals of a groping twi-
light alternated with spells of utter blackness; and it
was impossible to trace the reason of these changes in
the flying horror of the sky. The wind blew the breath
out of a man's nostrils ; all heaven seemed to thunder
overhead like one huge sail ; and when there fell a mo-
mentary lull on Aros, we could hear the gusts dismally
sweeping in the distance. Over all the lowlands of the
Ross, the wind must have blown as fierce as on the open
sea ; and God only knows the uproar that was raging
around the head of Ben Kyaw. Sheets of mingled
spray and rain were driven in our faces. All round the
isle of Aros the surf, with an incessant, hammering
thunder, beat upon the reefs and beaches. Now louder
in one place, now lower in another, like the combi-
nations of orchestral music, the constant mass of sound
was hardly varied for a moment. And loud above all
this hurly-burly I could hear the changeful voices of the
Roost and the intermittent roaring of the Merry Men.
At that hour, there flashed into my mind the reason of
the name that they were called. For the noise of them
seemed almost mirthful, as it out-topped the other
noises of the night; or if not mirthful, yet instinct
with a portentous joviality. Nay, and it seemed even
human. As when savage men have drunk away their
reason, and, discarding speech, bawl together in their
madness by the hour; so, to my ears, these deadly
breakers shouted by Aros in the night.

Arm in arm, and staggering against the wind, Rorie
and I won every yard of ground with conscious effort.
We slipped on the wet sod, we fell together sprawling
on the rocks. Bruised, drenched, beaten, and breath-

THE GALE 51

less, it must have taken us near half an hour to get from
the house down to the Head that overlooks the Roost.
There, it seemed, was my uncle's favourite observa-
tory. Right in the face of it, where the clifF is highest
and most sheer, a hump of earth, like a parapet, makes
a place of shelter from the common winds, where a man
may sit in quiet and see the tide and the mad billows
contending at his feet. As he might look down from
the window of a house upon some street disturbance,
so, from this post, he looks down upon the tumbling of
the Merry Men. On such a night, of course, he peers
upon a world of blackness, where the waters wheel and
boil, where the waves joust together with the noise of
an explosion, and the foam towers and vanishes in the
twinkling of an eye. Never before had I seen the
Merry Men thus violent. The fury, height and tran-
siency of their spoutings was a thing to be seen and not
recounted. High over our heads on the cliff rose their
white columns in the darkness ; and the same instant,
like phantoms, they were gone. Sometimes three at a
time would thus aspire and vanish ; sometimes a gust
took them, and the spray would fall about us, heavy as
a wave. And yet the spectacle was rather maddening
in its levity than impressive by its force. Thought was
beaten down by the confounding uproar; a gleeful
vacancy possessed the brains of men, a state akin to
madness; and I found myself at times following the
dance of the Merry Men as it were a tune upon a
jigging instrument.

I first caught sight of my uncle when we were still
some yards away in one of the flying glimpses of twi-
light that chequered the pitch darkness of the night*

52 THE MERRY MEN

He was standing up behind the parapet, his head
thrown back and the bottle to his mouth. As he put
it down, he saw and recognised us with a toss of one
hand fleeringly above his head.

" Has he been drinking ? " shouted I to Rorie.

" He will aye be drunk when the wind blaws," re-
turned Rorie in the same high key, and it was ail that
I could do to hear him.

" Then — was he so — in February ? " I inquired.

Rorie's " Ay ** was a cause of joy to me. The mur-
der, then, had not sprung in cold blood from calcula-
tion; it was an act of madness no more to be con-
demned than to be pardoned. My uncle was a danger-
ous mad-man, if you will, but he was not cruel and base
as I had feared. Yet what a scene for a carouse, what
an incredible vice, was this that the poor man had
thosen ! I have always thought drunkenness a wild
and almost fearful pleasure, rather demoniacal than
human; but drunkenness, out here in the roaring
blackness, on the edge of a cliff above that hell of
Waters, the man's head spinning like the Roost, his
foot tottering on the edge of death, his ear watching for
the signs of shipwreck, surely that, if it were credible
in any one, was morally impossible in a man like my
uncle, whose mind was set upon a damnatory creed
and haunted by the darkest superstitions. Yet so it
was ; and, as we reached the bight of shelter and could
breathe again, I saw the man's eyes shining in the
night with an unholy glimmer.

" Eh, Charlie, man, it's grand ! " he cried. " See to
them ! " he continued, dragging me to the edge of the
ttbyss from whence arose that deafening clamour and

THE GALE 53

those clouds of spray; ** see to them dancm', man ! fe
that no wicked ? "

He pronounced the word with gusto, and I thought
it suited with the scene.

** They're yowlin' for thon schooner," he went on, his
thin, insane voice clearly audible in the shelter of the
bank, " an' she's comin' aye nearer, aye nearer, aye
nearer an' nearer an' nearer; an' they ken't, the folk
kens it, they ken weel it's by wi' them. Charlie, lad,
they're a* drunk in yon schooner, a' dozened wi' drink.
They were a' drunk in the Christ-Annay at the hinder
end. There's nane could droon at sea wantin' the
brandy. Hoot awa, what do you ken ? " with a sudden
blast of anger. " I tell ye, it cannae be; they daumal
droon withoot it. Ha'e," holding out the bottle, " tak'
a sowp.

I was about to refuse, but Rorie touched me as if in
warning; and indeed I had already thought better of
the movement. I took the bottle, therefore, and not
only drank freely myself, but contrived to spill even
more as I was doing so. It was pure spirit, and almost
strangled me to swallow. My kinsman did not observe
the loss, but, once more throwing back his head,
drained the remainder of the dregs. Then, with a
loud laugh, he cast the bottle forth among the Merry
Men, who seemed to leap up, shouting to receive it.

" Ha'e, bairns ! " he cried, " there's your han'sel.
Ye'U get bonnier nor that, or morning."

Suddenly, out in the black night before us, and not
two hundred yards away, we heard, at a moment when
the wind was silent, the clear note of a human v<wce.
Instantly the wind swept howling down upon the Head, .

54 THE MERRY MEN

and the Roost bellowed, and churned, and danced with
a new fury. But we had heard the sound, and we
knew, with agony, that this was the doomed ship now
close on ruin, and that what we had heard was the
voice of her master issuing his last command. Crouch-
ing together on the edge, we waited, straining every
sense, for the inevitable end. It was long, however,
and to us it seemed like ages, ere the schooner suddenly
appeared for one brief instant, relieved against a tower
of glimmering foam. I still see her reefed mainsail
flapping loose, as the boom fell heavily across the deck ;
I still see the black outline of the hull, and still think I
can distinguish the figure of a man stretched upon the
tiller. Yet the whole sight we had of her passed swifter
than lightning; the very wave that disclosed her fell
burying her for ever; the mingled cry of many voices
at the point of death rose and was quenched in the
roaring of the Merry Men. And with that the tragedy
was at an end. The strong ship, with all her gear, and
the lamp perhaps still burning in the cabin, the lives
of so many men, precious surely to others, dear, at
least, as heaven to themselves, had all, in that one
moment, gone down into the surging waters. They
were gone like a dream. And the wind still ran and
shouted, and the senseless waters in the Roost still
leaped and tumbled as before.

How long we lay there together, we three, speechless
and motionless, is more than I can tell, but it must
have been for long. At length, one by one, and almost
mechanically, we crawled back into the shelter of the
bank. As I lay against the parapet, wholly wretched
and not entirely master of my mind, I could hear my

THE GALE 55

kinsman maundering to himself in an altered and
melancholy mood. Now he would repeat to himself
with maudlin iteration, " Sic a fecht as they had — sic
a sair fecht as they had, puir lads, puir lads ! " and
anon he would bewail that " a' the gear was as gude's
tint," because the ship had gone down among the
Merry Men instead of stranding on the shore; and
throughout, the name — the Christ-Anna — would
come and go in his divagations, pronounced with
shuddering awe. The storm all this time was rapidly
abating. In half an hour the wind had fallen to a
breeze, and the change was accompanied or caused by
a heavy, cold, and plumping rain. I must then have
fallen asleep, and when I came to myself, drenched,
stiff, and unrefreshed, day had already broken, grey,
wet, discomfortable day; the wind blew in faint and
shifting capfuls, the tide was out, the Roost was at its
lowest, and only the strong beating surf round all the
coasts of Aros remained to witness of the furies of the
night.

CHAPTER V

A MAN OUT OF THE SEA

RORIE set out for the house in search of warmth
and breakfast; but my uncl^ was bent upon
examining the shores of Aros, and I felt it a
part of duty to accompany him throughout. He was
now docile and quiet, but tremulous and weak in mind
and body; and it was with the eagerness of a child that
he pursued his exploration. He climbed far down
upon the rocks; on the beaches, he pursued the re-
treating breakers. The merest broken plank or rag of
cordage was a treasure in his eyes to be secured at the
peril of his life. To see him, with weak and stumbling
footsteps, expose himself to the pursuit of the surf, or
the snares and pitfalls of the weedy rock, kept me in a
perpetual terror. My arm was ready to support him,
my hand clutched him by the skirt, I helped him to
draw his pitiful discoveries beyond the reach of the
returning wave; a nurse accompanying a child of
seven would have had no different experience.

Yet, weakened as he was by the reaction from his
madness of the night before, the passions that smoul-
dered in his nature were those of a strong man. His
terror of the sea, although conquered for the moment,

56

A MAN OUT OF THE SEA $7

was still undiminished; had the sea been a lake of
living flames, he could not have shrunk more panically
from its touch ; and once, when his foot slipped and he
plunged to the midleg into a pool of water, the shriek
that came up out of his soul was like the cry of death.
He sat still for a while, panting like a dog, after that;
but his desire for the spoils of shipwreck triumphed
once more over his fears ; once more he tottered among
the curded foam ; once more he crawled upon the rocks
among the bursting bubbles; once more his whole
heart seemed to be set on driftwood, fit, if it was fit for
anything, to throw upon the fire. Pleased as he was
with what he found, he still incessantly grumbled at
his ill-fortune.

" Aros," he said, " is no a place for wrecks ava' — no
ava^ A' the years Fve dwalt here, this ane maks the
second; and the best o* the gear clean tint ! "

" Uncle," said I, for we were now on a stretch of
open sand, where there was nothing to divert his mind,
" I saw you last night, as I never thought to see you —
you were drunk."

" Na, na," hf said, " no as bad as that. I had been
drinking, though. And to tell ye the God's truth, it's
a thing I cannae mend. There's nae soberer man than
me in my ordnar; but when I hear the wind blaw in
my lug, it's my belief that I gang gyte."

" You are a religious man," I replied, " and this is
sin."

" Ou," he returned, " if it wasnae sin, I dinnae ken
that I would care for't. Ye see, man, it's defiance.
There's a sair spang o' the auld sin o' the warld in yon
sea; it's an unchristian business at the best o't; an'

58 THE MERRY MEN

whiles when it gets up, an* the wind skreighs — the
wind an' her are a kind of sib, Tm thinkin' — an* thae
Merry Men, the daft callants, blawin' and lauchin',
and puir souls in the deid thraws warstlin' the leelang
nicht wi' their bit ships — weel, it comes ower me like
a glamour. Tm a deil, I ken't. But I think naething
o' the puir sailor lads; I'm wi' the sea, I'm just like
ane o* her ain Merry Men."

I thought I should touch him in a joint of his har-
ness. I turned me towards the sea; the surf was run-
ning gaily, wave after wave, with their manes blowing
behind them, riding one after another up the beach,
towering, curving, falling one upon another on the
trampled sand. Without, the salt air, the scared gulls,
the widespread army of the sea-chargers, neighing to
each other, as they gathered together to the assault of
Aros; and close before us, that line on the flat sands
that, with all their number and their fury, they might
never pass.

" Thus far shalt thou go," said I, " and no farther."
And then I quoted as solemnly as I was able a
verse that I had often before fitted to the chorus
of the breakers : —

But 3ret the Lord that is on b^.

Is mocc of might by far,
Than noise of many waters is.

As great sea billows are.

" Ay,** said my kinsman, ** at the hinder end, the
Lord will triumph; I dinnae misdoobt that. But here
on earth, even silly men-folk daur Him to His face.

A MAN OUT OF THE SEA 59

It is nae wise; I am nae sayin' that it's wise; but it's
the pride of the eye, and it's the lust o' life, an' it's the
wale o' pleesures."

I said no more, for we had now begun to cross a neck
of land that lay between us and Sandag; and I with-
held my last appeal to the man's better reason till we
^ should stand upon the spot associated with his crime.
Nor did he pursue the subject; but he walked beside
me with a firmer step. The call that I had made upon
his mind acted like a stimulant, and I could see that he
had forgotten his search for worthless jetsam, in a pro-
found, gloomy, and yet stirring train of thought. In
three or four minutes we had topped the brae and
begun to go down upon Sandag. The wreck had been
roughly handled by the sea; the stem had been spun
round and dragged a little lower down; and perhaps
the stern had been forced a little higher, for the two
parts now lay entirely separate on the beach. When we
came to the grave I stopped, uncovered my head in the
thick rain, and, looking my kinsman in the face,
addressed him.

" A man," said I, " was in God's providence suffered
to escape from mortal dangers; he was poor, he was
naked, he was wet, he was weary, he was a stranger;
he had every claim upon the bowels of your compas-
sion; it may be that he was the salt of the earth,
holy, helpful, and kind; it may be he was a man
laden with iniquities to whom death was the begin-
ning of torment. I ask you in the sight of heaven :
Gordon Darnaway, where is the man for whom Christ
died?"

He started visibly at the last words; but there came

6o THE MERRY MEN

no answer, and his face expressed no feeling but a
vague alarm.

"You were my father's brother," I continued;
" you have taught me to count your house as if it were
my father's house; and we are both sinful men walk-
ing before the Lord among the sins and dangers of this
life. It is by our evil that God leads us into good; we.
sin, I dare not say by His temptation, but I must say
with His consent; and to any but the brutish man his
sins are the beginning of wisdom. God has warned
you by this crime; He warns you still by the bloody
grave between our feet; and if there shall follow no
repentance, no improvement, no return to Him, what
can we look for but the following of some memorable
judgment ? "

Even as I spoke the words the eyes of my uncle wan*
dered from my face. A change fell upon his looks that
cannot be described; lys features seemed to dwindle in
size, the colour faded from his cheeks, one hand rose
waveringly and pointed over my shoulder into the dis-
tance, and the oft-repeated name fell once more from
his lips: " The Christ-Anna! "

I turned; and if I was not appalled to the same
degree, as I return thanks to Heaven that I had not the
cause, I was still startled by the sight that met my
eyes. The form of a man stood upright on the cabin-
hutch of the wrecked ship ; his back was towards us ;
he appeared to be scanning the offing with shaded eyes,
and his figure was relieved to its full height, which was
plainly very great, against the sea and sky. I have said
a thousand times that I am not superstitious; but at
that moment, with my mind running upon death and

A MAN OUT OF THE SEA 6i

sin, the unexplained appearance of a stranger on that
sea-girt, solitary island filled me with a surprise that
bordered close on terror. It seemed scarce possible
that any human soul should have come ashore alive
in such a sea as had raged last night along the coasts
of Aros; and the only vessel within miles had gone
down before our eyes among the Merry Men. I was
assailed with doubts that made suspense unbearable,
and, to put the matter to the touch at once, stepped
forward and hailed the figure like a ship.

He turned about, and I thought he started to behold
us. At this my courage instantly revived, and I called
and signed to him to draw near, and he, on his part,
dropped immediately to the sands, and began slowly to
approach, with many stops and hesitations. At each
repeated mark of the man's uneasiness I grew the more
confident myself; and I advanced another step, en-
couraging him as I did so with my head and hand. It
was plain the castaway had heard indifferent accounts
of our island hospitality ; and indeed, about this time,
the people farther north had a sorry reputation.
" Why," I said, " the man is black! "
And just at that moment, in a voice that I could
scarce have recognised, my kinsman began swearing
and praying in a mingled stream. I looked at him;
he had fallen on his knees, his face was agonised; at
each step of the castaway's the pitch of his voice rose,
the volubility of his utterance and the fervour of his
language redoubled. I call it prayer, for it was
addressed to God; but surely no such ranting incon-
gruities were ever before addressed to the Creator by a
creature: surely if prayer can be a sin, this mad

63 THE MERRY MEN

harangue was sinful. I ran to my kinsman^ I seized
him by the shoulders^ I dragged him to his feet.

" Silence, man," said I, " respect your God in words,
if not in action. Here, on the very scene of your trans-
gressions. He sends you an occasion of atonement.
Forward and embrace it; welcome like a father yon
creature who comes trembling to your mercy."

With that, I tried to force him towards the black;
but he felled me to the ground, burst from my grasp,
leaving the shoulder of his jacket, and fled up the hill-
side towards the top of Aros like a deer. I staggered
to my feet again, bruised and somewhat stunned ; the
negro had paused in surprise, perhaps in terror, some
halfway between me and the wreck; my uncle was
already far away, bounding from rock to rock; and I
thus found myself torn for a time between two duties.
But I judged, and I pray Heaven that I judged rightly,
in favour of the poor wretch upon the sands; his
misfortune was at least not plainly of his own creation;
it was one, besides, that I could certainly relieve; and
I had begun by that time to regard my uncle as an
incurable and dismal lunatic. I advanced accordingly
towards the black, who now awaited my approach
with folded arms, like one prepared for either destiny.
As I came nearer, he reached forth his hand with a
great gesture, such as I had seen from the pulpit, and
spoke to me in something of a pulpit voice, but not a
word was comprehensible. I tried him first in English,
then in Gaelic, both in vain; so that it was clear we
must rely upon the tongue of looks and gestures.
Thereupon I signed to him to follow me, which he did
readily and with a grave obeisance like a fallen king;

A MAN OUT OF THE SEA 63

all the while there had come no shade of alteration
in his face, neither of anxiety while he was still waiting,
nor of relief now that he was reassured; if he were a
slave, as I supposed, I could not but judge he must
have fallen from some high place in his own country,
and fallen as he was, I could not but admire his bear-
ing. As we passed the grave, I paused and raised my
hands and eyes to heaven in token of respect and
sorrow for the dead ; and he, as if in answer, bowed
low and spread his hands abroad; it was a strange
motion, but done like a thing of common custom; and
I supposed it was ceremonial in the land from which
he came. At the same time he pointed to my uncle,
whom we could just see perched upon a knoll, and
touched his head to indicate that he was mad.

We took the long way round the shore, for I feared
to excite my uncle if we struck across the island ; and
as we walked, I had time enough to mature the little
dramatic exhibition by which I hoped to satisfy my
doubts. Accordingly, pausing on a rock, I proceeded
to imitate before the negro the action of the man whom
I had seen the day before taking bearings with the
compass at Sandag. He understood me at once, and,
taking the imitation out of my hands, showed me where
the boat was, pointed out seaward as if to indicate the
position of the schooner, and then down along the edge
of the rock with the words " Espirito Santo," strangely
pronounced, but clear enough for recognition. I had
thus been right in my conjecture; the pretended
historical inquiry had been but a cloak for treasure-
hunting; the man who had played Dr. Robertson was
the same as the foreigner who visited Grisapol in

64 THE MERRY MEN

spring, and now, with many others, lay dead under the
Roost of Aros : there had their greed brought them,
there should their bones be tossed for evermore. In
the meantime the black continued his imitation of the
scene, now looking up skyward as though watching
the approach of the storm ; now, in the character of a
seaman, waving the rest to come aboard; now as an
officer, running along the rock and entering the boat;
and anon bending over imaginary oars with the air of a
hurried boatman; but all with the same solemnity of
manner, so that I was never even moved to smile.
Lastly, he indicated to me, by a pantomime not to be
described in words, how he himself had gone up to
examine the stranded wreck, and, to his grief and
indignation, had been deserted by his comrades; and
thereupon folded his arms once more, and stooped his
head, like one accepting fate.

The mystery of his presence being thus solved for
me, I explained to him by means of a sketch the fate
of the vessel and of all aboard her. He showed no
surprise nor sorrow, and, with a sudden lifting of his
open hand, seemed to dismiss his former friends or
masters (whichever they had been) into God's pleasure.
Respect came upon me and grew stronger, the more I
observed him; I saw he had a powerful mind and a
sober and severe character, such as I loved to com-
mune with ; and before we reached the house of Aros
I had almost forgotten, and wholly forgiven him, his
uncanny colour.

To Mary I told all that had passed without suppres-
sion, though I own my heart failed me; but I did
wrong to doubt her sense of justice.

A MAN OUT OF THE SEA 65

" You did the right," she said. " God's will be
done." And she set out meat for us at once.

As soon as I was satisfied, I bade Rorie keep an eye
upon the castaway, who was still eating, and set forth
again myself to find my uncle. I had not gone far
before I saw him sitting in the same place, upon the
very topmost knoll, and seemingly in the same attitude
as when I had last observed him. From that point, as
I have said, the most of Aros and the neighbouring
Ross would be spread below him like a map ; and it was
plain that he kept a bright look-out in all directions,
for my head had scarcely risen above the summit of
the first ascent before he had leaped to his feet and
turned as if to face me. I hailed him at once, as well
as I was able, in the same tones and words as I had
often used before, when I had come to summon him
to dinner. He made not so much as a movement in
reply. I passed on a little farther, and again tried
parley, with the same result. But when I began a
second time to advance, his insane fears blazed up
again, and still in dead silence, but with incredible
speed, he began to flee from before me along the rocky
summit of the hill. An hour before, he had been dead
weary, and I had been comparatively active. But
now his strength was recruited by the fervour of
insanity, and it would have been vain for me to dream
of pursuit. Nay, the very attempt, I thought, might
have inflamed his terrors, and thus increased the
miseries of our position. And I had nothing left but
to turn homeward and make my sad report to Mary.

She heard it, as she had heard the first, with a con-
cerned composure, and, bidding me lie down and take

66 THE MERRY MEN

that rest of which I stood so much in need, set forth
herself in quest of her misguided father. At that age
it would have been a strange thing that put me from
either meat or sleep ; I slept long and deep ; and it was
already long past noon before I awoke and came down-
stairs into the kitchen. Mary, Rorie, and the black
castaway were seated about the fire in silence ; and I
could see that Mary had been weeping. There was
cause enough, as I soon learned, for tears. First she,
and then Rorie, had been forth to seek my uncle; each
in turn had found him perched upon the hill-top, and
from each in turn he had silently and swiftly fled.
Rorie had tried to chase him, but in vain; madness
lent a new vigour to his bounds ; he sprang from rock
to rock over the widest gullies ; he scoured like the
wind along the hW-tops; he doubled and twisted like
a hare before the dogs; and Rorie at length gave in;
and the last that he saw, my uncle was seated as before
upon the crest of Aros. Even during the hottest
excitement of the chase, even when the fleet-footed
servant had come, for a moment, very near to capture
him, the poor lunatic had uttered not a sound. He
fled, and he was silent, like a beast; and this silence
had terrified his pursuer.

There was something heart-breaking in the situa-
tion. How to capture the madman, how to feed him
in the meanwhile, and what to do with him when he
was captured, were the three difficulties that we had
to solve.

" The black," said I, " is the cause of this attack.
It may even be his presence in the house that keeps
my uncle on the hill. We have done the fair thing;

A MAN OUT OF THE SEA 67

he has been fed and warmed under this roof; now I
propose that Rorie put him across the bay in the coble,
and take him through the Ross as far as Grisapol."

In this proposal Mary heartily concurred ; and bid-
ding the black follow us, we all three descended to the
pier. Certainly, Heaven's will was declared against
Gordon Darnaway; a thing had happened, never
parallelled before in Aros ; during the storm, the coble
had broken loose, and, striking on the rough splinters
of the pier, now lay in four feet of water with one side
stove in. Three days of work at least would be re-
quired to make her float. But I was not to be beaten.
I led the whole party round to where the gut was
narrowest, swam to the other side, and called to the
black to follow me. He signed, with the same clearness
and quiet as before, that he knew not the art; and
there was truth apparent in his signals, it would have
occurred to none of us to doubt his truth ; and that
hope being over, we must all go back even as we came
to the house of Aros, the negro walking in our midst
without embarrassment.

All we could do that day was to make one more
attempt to communicate with the unhappy madman.
Again he was visible on his perch; again he fled in
silence. But food and a great cloak were at least left
for his comfort; the rain, besides, had cleared away,
'and the night promised to be even warm. We might
compose ourselves, we thought, until the morrow;
rest was the chief requisite, that we might be strength-
ened for unusual exertions ; and as none cared to talk,
we separated at an early hour.

I lay long awake, planning a campaign for the

68 THE MERRY MEN

morrow. I was to place the black on the side of San-
dag, whence he should head my uncle towards the
house ; Rorie in the west, I on the east, were to com-
plete the cordon, as best we might. It seemed to me,
the more I recalled the configuration of the island,
that it should be possible, though hard, to force him
down upon the low ground along Aros Bay ; and once
there, even with the strength of his madness, ultimate
escape was hardly to be feared. It was on his terror
of the black that I relied; for I made sure, however he
might run, it would not be in the direction of the man
whom he supposed to have returned from the dead,
and thus one point of the compass at least would be
secure.

When at length I fell asleep, it was to be awakened
shortly after by a dream of wrecks, black men, and
sub-marine adventure ; and I found myself so shaken
and fevered that I arose, descended the stair, and
stepped out before the house. Within, Rorie and the
black were asleep together in the kitchen; outside was
a wonderful clear night of stars, with here and there
a cloud still hanging, last stragglers of the tempest.
It was near the top of the flood, and the Merry Men
were roaring in the windless quiet of the night. Never,
not even in the height of the tempest, had I heard their
song with greater awe. Now, when the winds were
gathered home, when the deep was dandling itself
back into its summer slumber, and when the stars
rained their gentle light ovei; land and sea, the voice
of these tide-breakers was still raised for havoc.
They seemed, indeed, to be a part of the world's evil
and the tragic side of life. Nor were their meaningless

A MAN OUT OF THE SEA 69

vociferations the only sounds that broke the silence of
the night. For I could hear, now shrill and thrilling
and now almost drowned, the note of a human voice
that accompanied the uproar of the Roost. I knew
it for my kinsman's ; and a great fear fell upon me of
God's judgments, and the evil in the world. I went
back again into the darkness of the house as into a
place of shelter, and lay long upon my bed, pondering
these mysteries.

It was late when I again woke, and I leaped into my
clothes and hurried to the kitchen. No one was there ;
Rorie and the black had both stealthily departed long
before; and my heart stood still at the discovery. I
could rely on Rorie's heart, but I placed no trust in his
discretion. If he had thus set out without a word, he
was plainly bent upon some service to my uncle. But
what service could he hope to render even alone, far
less in the company of the man in whom my uncle
found his fears incarnated ? Even if I were not already
too late to prevent some deadly mischief, it was plain
I must delay no longer. With the thought I was out of
the house ; and often as I have run on the rough sides
of Aros, I never ran as I did that fatal morning. I
do not believe I put twelve minutes to the whole
ascent.

My uncle was gone from his perch. The basket had
indeed been torn open and the meat scattered on the
turf; but, as we found afterwards, no mouthful had
been tasted ; and there was not another trace of human
existence in that wide field of view. Day had already
filled the clear heavens; the sun already lighted in a
rosy bloom upon the crest of Ben Kyaw; but all below

TO THE MERRY MEN

me the rude knolls of Aros and the shield of the sea lay
steeped in the clear darkling twilight of the dawn.

" Roriel " I cried; and again " Rorie! " My voice
died in the silence, but there came no answer back.
If there were indeed an enterprise afoot to catch my
uncle, it was plainly not in fleetness of foot, but in
dexterity of stalking, that the hunters placed their
trust. I ran on farther, keeping the higher spurs, and
looking right and left, nor did I pause again till I was
on the mount above Sandag. I could see the wreck,
the uncovered belt of sand, the waves idly beating, the
long ledge of rocks, and on either hand the tumbled
knolls, boulders, and gullies of the island. But still
no human thing.

At a stride the sunshine fell on Aros, and the
shadows and colours leaped into being. Not half a
moment later, below me to the west, sheep began to
scatter as in a panic. There came a cry. I saw my
uncle running. I saw the black jump up in hot pur-
suit ; and before I had time to understand, Rorie also
had appeared, calling directions in Gaelic as to a dog
herding sheep.

I took to my heels to interfere, and perhaps I had
done better to have waited where I was, for I was the
means of cutting off the madman's last escape. There
was nothing before him from that moment but the
grave, the wreck, and the sea in Sandag Bay. And
yet Heaven knows that what I did was for the best.

My uncle Gordon saw in what direction, horrible to
him, the chase was driving him. He doubled, darting
to the right and left; but high as the fever ran in his
veins, the black was still the swifter. Turn where he

A MAN OUT OF THE SEA 71

would, he was still forestalled, still driven toward the
scene of his crime. Suddenly be began to shriek aloud,
so that the coast re-echoed ; and now both I and Rorie
were calling on the black to stop. But all was vain,
for it was written otherwise. The pursuer still ran,
the chase still sped before him screaming; they
avoided the grave, and skimmed close past the timbers
of the wreck; in a breath they had cleared the sand;
and still my kinsman did not pause, but dashed
straight into the surf; and the black, now almost
within reach, still followed swiftly behind him. Rorie
and I both stopped, for the thing was now beyond the
hands of men, and these were the decrees of God that
came to pass before our eyes. There was never a
sharper ending. On that steep beach they were
beyond their depth at a bound; neither could swim;
the black rose once for a moment with a throttling cry;
but the current had them, racing seaward; and if
ever they came up again, which God alone can tell,
it would be ten minutes after, at the far end of Aros
Roost, where the seabirds hover fishing.

WILL O' THE MILL

WILL O' THE MILL

THE PLAIN AND THE STARS

THE Mill where Will lived with his adopted
parents stood in a falling valley between pine-
woods and great mountains. Above, hill
after hill, soared upwards until they soared out of the
depth of the hardiest timber, and stood naked agamst
the sky. Some way up, a long grey village lay like a
seam or a rag of vapour on a wooded hillside ; and
when the wind was favourable, the sound of the church
bells would drop down, thin and silvery, to Will.
Below, the valley grew ever steeper and steeper, and at
the same time widened out on either hand ; and from
an eminence beside the mill it was possible to see its
whole length and away beyond it over a wide plain,
where the river turned and shone, and moved on from
city to city on its voyage towards the sea. It chanced
that over this valley there lay a pass into a neighbour-
ing kingdom; so that, quiet and rural as it was, the
road that ran along beside the river was a high thor-
oughfare between two splendid and powerful socie-
ties. All through the summer, travelling-carriages
came crawling up, or went plunging briskly down-
wards past the mill; and as it happened that the other

75

76 WILL O' THE MILL

side was very much easier of ascent, the path was not
much frequented, except by people going in one di-
rection ; and of all the carriages that Will saw go by,
five-sixths were plunging briskly downwards and only
one-sixth crawling up. Much more was this the case
with foot-passengers. All the light-footed tourists,
all the pedlars laden with strange wares, were tending
downward like the river that accompanied their path.
Nor was this all ; for when Will was yet a child a dis-
astrous war arose over a great part of the world. The
newspapers were full of defeats and victories, the
earth rang with cavalry hoofs, and often for days
together and for miles around the coil of battle terri-
fied good people from their labours in the field. Of
all this, nothing was heard for a long time in the val-
ley; but at last one of the commanders pushed an
army over the pass by forced marches, and for three
days horse and foot, cannon and tumbril, drum and
standard, kept pouring downward past the mill. All
day the child stood and watched them on their pas-
sage — the rhythmical stride, the pale, unshaven faces
tanned about the eyes, the discoloured regimentals
and the tattered flags, filled him with a sense of
weariness, pity, and wonder; and all night long, after
he was in bed, he could hear the cannon pounding
and the feet trampling, and the great armament
sweeping onward and downward past the mill. No one
in the valley ever heard the fate of the expedition,
for they lay out of the way of gossip in those troublous
times; but Will saw one thing plainly, that not a
man returned. Whither had they all gone ? Whither
went all the tourists and pedlars with strange wares I

WILL O' THE MILL 77

whither all the brisk barouches with servants in the
dicky? whither the water of the stream, ever
coursing downward and ever renewed from above?
Even the wind blew oftener down the valley, and
carried the dead leaves along with it in the fall. It
seemed like a great conspiracy of things animate and
inanimate; they all went downward, fleetly and gaily
downward, and only he, it seemed, remained behind,
like a stock upon the wayside. It sometimes made
him glad when he noticed how the fishes kept their
heads up stream. They, at least, stood faithfully by
him, while all else were posting downward to the
unknown world.

One evening he asked the miller where the river
went.

" It goes down the valley," answered he, " and turns
a power of mills — six score mills, they say, from here
to Unterdeck — and it none the wearier after all.
And then it goes out into the lowlands, and waters the
great com country, and runs through a sight of fine
ciries (so they say) where kings live all alone in great
palaces, with a sentry walking up and down before the
door. And it goes under bridges with stone men upon
them, looking down and smiling so curious at the
water, and living folks leaning their elbows on the wall
and looking over too. And then it goes on and on,
and down through marshes and sands, until at last it
falls into the sea, where the ships are that bring
parrots and tobacco from the Indies. Ay, it has a
long trot before it as it goes singing over our weir, bless
its heart 1 "

" And what is the sea ? " asked Will.

78 WILL O* THE MILL

" The sea I " cried the miller. " Lord help us all, it
is the greatest thing God made. That is where all the
water in the world runs down into a great salt lake.
There it lies, as flat as my hand and as innocent*Iike
as a child ; but they do say when the wind blows it gets
up into water-mountains bigger than any of ours, and
swallows down great ships bigger than our mill, and
makes such a roaring that you can hear it miles away
upon the land. There are great fish in it five times
bigger than a bull, and one old serpent as long as our
river and as old as all the world, with whiskers like a
man, and a crown of silver on her head.''

Will thought he had never heard anything like this,
and he kept on asking question after quesrion about
the world that lay away down the river, with all its
perils and marvels, unril the old miller became quite
interested himself, and at last took him by the hand
and led him to the hilltop that overlooks the valley and
the plain. The sun was near setring, and hung low
down in a cloudless sky. Everything was defined and
glorified in golden light. Will had never seen so great
an expanse of country in his life; he stood and gazed
with all his eyes. He could see the cities, and the
woods and fields, and the bright curves of the river,
and far away to where the rim of the plain trenched
along the shining heavens. An over-mastering emo-
tion seized upon the boy, soul and body; his heart
beat so thickly that he could not breathe; the scene
swam before his eyes; the sun seemed to wheel round
and round, and throw off, as it turned, strange shapes
which disappeared with the rapidity of thought, and
were succeeded by others. Will covered his face with

WILL O' THE MILL 79

his hands, and burst into a violent fit of tears ; and
the poor miller, sadly disappointed and perplexed,
saw nothing better for it than to take him up in his
arms and carry him home in silence.

From that day forward Will was full of new hopes
and longings. Something kept tugging at his heart-
strings; the running water carried his desires along
with it as he dreamed over its fleeting surface; the
wind, as it ran over innumerable tree-tops, hailed
him with encouraging words; branches beckoned
downward ; the open road, as it shouldered round the
angles and went turning and vanishing fast and
faster down the valley, tortured him with its solici-
tations. He spent long whiles on the eminence, look-
ing down the river-shed and abroad on the flat low-
lands, and watched the clouds that travelled forth upon
the sluggish wind and trailed their purple shadows
on the plain; or he would linger by the wayside, and
follow the carriages with his eyes as they rattled
downward by the river. It did not matter what it
was; everything that went that way, were it cloud
or carriage, bird or brown water in the stream, he
felt his heart flow out after it in an ecstasy of longing.

We are told by men of science that all the ventures
of mariners on the sea, all that counter-marching of
tribes and races that confounds old history with its;
dust and rumour, sprang from nothing more abstruse^
than the laws of supply and demand, and a certain?
natural instinct for cheap rations. To any one think-
ing deeply, this will seem a dull and pitiful explanation.
The tribes that came swarming out of the North and
East, if they were indeed pressed onward from behind

80 WILL O' THE MILL

by others, were drawn at the same time by the mag-
netic influence of the South and West. The fame of
other lands had reached them; the name of the
eternal city rang in their ears; they were not colonists,
but pilgrims; they travelled towards wine and gold
and sunshine, but their hearts were set on something
higher. That divine unrest, that old stinging trouble
of humanity that makes all high achievements and
all miserable failure, the same that spread wings with
Icarus, the same that sent Columbus into the desolate
Atlantic, inspired and supported these barbarians
on their perilous march. There is one legend which
profoundly represents their spirit, of how a flying
party of these wanderers encountered a very old man
shod with iron. The old man asked them whither
they were going; and they answered with one voice:
" To the Eternal City ! " He looked upon them
gravely. " I have sought it," he said, " over the most
part of the world. Three such pairs as I now carry
on my feet have I worn out upon this pilgrimage, and
now the fourth is growing slender underneath my
steps. And all this while I have not found the city."
And he turned and went his own way alone, leaving
them astonished.

And yet this would scarcely parallel the intensity of
Will's feeling for the plain. If he could only go far
enough out there, he felt as if his eyesight would be
purged and clarified, as if his hearing would grow more
delicate, and his very breath would come and go with
luxury. He was transplanted and withering where he
was; he lay in a strange country and was sick for
home. Bit by bit, he pieced together broken notions

WILL O' THE MILL 8i

of the world below : of the river, ever moving and
growing until it sailed forth into the majestic ocean;
of the cities, full of brisk and beautiful people, playing
fountains, bands of music and marble palaces, and
lighted up at night from end to end with artificial stars
of gold; of the great churches, wise universities, brave
armies, and untold money lying stored in vaults; of
the high-flying vice that moved in the sunshine, and
the stealth and swiftness of midnight murder. I have
said he was sick as if for home : the figure halts. He
was like some one lying in twilit, formless pre-exist-
ence, and stretching out his hands lovingly towards
many-coloured, many-sounding life. It was no won-
der he was unhappy, he would go and tell the fish:
they were made for their life, wished for no more
than worms and running water, and a hole below a
falling bank; but he was differently designed, full
of desires and aspirations, itching at the fingers, lust-
ing with the eyes, whom the whole variegated world
could not satisfy with aspects. The true life, the
true bright sunshine, lay far out upon the plain.
And O ! to see this sunlight once before he died ! to
move with a jocund spirit in a golden land ! to hear the
trained singers and sweet church bells, and see the
holiday gardens ! " And O fish ! " he would cry, " if
you would only turn your noses down stream, you
could swim so easily into the fabled waters and see
the vast ships passing over your head like clouds, and
hear the great water-hills making music over you all
day long ! " But the fish kept looking patiently in
their own direction, until Will hardly knew whether
to laugh or cry.

82 WILL O' THE MILL

Hitherto the traffic on the road had passed by Will,
like something seen in a picture : he had perhaps ex*
changed salutations with a tourist, or caught sight of
an old gentleman in a travelling cap at a carriage
window; but for the most part it had been a mere
symbol, which he contemplated from apart and with
something of a superstitious feeling. A time came
at last when this was to be changed. The miller,
who was a greedy man in his way, and never forewent
an opportunity of honest profit, turned the mill-house
into a little wayside inn, and, several pieces of good
fortune falling in opportunely, built stables and got the
position of postmaster on the road. It now became
Will's duty to wait upon people, as they sat to break
their fasts in the little arbour at the top of the mill
garden; and you may be sure that he kept his ears
open, and learned many new things about the out-
side world as he brought the omelette or the wine.
Nay, he would often get into conversation with single
guests, and by adroit questions and polite attention,
not only gratify his own curiosity, but win the good-
will of the travellers. Many complimented the old
couple on their serving-boy; and a professor was eager
to take him away with him, and have him properly
educated in the plain. The miller and his wife were
mightily astonished and even more pleased. They
thought it a very good thing that they should have
opened their inn. " You see," the old man would
remark, " he has a kind of talent for a publican; he
never would have made anything else I " And so life
wagged on in the valley, with high satisfaction to all
concerned but Will. Every carriage that left the inn-

WILL O' THE MILL Sj

door seemed to take a part of him away with it; and
when people jestingly offered him a lift, he could with
difficulty command his emotion. Night after night
he would dream that he was awakened by flustered
servants, and that a splendid equipage waited at the
door to carry him down into the plain; night after
night; until the dream^ which had seemed all jollity
to him at first, began to take on a colour of gravity, and
the nocturnal summons and waiting equipage occu-
pied a place in his mind as something to be both feared
and hoped for.

One day, when Will was about sixteen, a fat young
man arrived at sunset to pass the night. He was a
contented-looking fellow, with a jolly eye, and carried
a knapsack. While dinner was preparing, he sat in
the arbour to read a book ; but as soon as he had begun
to observe Will, the book was laid aside; he was
plainly one of those who prefer living people to people
made of ink and paper. Will, on his part, although
he had not been much interested in the stranger at
first sight, soon began to take a great deal of pleasure
in his talk, which was full of good nature and good
sense, and at last conceived a great respect for his
character and wisdom. They sat far into the night;
and about two in the morning Will opened his heart
to the young man, and told him how he longed to
leave the valley and what bright hopes he had con-
nected with the cities of the plain. The young man
whistled, and then broke into a smile.

" My young friend," he remarked, " you are a very
curious little fellow to be sure, and wish a great many
things which you will never get. Why, you would feel

84 WILL O' THE MILL

quite ashamed if you knew how the little fellows in
lliese fairy cities of yours are all after the same sort
of nonsense, and keep breaking their hearts to get up
into the mountains. And let me tell you, those who
go down into the plains are a veiy short while there
before they wish themselves heartily back again. The
air is not so light nor so pure; nor is^the sun any
brighter. As for the beautiful men and women, you
would see many of them in rags and many of them
deformed with horrible disorders; and a city is so
hard a place for people who are poor and sensitive
that many choose to die by their own hand."

" You must think me very simple," answered Will.
" Although I have never been out of this valley, believe
me, I have used my eyes. I know how one thing lives
on another; for instance, how the fish hangs in the
eddy to catch his fellows; and the shepherd, who
makes so pretty a picture carrying home the lamb, is
only carrying it home for dinner. I do not expect to
find all things right in your cities. That is not what
troubles me; it might have been that once upon a
time; but although I live here always, I have asked
many questions and learned a great deal in these
last years, and certainly enough to cure me of my
old fancies. But you would not have me die like a
dog and not see all that is to be seen, and do all that
a man can do, let it be good or evil ? you would not
have me spend all my days between this road here and
the river, and not so much as make a motion to be up
and live my life ? — I would rather die out of hand,"
he cried, '' than linger on as I am doing."

" Thousands of people," said the young man^

WILL O' THE MILL 85

M

live and die like you, and are none the less-
happy."

" Ah ! ** said Will, " if there are thousands who
would like, why should not one of them have my
place?"

It was quite dark; there was a hanging lamp in the
arbour which lit up the table and the faces of the
speakers; and along the arch, the leaves upon the
trellis stood out illuminated against the night sky,
a pattern of transparent green upon a dusky purple.
The fat young man rose, and, taking Will by the arm,
led him out under the open heavens.

" Did you ever look at the stars ? " he asked, point-
ing upwards.

" Often and often," answered Will.

" And do you know what they are ? "

" I have fancied many things."

" They are worlds like ours," said the young man.
** Some of them less; many of them a million times
greater; and some of the least sparkles that you see
are not only worlds, but whole clusters of worlds
turning about each other in the midst of space. We do
not know what there may be in any of them; perhaps
the answer to all our difficulties or the cure of all our
sufferings : and yet we can never reach them; not all
the skill of the craftiest of men can fit out a ship for
the nearest of these our neighbours, nor would the
life of the most aged suffice for such a journey. When
a great battle has been lost or a dear friend is dead,
when we are hipped or in high spirits, there they are
unweariedly shining overhead. We may stand down
here, a whole army of us together, and shout until we

S6 WILL O' THE MILL

•break our hearts, and not a whisper reaches them.
We may climb the highest mountain, and we are no
nearer them. All we can do is to stand down here in
the garden and take off our hats ; the starshine lights
upon our heads, and where mine is a little bald, I dare
say you can see it gUsten in the darkness. The
mountain and the mouse. That is like to be all we
shall ever have to do with Arcturus or Aldebaran.
Can you apply a parable ? " he added, laying his
hand upon Will's shoulder. " It is not the same thing
as a reason, but usually vasdy more convincing."

Will hung his head a little, and then raised it once
more to heaven. The stars seemed to expand and
emit a sharper brilliancy; and as he kept turning his
eyes higher and higher, they seemed to increase in
multitude under his gaze.

" I see," he said, turning to the young man. " We
are in a rat-trap."

" Something of that size. Did you ever see a
squirrel turning in a cage ? and another squirrel sit-
ting philosophically over his nuts? I needn't ask
you which (rf them looked more of a fod."

THE parson's MARJORY

After some years the old people died, both in one
winter, very carefully tended by their adopted son, and
very quietly mourned when they were gone. People
who had heard of his roving fancies supposed he would
hasten to sell the property, and go down the river to
push his fortunes. But there was never any sign of
such an intention on the part of Will. On the con-

WILL O' THE MILL 87

traiy, he had the inn set on a better footing, and
hired a couple of servants to assist him in canying
it on; and there he settled down, a kind, talkative,
inscrutable young man, six feet three in his stockings,
with an iron constitution and a friendly voice. He
soon began to take rank in the district as a bit of an
oddity : it was not much to be wondered at from the
first, for he was always full of notions, and kept calling
the plainest common-sense in question; but what
most raised the report upon him was the odd circum-
stance of his courtship with the parson's Marjory.

The parson's Marjory was a lass about nineteen,
when Will would be about thirty; well enough look-
ing, and much better educated than any other girl in
that part of the country, as became her parentage.
She held her head very high, and had already refused
several offers of marriage with a grand air, which
had got her hard names among the neighbours. For
all that she was a good girl, and one that would have
made any man well contented.

Will had never seen much of her; for although the
church and parsonage were only two miles from his
own door, he was never known to go there but on
Sundays. It chanced, however, that the parsonage
fell into disrepair, and had to be dismantled; and the
parson and his daughter took lodgings for a month or
so, on very much reduced terms, at WiB's inn. Now,
what with the rnn, and the mill, and the old miller's
savings, our friend was a man of substance; and
besides that, he had a name for good temper and
shrewdness, which make a capital portion in marriage;
and so it was cnrrently gossiped, among their Ul-

88 WILL O' THE MILL

wishers, that the parson and his daughter had not
chosen their temporary lodging with their eyes shut.
Will was about the last man in the world to be cajoled
or frightened into marriage. You had only to look
into his eyes, limpid and still like pools of water, and
yet with a sort of clear light that seemed to come from
within, and you would understand at once that here
was one who knew his own mind, and would stand
to it immovably. Marjory herself was n'o weakling
by her looks, with strong, steady eyes and a resolute
and quiet bearing. It might be a question whether
she was not Will's match in steadfastness, after all,
or which of them would rule the roast in marriage.
But Marjoiy had never given it a thought, and accom-
panied her father with the most unshaken innocence
and unconcern.

The season was still so early that Will's customers
were few and far between; but the lilacs were already
flowering, and the weather was so mild that the party
took dinner under the trellice, with the noise of the
river in their ears and the woods ringing about them
with the songs of birds. Will soon began to take a
particular pleasure in these dinners. The parson was
rather a dull companion, with a habit of dozing at
table; but nothing rude or cruel ever fell from his Ups.
And as for the parson's daughter, she suited her sur-
roundings with the best grace imaginable ; and what-
ever she said seemed so pat and pretty that Will con-
ceived a great idea of her talents. He could see her
face, as she leaned forward, against a background of
rising pinewoods; her eyes shone peaceably; the
light lay around her hair like a kerchief; something

WILL O' THE MILL 89

that was hardly a smile rippled her pale cheeks, and
Will could not contain himself from gazing on her in
an agreeable dismay. She looked, even in her quietest
moments, so complete in herself, and so quick with
life down to her finger tips and the very skirts of her
dress, that the remainder of created things became
no more than a blot by comparison; and if Will
glanced away from her to her surroundings, the trees
looked inanimate and senseless, the clouds hung in
heaven like dead things, and even the mountain tops
were disenchanted. The whole valley could not com-
pare in looks with this one girl.

Will was always observant in the society of his
fellow-creatures; but his observation became almost
painfully eager in the case of Marjory. He listened
to all she uttered, and read her eyes, at the same rime,
for the unspoken commentary. Many kind, simple,
and sincere speeches found an echo in his heart. He
became conscious of a soul beautifully poised upon
itself, nothing doubring, nothing desiring, clothed in
peaoe. It was not possible to separate her thoughts
from her appearance. The turn of her wrist, the still
sound of her voice, the light in her eyes, the lines of
her body, fell in tune with her grave and gentle words,
like the accompaniment that sustains and harmonises
the voice of the singer. Her influence was one thing,
not to be divided or discussed, only to be felt with
gratitude and joy. To Will, her presence recalled
something of his childhood, and the thought of her
took its place in his mind beside that of dawn, of
running water, and of the earliest violets and lilacs.
It is the property of things seen for the first time, or

90 WILL O' THE MILL

for the first time after long, like the flowers in spring,
to reawaken in us the sharp edge of sense and that
impression of mystic strangeness which otherwise
passes out of life with the coming of years; but the
sight of a loved face is what renews a man's character
from the fountain upwards.

One day after dinner Will took a stroll among the
firs; a grave beatitude possessed him from top to toe,
and he kept smiling to himself and the landscape as he
Went. The river ran between the stepping-stones with
a pretty wimple ; a bird sang loudly in the wood ; the
hill-tops looked immeasurably high, and as he glanced
at them from time to time seemed to contemplate his
movements with a beneficent but awful curiosity. His
way took him to the eminence which overlooked the
plain; and there he sat down upon a stone, and fell
into deep and pleasant thought. The plain lay
abroad with its cities and silver river; everything was
asleep, except a great eddy of birds which kept rising
and falling and going round and round in the blue air.
He repeated Marjory's name aloud, and the sound of
it gratified his ear. He shut his eyes, and her image
sprang up before him, quietly luminous and attended
with good thoughts. The river might run for ever;
the birds fly higher and higher till they touched the
stars. He saw it wsls empty bustle after all; for here,
without stirring a foot, waiting patiently in his own
narrow valley, he also had attained the better sunlight.

The next day Will made a sort of declaration across
the dinner-table, v\^ilc the parson was filling his pipe.

" Miss Marjory," he said, ** I never knew any one I
Hked so well as you. I am mostly a cold, unkindly

WILL O* THE MILL 91

sort cf man; not from want of heart, but out of
strangeness in my way of thinking ; and people seem
far away from me. 'Tis as if there were a circle
round me, which kept every one out but you; I can
hear the others talking and laughing; but you come
quite close. Maybe, .this is disagreeable to you?"
he asked.

Marjory made no answer.

** Speak up, girl," said the parson.

" Nay, now," returned Will, " I wouldn't press her,
parson. I feel tongue-tied myself, who am not used to
it; and she's a woman, and little more than a child,
when all is said. But for my part, as far as I can
understand what people mean by it, I fancy I must be
what they call in love. I do not wish to be held as
committing myself; for I may be wrong; but that is
how I believe things are with me. And if Miss Mar-
jory should feel any otherwise on her part, mayhap
she would be so kind as shake her head."

Marjory was silent, and gave no sign that she had
heard.

" How is that, parson ? " asked Will.

" The girl must speak," replied the parson, laying
down his pipe. " Here's our neighbour who says he
loves you, Madge. Do you love him, ay or no ? "

" I think I do," said Marjory, faintly.

" Well then, that's all that could be wished 1 "
cried Will, heartily. And he took her hand across the
table, and held it a moment in both of his with great
satisfaction.

" You must marry," observed the parson, replacing
his pipe in his mouth.

92 WILL O' THE MILL

" Is that the right thing to do, think you ? " de-
manded Will.

" It is indispensable," said the parson.

" Very well," replied the wooer.

Two or three days passed away with great delight to
Will, although a bystander might scarce have found it
out. He continued to take his meals opposite Mar-
jory, and to talk with her and gaze upon her in her
father's presence; but he made no attempt to see her
alone, nor in any other way changed his conduct
towards her from what it had been since the beginning.
Perhaps the girl was a little disappointed, and perhaps
not unjustly; and yet if it had been enough to be always
in the thoughts of another person, and so pervade and
alter his whole life, she might have been thoroughly
contented. For she was never out of Will's mind for
an instant. He sat over the stream, and watched the
dust of the eddy, and the poised fish, and straining
weeds; he wandered out alone into the purple even,
with all the blackbirds piping round him in the wood ;
he rose early in the morning, and saw the sky turn
from grey to gold, and the light leap upon the hill-tops ;
and all the while he kept wondering if he had never
seen such things before, or how it was that they should
look so different now. The sound of his own mill-
wheel, or of the wind among the trees, confounded
and charmed his heart. The most enchanting
thoughts presented themselves unbidden in his mind.
He was so happy that he could not sleep at night, and
so restless that he could hardly sit still out of her
company. And yet it seemed as if he avoided her
rather than sought her out.

WILL O' THE MILL 93

One day, as he was coming home from a ramble.
Will found Marjory in the garden picking flowers, and
as he came up with her, slackened his pace and con*
tinued walking by her side.

" You like flowers ? " he said.

" Indeed I love them dearly," she replied. " Do
you ? "

" Why, no," said he, " not so much. They are a
very small affair, when all is done. I can fancy people
caring for them greatly, but not doing as you are just
now."

" How ? " she asked, pausing and looking up at
him.

" Plucking them," said he. " They are a deal better
oflF where they are, and look a deal prettier, if you go
to that."

" I wish to have them for my own," she answered,
" to carry them near my heart, and keep them in my
room. They tempt me when they grow here; they
seem to say, * Come and do something with us ; * but
once I have cut them and put them by, the charm is
laid, and I can look at them with quite an easy
heart."

" You wish to possess them," replied Will, " in
order to think no more about them. It's a bit like
killing the goose with the golden eggs. It's a bit like
what I wished to do when I was a boy. Because I had
a fancy for looking out over the plain, I wished to go
down there — where I couldn't look out over it any
longer. Was not that fine reasoning ? Dear, dear, if
they only thought of it, all the world would do like
me; and you would let your flowers alone, just as I

94 WILL O' THE MILL

stay up here in the mountains.** Suddenly he broke
off sharp. " By the Lord ! '* he cried. And when
she asked him what was wrong, he turned the question
off, and walked away into the house with rather a
humorous expression of face.

He was silent at table; and after the night had fallen
and the stars had come out overhead, he walked up and
down for hours in the courtyard and garden with an
uneven pace. There was still a light in the window of
Marjory's room : one little oblong patch of orange in a
world of dark blue hills and silver starlight. Will's
mind ran a great deal on the window; but his thoughts
were not very lover-like. " There she is in her room,'*
he thought, " and there are the stars overhead : — a
blessing upon both ! " Both were good influences in
his life ; both soothed and braced him in his profound
contentment with the world. And what more should
he desire with either? The fat young man and his
councils were so present to his mind, that he threw
back his head, and, putting his hands before his
mouth, shouted aloud to the populous heavens.
Whether from the position of his head or the sudden
strain of the exertion, he seemed to see a momentary
shock among the stars, and a diffusion of frosty light
pass from one to another along the sky. At the same
instant, a corner of the blind was lifted up and lowered
again at once. He laughed a loud ho-ho I " One and
another ! ** thought Will. " The stars tremble, and
the blind goes up. Why, before Heaven, what a great
magician I must be ! Now if I were only a fool, should
not I be in a pretty way ? " And he went off to bed,
chuckling to himself: " If I were only a fool ! '*

WILL O' THE MILL 95

The next morning, pretty early, he saw her once
more in the garden, and sought her out.

" I have been thinking about getting married," he
began abruptly; " and after having turned it all
over, I have made up my mind it*s not worth
while."

She turned upon him for a single moment; but his
radiant, kindly appearance would, under the circum-
stances, have disconcerted an angel, and she looked
down again upon the ground in silence. He could see
her tremble.

" I hope you don't mind," he went on, a little taken
aback. " You ought not. I have turned it all over,
and upon my soul there's nothing in it. We should
never be one whit nearer than we are just now, and, if
I am a wise man, nothing like so happy."

" It is unnecessary to go round about with me," she
said. " I very well remember that you refused to
commit yourself; and now that I see you were mis-
taken, and in reality have never cared for me, I can
only feel sad that I have been so far misled."

" I ask your pardon," said Will stoutly; " you do
not understand my meaning. As to whether I have
ever loved you or not, I must leave that to others. But
for one thing, my feeling is not changed; and for
another, you may make it your boast that you have
made my whole life and character something different
from what they were. I mean what I say; no less. I
do not think getting married is worth while. I would
rather you went on living with your father, so that I
could walk over and see you once, or maybe twice a
week, as people go to church, and then we should both

96 WILL O' THE MILL

be all the happier between whiles. That's my notion*
But ril marry you if you will," he added.

*' Do you know that you are insulting me ? '* she
broke out.

" Not I, Marjory/' said he; " if there is anything in
a clear conscience, not I. I offer all my heart's best
aiFections ; you can take it or want it, though I suspect
it's beyond either your power or mine to change what
has once been done, and set me fancy-free. I'll marry
you, if you like; but I tell you again and again, it's
not worth while, and we had best stay friends. Though
I am a quiet man I have noticed a heap of things in
my life. Trust in me, and take things as I propose;
or, if you don't like that, say the word, and I'll marry
you out of hand."

There was a considerable pause, and Will, who
began to feel uneasy, began to grow angry in con-
sequence.

" It seems you are too proud to say your mind," he
said. " Believe me that's a pity. A clean shrift makes
simple living. Can a man be more downright or
honourable to a woman than I have been ? I have
said my say, and given you your choice. Do you want
me to marry you ? or will you take my friendship, as I
think best ? or have you had enough of me for good ?
Speak out for the dear God's sake ! You know your
father told you a girl should speak her mind in these
affairs."

She seemed to recover herself at that, turned without
a word, walked rapidly through the garden, and dis-
appeared into the house, leaving Will in some con-
fusion as to the result. He walked up and down the

WILL O' THE MILL 97

garden, whistling softly to himself. Sometimes he
stopped and contemplated the sky and hill-tops;
sometimes he went down to the tail of the weir and
gat there, looking foolishly in the water. All this
dubiety and perturbation was so foreign to his nature
and the life which he had resolutely chosen for himself,
that be began to regret Marjory's arrival. " After
all," he thought, " I was as happy as a man need be.
I could come down here and watch my fishes all day
long if I wanted : I was as settled and contented as
my old mill."

Marjory came down to dinner, looking very trim
and quiet; and no sooner were all three at table than
she made her father a speech, with her eyes fixed upon
her plate, but showing no other sign of embarrassment
or distress.

" Father," she began, " Mr. Will and I have been
talking things over. We see that we have each made
a mi^ake about our feelings, and he has agreed, at
my request, to give up all idea of marriage, and be no
more than my very good friend, as in the past. You
see, there is no shadow of a quarrel, and indeed I hope
we shall see a great deal of him in the future, for his
visits will always be welcome in our house. Of course,
father, you will know best, but perhaps we should do
better to leave Mr. Will's house for the present. I
believe, after what has passed, we should hardly be
agreeable inmates for some days."

Will, who had commanded himself with difficulty
from the first, broke out upon this into an inarticulate
noise, and raised one hand with an appearance of real
dismay, as if he were about to interfere and contradict.

98 WILL O* THE MILL

But she checked him at once, looking up at him with
a swift glance and an angry flush upon her cheek.

" You will perhaps have the good grace," she said,
" to let me explain these matters for myself."

Will was put entirely out- of countenance by her ex-
pression and the ring of her voice. He held his peace,
concluding that there were somethings about this girl
beyond his comprehension, in which he was exactly
right.

The poor parson was quite crestfallen. He tried to
prove that this was no more than a true lovers' tifF,
which would pass off before night; and when he was
dislodged from that position, he went on ^o argue that
where there was no quarrel there could be no call for
a separation; for the good man liked both his enter-
tainment and his host. It was curious to see how the
girl managed them, saying little all the time, and that
very quietly, and yet twisting them round her finger
and insensibly leading them wherever she would by
feminine tact and generalship. It scarcely seemed to
have been her doing — it seemed as if things had
merely so fallen out — that she and her father took
their departure that same afternoon in a farm-cart, and
went farther down the valley, to wait, until their own
house was ready for them, in another hamlet. But Will
had been observing closely, and was well aware of her
dexterity and resolution. When he found himself alone
he had a great many curious matters to turn over in
his mind. He was very sad and solitary, to begin with.
All the interest had gone out of his life, and he might
look up at the stars as long as he pleased, he somehow
.failed to find support or consolation. And then he

WILL O' THE MILL 99

was in such turmoil of spirit about Marjory. He had
been puzzled and irritated at her behaviour, and yet he
could not keep himself from admiring it. He thought
he recognised a fine, perverse angel in that still soul
which he had never hitherto suspected; and though he
saw it was an influence that would fit but ill with his
own life of artificial calm, he could not keep himself
from ardently desiring to possess it. Like a man who
has lived among shadows and now meets the sun, he
was both pained and delighted.

As the days went forward he passed from one ex-
treme to another; now pluming himself on the strength
of his determination, now despising his timid and
silly caution. The former was, perhaps, the true
thought of his heart, and represented the regular
tenor of the man's reflections; but the latter burst
forth from time to time with an unruly violence, and
then he would forget all consideration, and go up and
down his house and garden or walk among the fir-
woods like one who is beside himself with remorse.
To equable, steady-minded Will this state of matters
was intolerable; and he determined, at whatever cost,
to bring it to an end. So, one warm summer after-
noon he put on his best clothes, took a thorn switch in
his hand, and set out down the valley by the river. As
soon as he had taken his determination, he had re-
gained at a bound his customary peace of heart, and he
enjoyed the bright weather and the variety of the scene
without any admixture of alarm or unpleasant eager-
ness. It was nearly the same to him how the matter
turned out. If she accepted him he would have to
marry her this time, which perhaps was all for the best.

lOO WILL O' THE MILL

If she refused him, he would have done his utmost,
and might follow his own way in the future with an
untroubled conscience. He hoped, on the whole, she
would refuse him; and then, again, as he saw the
brown roof which sheltered her, peeping through
some willows at an angle of the stream, he was half
inclined to reverse the wish, and more than half
ashamed of himself for this infirmity of purpose.

Marjory seemed glad to see him, and gave him her
hand without affectation or delay.

" I have been thinking about this marriage," he
began.

" So have I," she answered. " And I respect you
more and more for a very wise man. You understood
me better than I understood myself; and I am now
quite certain that things are all for the best as they
are."

" At the same time ,*' ventured Will.

" You must be tired," she interrupted. " Take a
seat and let me fetch you a glass of wine. The after-
noon is so warm ; and I wish you not to be displeased
with your visit. You must come quite often; once a
week, if you can spare the time; I am always so glad
to see my friends."

" O, very well," thought Will to himself. " It
appears I was right after all." And he paid a very
agreeable visit, walked home again in capital spirits,
and gave himself no further concern about the matter.

For nearly three years Will and Marjory continued
on these terms, seeing each other once or twice a week
without any word of love between them ; and for all
that time I believe Will was nearly as happy as a man

WILL O' THE MILL loi

can be. He rather stinted himself the pleasure of
seeing her; and he would often walk half-way over to
the parsonage, and then back again, as if to whet his
appetite. Indeed there was one corner of the road,
whence he could see the church-spire wedged into a
crevice of the valley between sloping firwoods, with a
triangular snatch of plain by way of background, which
he greatly affected as a place to sit and moralise in
before returning homewards ; and the peasants got so
much into the habit of finding him there in the twi-
light that they gave it the name of " Will o' the Mill's
Corner."

At the end of the three years Marjory played him a
sad trick by suddenly marrying somebody else. Will
kept his countenance bravely, and merely remarked
that, for as little as he knew of women, he had acted
very prudently in not marrying her himself three years
before. She plainly knew very little of her own mind,
and, in spite of a deceptive manner, was as fickle and
flighty as the rest of them. He had to congratulate
himself on an escape, he said, and would take a higher
opinion of his own wisdom in consequence. But at
heart, he was reasonably displeased, moped a good
deal for a month or two, and fell away in flesh, to the
astonishment of his serving-lads.

It was perhaps a year after this marriage that Will
was awakened late one night by the sound of a horse
galloping on the road, followed by precipitate knocking
at the inn-door. He opened his window and saw a
farm servant, mounted and holding a led horse by the
bridle, who told him to make what haste he could and
go along with him ; for Marjory was dying, and had

I02 WILL O' THE MILL

sent urgently to fetch him to her bedside. Will was no
horseman, and made so little speed upon the way that
the poor young wife was very near her end before he
arrived. But they had some minutes talk in private,
and he was present and wept very bitterly while she
breathed her last.

DEATH

Year after year went away into nothing, with great
explosions and outcries in the cities on the plain; red
revolt springing up and being suppressed in blood, bat-
tle swaying hither and thither, patient astronomers in
observatory towers picking out and christening new
stars, plays being performed in lighted theatres, people
being carried into hospital on stretchers, and all the
usual turmoil and agitation of men's lives in crowded
centres. Up in Will's valley only the winds and sea-
sons made an epoch ; the fish hung in the swift stream,
the birds circled overhead, the pine-tops rustled under-
neath the stars, the tall hills stood over all; and Will
went to and fro, minding his wayside inn, until the
snow began to thicken on his head. His heart was
young and vigorous; and if his pulses kept a sober
time, they still beat strong and steady in his wrists.
He carried a ruddy stain on either cheek, like a ripe
apple; he stooped a little, but his step was still firm;
and his sinewy hands were reached out to all men
with a friendly pressure. His face was covered with
those wrinkles which are got in open air, and which,
rightly looked at, are no more than a sort of permanent
sunburning; such wrinkles heighten the stupidity of
stupid faces ; but to a person like Will, with his clear

WILL O' THE MILL 103

eyes and smiling mouth, only give another charm by
testifying to a simple and easy life. His talk was full
of wise sayings. He had a taste for other people; and
other people had a taste for him. When the valley was
full of tourists in the season, there were merry nights
in Will's arbour; and his views, which seemed whimsi-
cal to his neighbours, were often enough admired by
learned people out of towns and colleges. Indeed, he
had a very noble old age, and grew daily better known;
so that his fame was heard of in the cities of the plain;
and young men who had been summer travellers spoke
together in cafes of Will o' the Mill and his rough phi-
losophy. Many and many an invitation, you may be
sure, he had; but nothing could tempt him from his
upland valley. He would shake his head and smile
over his tobacco-pipe with a deal of meaning. " You
come too late," he would answer. " I am a dead man
now : I have lived and died already. Fifty years ago
you would have brought my heart into my mouth ; and
now you do not even tempt me. But that is the object
of long living, that man should cease to care about
life." And again : " There is only one difference be-
tween a long life and a good dinner : that, in the din-
ner, the sweets come last." Or once more: " When
I was a boy, I was a bit puzzled, and hardly knew
whether it was myself or the world that was curious
and worth looking intou Now, I know it is myself,
and stick to that."

He never showed any symptoms of frailty, but kept
stalwart and firm to the last; but they say he grew less
talkative towards the end, and would listen to other
people by the hour in an amused and sympathetic

I04 WILL O' THE MILL

silence. Only, when he did speak, it was more to the
point and more charged with old experience. He
drank a bottle of wine gladly; above all, at sunset on
the hilltop or quite late at night under the stars in the
arbour. The sight of something attractive and un-
attainable seasoned his enjoyment, he would say; and
he professed he had lived long enough to admire a
candle all the more when he could compare it with a
planet.

One night, in his seventy-second year, he awoke in
bed, in such uneasiness of body and mind that he arose
and dressed himself and went out to meditate in the
arbour. It was pitch dark, without a star; the river
was swollen, and the wet woods and meadows loaded
the air with perfume. It had thundered during the
day, and it promised more thunder for the morrow.
A murky, stifling night for a nxan of seventy-two!
Whether it was the weather or the wakefulness, or
some little touch of fever in his old limbs, Will's mind
was besieged by tumultuous and crjring memories. His
boyhood, the night with the fat young man, the death
of his adopted parents, the summer days with Marjory,
and many of those small circumstances, which seem
nothing to another, and are yet the very gist of a
man's own life to himself — things seen, words heard,
looks misconstrued — arose from their forgotten cor-
ners and usurped his attention. The dead them-
selves were with him, not merely taking part in this
thin show of memory that defiled before his brain, but
revisiting his bodily senses as they do in profound and
vivid dreams. The fat young man leaned his elbows on
the table opposite; Marjory came and went with an

WILL O* THE MILL 105

apronful of flowers between the garden and the arbour;
he could hear the old parson knocking out his pipe or
blowing his resonant nose. The tide of his conscious-
ness ebbed and flowed : he was sometimes half-asleep
and drowned in his recollections of the past; and some-
times he was broad awake, wondering at himself. But
about the middle of the night he was startled by the
voice of the dead miller calling to him out of the house
as he used to do on the arrival of custom. The hallu-
cination was so perfect that Will sprang from his seat
and stood listening for the summons to be repeated;
and as he listened he became conscious of another noise
besides the brawling of the river and the ringing in his
feverish ears. It was like the stir of the horses and the
creaking of harness, as though a carriage with an im-
patient team had been brought up upon the road before
the courtyard gate. At such an hour, upon this rough
and dangerous pass, the supposition was no better than
absurd; and Will dismissed it from his mind, and re-
sumed his seat upon the arbour chair; and sleep closed
over him again like running water. He was once again
awakened by the dead miller's call, thinner and more
spectral than before; and once again he heard the
noise of an equipage upon the road. And so thrice and
four times, the same dream, or the same fancy, pre-
sented itself to his senses: until at length, smiling to
himself as when one humours a nervous child, he
proceeded towards the gate to set his uncertainty at
rest.

From the arbour to the gate was no great distance,
and yet it took Will some time; it seemed as if the
dead thickened around him in the court, and crossed

io6 WILL O* THE MILL

his path at every step. For, first, he was suddenly
surprised by an overpowering sweetness of heliotropes ;
it was as if his garden had been planted with this
flower from end to end, and the hot, damp night had
drawn forth all their perfumes in a breath. Now the
heliotrope had been Marjory's favourite flower, and
since her death not one of them had ever been planted
in Will's ground.

" I must be going crazy," he thought. " Poor
Marjory and her heliotropes ! "

And with that he raised his eyes towards the window
that had once been hers. If he had been bewildered
before, he was now almost terrified; for there was a
light in the room; the window was an orange oblong
as of yore; and the corner of the blind was lifted and
let fall as on the night when he stood and shouted to
the stars in his perplexity. The illusion only endured
an instant; but it left him somewhat unmanned, rub-
bing his eyes and staring at the outline of the house and
the black night behind it. While he thus stood, and it
seemed as if he must have stood there quite a long
time, there came a renewal of the noises on the road :
and he turned in time to meet a stranger, who was ad-
vancing to meet him across the court. There was
something like the outline of a great carriage discerni-
ble on the road behind the stranger, and, above that, a
few black pine-tops, like so many plumes.

** Master Will ? " asked the new-comer, in brief mili-
tary fashion.

" That same, sir," answered Will. " Can I do any-
thing to serve you ? "

" I have heard you much spoken of. Master Will,**

WILL O' THE MILL 107

returned the other; " much spoken of, and well. And
though I have both hands full of business, I wish to
drink a bottle of wine with you in your arbour.
Before I go, I shall introduce myself."

Will led the way to the trellis, and got a lamp lighted
and a bottle uncorked. He was not altogether unused
to such complimentary interviews, and hoped little
enough from this one, being schooled by many disap-
pointments. A sort of cloud had settled on his wits
and prevented him from remembering the strangeness
of the hour. He moved like a person in his sleep ; and
it seemed as if the lamp caught fire and the bottle came
uncorked with the facility of thought. Still, he had
some curiosity about the appearance of his visitor, and
tried in vain to turn the light into his face; either he
handled the lamp clumsily, or there was a dimness over
his eyes; but he could make out little more than a
shadow at table with him. He stared and stared at this
shadow, as he wiped out the glasses, and began to feel
cold and strange about the heart. The silence weighed
upon him, for he could hear nothing now, not even the
river, but the drumming of his own arteries in his ears.

" Here's to you," said the stranger roughly.

" Here is my service, sir," replied Will, sipping his
wine, which somehow tasted oddly.

" I understand you are a very positive fellow," pur-
sued the stranger.

Will made answer with a smile of some satisfaction ,
and a little nod.

" So am I," continued the other; " and it is the de-
light of my heart to tramp on people's corns. I will
have nobody positive but myself; not one. I have

io8 WILL O' THE MILL

crossed the whims, in my time, of kings and generals
and great artists. And what would you say," he went
on, " if I had come up here on purpose to cross
yours ? "

Will had it on his tongue to make a sharp rejoinder;
but the politeness of an old innkeeper prevailed ; and
he held his peace and made answer with a civil gesture
of the hand.

" I have," said the stranger. " And if I did not hold
you in a particular esteem I should make no words
about the matter. It appears you pride yourself on
staying where you are. You mean to stick by your inn.
Now I mean you shall come for a turn with me in my
barouche; and before this bottle's empty, so you
shall."

" That would be an odd thing, to be sure," replied
Will, with a chuckle. " Why, sir, I have grown here
like an old oak-tree; the Devil himself could hardly
root me up : and for all I perceive you are a very enter-
taining old gentleman, I would wager you another
bottle you lose your pains with me."

The dimness of Will's eyesight had been increasing
all this while; but he was somehow conscious of a
sharp and chilling scrutiny which irritated and yet
overmastered him.

" You need not think," he broke out suddenly, in an
explosive, febrile manner that startled and alarmed
himself, " that I am a stay-at-home, because I fear
anything under God. God knows I am tired enough
of it all; and when the time comes for a longer
journey than ever you dream of, I reckon I shall find
myself prepared."

WILL O' THE MILL 109

The stranger emptied his glass and pushed it away
from him. He looked down for a little, and then,
leaning over the table, tapped Will three times upon
the forearm with a single finger. " The time has
come ! " he said solemnly.

An ugly thrill spread from the spot he touched.
The tones of his voice were dull and startling, and
echoed strangely in Will's heart.

" I beg your pardon," he said, with some discom-
posure. " What do you mean ? "

" Look at me, and you will find your eyesight swim.
Raise your hand; it is dead-heavy. This is your last
bottle of wine, Master Will, and your last night upon
the earth."

" You are a doctor ? " quavered Will.

" The best that ever was," replied the other; " for
I cure both mind and body with the same prescription.
I take away all pain and I forgive all sins ; and where
my patients have gone wrong in life, I smooth out all
complications and set them free again upon their feet."

" I have no need of you," said Will.

" A time comes for all men. Master Will," replied
the doctor, " when the helm is taken out of their hands.
For you, because you were prudent and quiet, it has
been long of coming, and you have had long to dis-
cipline yourself for its reception. You have seen what
is to be seen about your mill; you have sat close all
your days like a hare in its form; but now that is at
an end; and," added the doctor, getting on his feet^
" you must arise and come with me."

" You are a strange physician," said Will, looking
steadfastly upon his guest.

no WILL O* THE MILL

" I am a natural law," he replied, " and people call
me Death."

" Why did you not tell me so at first ? " cried Will.
** I have been waiting for you these many years.
Give me your hand, and welcome."

** Lean upon my arm," said the stranger, " for al-
ready your strength abates. Lean on me heavily as
you need ; for though I am old, I am very strong. It
is but three steps to my carriage, and there all your
trouble ends. Why, Will," he added, " I have been
yearning for you as if you were my own son ; and of
all the men that ever I came for in my long days,
I have come for you most gladly. I am caustic, and
sometimes offend people at first sight; but I am a good
friend at heart to such as you."

" Since Marjory was taken," returned Will, " I
declare before God you were the only friend I had to
look for."

So the pair went arm-in-arm across the courtyard.

One of the servants awoke about this time and
heard the noise of horses pawing before he dropped
asleep again; all down the valley that night there
was a rushing as of a smooth and steady wind de-
scending towards the plain; and when the world rose
next morning, sure enough Will o' the Mill had gone
at last upon his travels.

MARKHEIM

MARKHEIM

"ES," said the dealer, " our windfalls are of
various kinds. Some customers are igno-
rant, and then I touch a dividend on my
superior knowledge. Some are dishonest/' and here
he held up the candle, so that the light fell strongly
on his visitor, '* and in that case," he continued, '* I
profit by my virtue."

Markheim had but just entered from the daylight
streets, and his eyes had not yet grown familiar with
the mingled shine and darkness in the shop. At these
pointed words, and before the near presence of the
flame, he blinked painfully and looked aside.

The dealer chuckled. " You come to me on Christ*
mas Day," he resumed, " when you know that I am
alone in my house, put up my shutters, and make a
point of refusing business. Well, you will have to pay
for that; you will have to pay for my loss of time,
when I should be balancing my books ; you will have
to pay, besides, for a kind of manner that I remark in
you to-day very strongly. I am the essence of discre-
tion, and ask no awkward questions; but when a cus-
tomer cannot look me in the eye, he has to pay for it."
The dealer once more chuckled; and then, changing
to his usual business voice, though still with a note of

113

114 MARKHEIM

irony, " You can give, as usual, a clear account of how
you came into the possession of the object ? " he con-
tinued. " Still your uncle's cabinet ? A remarkable
collector, sir ! "

And the little pale, round-shouldered dealer stood
almost on tip-toe, looking over the top of his gold
spectacles, and nodding his head with every mark of
disbelief. Markheim returned his gaze with one of
infinite pity, and a touch of horror.

" This time," said he, " you are in error. I have
not come to sell, but to buy. I have no curios to dis-
pose of; my uncle's cabinet is bare to the wainscot;
even were it still intact, I have done well on the Stock
Exchange, and should more likely add to it than other-
wise, and my errand to-day is simplicity itself. I seek
a Christmas present for a lady," he continued, waxing
more fluent as he struck into the speech he had pre-
pared ; " and certainly I owe you every excuse for
thus disturbing you upon so small a matter. But the
thing was neglected yesterday; I must produce my
little compliment at dinner; and, as you very well
know, a rich marriage is not a thing to be neglected."

There followed a pause, during which the dealer
seemed to weigh this statement incredulously. The
ticking of many clocks among the curious lumber of
the shop, and the faint rushing of the cabs in a near
thoroughfare, filled up the interval of silence.

" Well, sir," said the dealer, " be it so. You are an
old customer after all; and if, as you say, you have
the chance of a good marriage, far be it from me to be
an obstacle. Here is a nice thing for a lady now," he
went on, " this hand glass — fifteenth century, war-

MARKHEIM 115

ranted; comes from a good collection, too; but I
reserve the name, in the interests of my customer,
who was just like yourself, my dear sir, the nephew ahd
sole heir of a remarkable collector."

The dealer, while he thus ran on in his dry and biting
voice, had stooped to take the object from its place;
and, as he had done so, a shock had passed through
Markheim, a start both of hand and foot, a sudden
leap of many tumultuous passions to the face. It
passed as swiftly as it came, and left no trace beyond
a certain trembling of the hand that now received the
glass.

" A glass," he said hoarsely, and then paused, and
repeated it more clearly. ** A glass ? For Christmas ?
Surely not ? "

" And why not ? " cried the dealer. " Why not
a glass ? "

Markheim was looking upon him with an indefin-
able expression. " You ask me why not ? " he said.
" Why, look here — look in it — look at yourself!
Do you like to see it ? No ! nor I — nor any man."

The little man had jumped back when Markheim
had so suddenly confronted him with the mirror; but
now, perceiving there was nothing worse on hand, he
chuckled. ** Your future lady, sir, must be pretty
hard favoured," said he.

" I ask you," said Markheim, " for a Christmas
present, and you give me this — this damned re-
minder of years, and sins and follies — this hand-
conscience ! Did you mean it ? Had you a thought
in your mind ? Tell me. It will be better for you if
you do. Come, tell me about yourself. I hazard

ii6 MARKHEIM

a guess now, that you are in secret a very charitable
man ? "

The dealer looked closely at his companion. It was
very odd, Markheim did not appear to be laughing;
there was something in his face like an eager sparkle
of hope, but nothing of mirth.

" What are you driving at ? " the dealer asked.

" Not charitable ? '* returned the other, gloomily.
** Not charitable; not pious; not scrupulous; un-
loving, unbeloved; a hand to get money, a safe to
keep it. Is that all ? Dear God, man, is that all ? "

" I will tell you what it is," began the dealer, with
some sharpness, and then broke off again into a
chuckle. " But I see this is a love match of yours, and
you have been drinking the lady's health."

" Ah ! " cried Markheim, with a strange curiosity.
** Ah, have you been in love ? Tell me about that."

" I," cried the dealer. " I in love ! I never had the
time, nor have I the time to-day for all this nonsense.
Will you take the glass ? "

" Where is the hurry ? " returned Markheim. " It
is very pleasant to stand here talking; and life is so
short and insecure that I would not hurry away from
any pleasure — no, not even from so mild a one as
this. We should rather cling, cling to what little we
can get, like a man at a cliff's edge. Every second is
a cliff, if you think upon it — a cliff a mile high —
high enough, if we fall, to dash us out of every feature
of humanity. Hence it is best to talk pleasantly.
Let us talk of each other; why should we wear this
mask? Let us be confidential. Who knows, we
might become friends ? "

MARKHEIM 117

" I have just one word to say to you," said the
dealer. " Either make your purchase, or walk out of
my shop."

" True, true," said Markheim. " Enough fooling.
To business. Show me something else."

The dealer stooped once more, this time to replace
the glass upon the shelf, his thin blond hair falling
over his eyes as he did so. Markheim moved a little
nearer, with one hand in the pocket of his greatcoat;
he drew himself up and filled his lungs ; at the same
time many different emotions were depicted together
on his face — terror, horror, and resolve, fascination
and a physical repulsion; and through a haggard lift
of his upper lip, his teeth looked out.

" This perhaps may suit," observed the dealer; and
then, as he began to re-arise, Markheim bounded
from behind upon his victim. The long, skewerlike
dagger flashed and fell. The dealer struggled like
a hen, striking his temple on the shelf, and then
tumbled on the floor in a heap.

Time had some score of small voices in that shop,
some stately and slow as was becoming to their great
age; others garrulous and hurried. All these told out
the seconds in an intricate chorus of tickings. Then
the passage of a lad's feet, heavily running on the pave-
ment, broke in upon these smaller voices and startled
Markheim into the consciousness of his surroundings.
He looked about him awfully. The candle stood on
the counter, its flame solemnly wagging in a draught;
and by that inconsiderable movement, the whole room
was filled with noiseless bustle and kept heaving like
a sea: the tall shadows nodding, the gross blots of

ri8 MARKHEIM

darkness swelling and dwindling as with respiration,
the faces of the portraits and the china gods changing
and wavering like images in water. The inner door
stood ajar, and peered into that leaguer of shadows
with a long slit of daylight like a pointing finger.

From these fear-stricken rovings, Markheim's eyes
returned to the body of his victim, where it lay both
humped and sprawling, incredibly small and strangely
meaner than in life. In these poor, miserly clothes, in
that ungainly attitude, the dealer lay like so much
sawdust. Markheim had feared to see it, and, lo ! it
was nothing. And yet, as he gazed, this bundle of old
clothes and pool of blood began to find eloquent
voices. There it must lie; there was none to work the
cunning hinges or direct the miracle of locomotion —
there it must lie till it was found. Found ! ay, and
then ? Then would this dead flesh lift up a cry that
would ring over England, and fill the world with the
echoes of pursuit. Ay, dead or not, this was still the
enemy. " Time was that when the brains were out,"
bethought; and the first word struck into his mind.
Time, now that the deed was accomplished — time,
which had closed for the victim, had become instant
and momentous for the slayer.

The thought was yet in his mind, when, first one and
then another, with every variety of pace and voice —
one deep as the bell from a cathedral turret, another
ringing on its treble notes the prelude of a waltz —
the clocks began to strike the hour of three in the
afternoon.

The sudden outbreak of so many tongues in that
dumb chamber staggered him. He began to bestir

MARKHEIM 119

himself, going to and fro with the candle, beleaguered
by moving shadows, and istartled to the soul by chance
reflections. In many rich mirrors, some of home de-
signs, some from Venice or Amsterdam, he saw his
face repeated and repeated, as it were an army of
spies; his own eyes met and detected him; and the
sound of his own steps, lightly as they fell, vexed the
surrounding quiet. And still as he continued to fill his
pockets, his mind accused him, with a sickening itera-
tion, of the thousand faults of his design. He should
have chosen a more quiet hour; he should have pre-
pared an alibi; he should not have used a knife; he
should have been more cautious, and only bound and
gagged the dealer, and not killed him; he should
have been more bold, and killed the servant also; he
should have done all things otherwise; poignant
regrets, weary, incessant toiling of the mind to change
what was unchangeable, to plan what was now use-
less, to be the architect of the irrevocable past.
Meanwhile, and behind all this activity, brute terrors,
like the scurrying of rats in a deserted attic, filled the
more remote chambers of his brain with riot; the
hand of the constable would fall heavy on his shoul-
der, and his nerves would jerk like a hooked fish;
or he beheld, in galloping defile, the dock, the prison,
the gallows, and the black coffin.

Terror of the people in the street sat down before
his mind like a besieging army. It was impossible, he
thought, but that some rumour of the struggle must
have reached their ears and set on edge their curiosity;
and now, in all the neighbouring houses, he divined
them sitting motionless and with uplifted ear — soli-

I20 MARKHEIM

tary people^ condemned to spend Christmas dwelling
alone on memories of the past, and now startlingly
recalled from that tender exercise; happy family
parties, struck into silence round the table, the mother
still with raised finger: every degree and age and
humour, but all, by their own hearths, prying and
hearkening and weaving the rope that was to hang
him. Sometimes it seemed to him he could not move
too softly; the clink of the tall Bohemian goblets rang
out loudly like a bell; and alarmed by the bigness of
the ticking, he was tempted to stop the clocks. And
then, again, with a swift transition of his terrors, the
very silence of the place appeared a source of peril,
and a thing to strike and freeze the passer-by; and
he would step more boldly, and bustle aloud among
the contents of the shop, and imitate, with elaborate
bravado, the movements of a busy man at ease in his
own house.

But he was now so pulled about by different alarms
that, while one portion of his mind was still alert and
cunning, another trembled on the brink of lunacy.
One hallucination in particular took a strong hold on
his credulity. The neighbour hearkening with white
face beside his window, the passer-by arrested by a
horrible surmise on the pavement — these could at
worst suspect, they could not know; through the
brick walls and shuttered windows only sounds could
penetrate. But here, within the house, was he alone ?
He knew he was ; he had watched the servant set forth
sweethearting, in her poor best, " out for the day '*
written in every ribbon and smile. Yes, he was alone,
of course; and yet, in the bulk of empty house above

MARKHEIM 121

liim, he could surely hear a stir of delicate footing —
he was surely conscious, inexplicably conscious of
gome presence. Ay, surely; to every room and corner
of the house his imagination followed it ; and now it
was a faceless thing, and yet had eyes to see with;
and again it was a shadow of himself; and yet again
behold the image of the dead dealer, reinspired with
cunning and hatred.

At times, with a strong effort, he would glance at the
open door which still seemed to repel his eyes. The
house was tall, the skylight small and dirty, the day
blind with fog; and the light that filtered down to the
ground storey was exceedingly faint, and showed dimly
on the threshold of the shop. And yet, in that strip
of doubtful brightness, did there not hang wavering a
shadow ?

Suddenly, from the street outside, a very jovial
gentleman began to beat with a staff on the shop-door,
accompanying his blows with shouts and railleries in
which the dealer was continually called upon by
name. Markheim, smitten into ice glanced at the
dead man. But no! he lay quite still; he was fled
away far beyond earshot of these blows and shoutings ;
he was sunk beneath seas of silence; and his name,
which would once have caught his notice above the
howling of a storm, had become an empty sound.
And presently the jovial gentleman desisteid from his
knocking aTid departed.

Here was a broad him to hurry what remained to be
done, to get forth from this accusing neighbourhood,
to <pbiuiige ifnto a bath of London mukitudes, and to
readi, on the other side of day, that haven of safety

122 MARKHEIM

and apparent innocence — his bed. One visitor had
come: at any moment another might follow and be
more obstinate. To have done the deed, and yet not
to reap the profit, would be too abhorrent a failure.
The money, that was now Markheim's concern;
and a's a means to that, the keys.

He glanced over his shoulder at the open door, where
the shadow was still lingering and shivering; and
with no conscious repugnance of the mind, yet with a
tremor of the belly, he drew near the body of his
victim. The human character had quite departed.
Like a suit half-stuffed with bran, the limbs lay
scattered, the trunk doubled, on the floor; and yet the
thing repelled him. Although so dingy and incon-
siderable to the eye, he feared it might have more
significance to the touch. He took the body by the
shoulders, and turned it on its back. It was strangely
light and supple, and the limbs, as if they had been
broken, fell into the oddest postures. The face was
robbed of all expression ; but it was as pale as wax,
and shockingly smeared with blood about one temple.
That was, for Markheim, the one displeasing circum-
stance. It carried him back, upon the instant, to a
certain fair day in a fishers' village: a grey day, a
piping wind, a crowd upon the street, the blare of
brasses, the booming of drums, the nasal voice of a
ballad singer; and a boy going to and fro, buried
over head in the crowd and divided between interest
and fear, until, coming out upon the chief place of
concourse, he beheld a booth and a great screen
with pictures, dismally designed, garlishly coloured:
Brownrigg with her apprentice; the Mannings with

MARKHEIM 123

their murdered guest; Weare in the death-grip of
Thurtell ; and a score besides of famous crimes. The
thing was as clear as an illusion ; he was once again
that little boy; he was looking once again, and with
the same sense of physical revolt, at these vile pictures ;
he was still stunned by the thumping of the drums.
A bar of that day's music returned upon his memory ;
and at that, for the first time, a qualm came over him,
a breath of nausea, a sudden weakness of the joints,
which he must instantly resist and conquer.

He judged it more prudent to confront than to flee
from these considerations; looking the more hardily
in the dead face, bending his mind to realise the nature
and greatness of his crime. So little a while ago that
face had moved with every change of sentiment, that
pale mouth had spoken, that body had been all on fire
with governable energies; and now, and by his act,
that piece of life had been arrested, as the horologist,
with interjected finger, arrests the beating of the clock.
So he reasoned in vain; he could rise to no more
remorseful consciousness ; the same heart which had
shuddered before the painted effigies of crime, looked
on its reality unmoved. At best, he felt a gleam of
pity for one who had been endowed in vain with all
those faculties that can make the world a garden of
enchantment, one who had never lived and who was
now dead. But of penitence, no, not a tremor.

With that, shaking himself clear of these considera-
tions, he found the keys and advanced towards the
open door of the shop. Outside, it had begun to rain
smartly ; and the sound of the shower upon the roof
had banished silence. Like some dripping cavern,

124 MARKHEIM

the chambers of the house were haunted by an inces-
sant echoing, which filled the ear and mingled with the
ticking of the clocks. And, as Markheim approached
the door, he seemed to hear, in answer to his own
cautious tread, the steps of another foot withdrawing
up the stair. The shadow still palpitated loosely on
the threshold. He threw a ton's weight of resolve upon
his muscles, and drew back the door.

The faint, foggy dayhght glimmered dimly on the
bare floor and stairs; on the bright suit of armour
posted, halbert in hand, upon the landing; and on the
dark wood-carvings, and framed pictures that hung
against the yellow panels of the wainscot. So loud was
the beating of the rain through all the house that, in
Markheim's ears, it began to be distinguished into
many different sounds. Footsteps and sighs, the
tread of regiments marching in the distance, the
chink of money in the counting, and the creaking of
doors held stealthily ajar, appeared to mingle with the
patter of the drops upon the cupola and the gushing of
the water in the pipes. The sense that he was not alone
grew upon him to the verge of madness. On every side
he was haunted and begirt by presences. He heard
them moving in the upper chambers; from the shop,
he heard the dead man getting to his legs; and as he
began with a great eflFort to mount the stairs, feet fled
quietly before him and followed stealthily behind.
If he were but deaf, he thought, how tranquilly he
would possess his soul ! And then again, and heark*
ening with ever fresh attention, be blessed himself for
that unresting sense which held the outposts and
stood a trusty sentinel upon his life. His head turned

MARKHEIM 125

continually on his neck; his eyes, which seemed
starting from their orbits, scouted on every side, and
on every side were half-rewarded as with the tail of
something nameless vanishing. The four-and-twenty
steps to the first floor were four-and-twenty agonies.
On that first storey, the doors stood ajar, three of
them like three ambushes, shaking his nerves like the
throats of cannon. He could never again, he felt, be
sufficiently immured and fortified from men's observ-
ing eyes; he longed to be home, girt in by walls,
buried among bedclothes, and invisible to all but God.
And at that thought he wondered a little, recollecting
tales of other murderers and the fear they were said to
entertain of heavenly avengers. It was not so, at least,
with him. He feared the laws of nature, lest, in their
callous and immutable procedure, they should pre-
serve some damning evidence of his crime. He feared
tenfold more, with a slavish, superstitious terror, some
scission in the continuity of man's experience, some
wilful illegality of nature. He played a game of skill,
depending on the rules, calculating consequence from
cause; and what if nature, as the defeated tyrant
overthrew the chess-board, should break the mould of
their succession i The like had befallen Napoleon (so
writers said) when the winter changed the time of its
appearance. The like might befall Markheim: the
solid walls might become transparent and reveal his
doings like those of bees in a glass hive; the stout
planks might yield under his foot like quicksands and
detain him in their clutch; ay, and there were soberer
accidents that might destroy him : if, for instance, the
house should fall and imprison him beside the body of

126 MARKHEIM

his victim; or the house next door should fly on fire,
and the firemen invade him from all sides. These
things he feared; and, in a sense, these things might
be called the hands of God reached forth against sin.
But about God himself he was at ease; his act was
doubtless exceptional, but so were his excuses, which
God knew; it was there, and not among men, that he
felt sure of justice.

When he had got safe into the drawing-room, and
shut the door behind him, he was aware of a respite
from alarms. The room was quite dismantled, un-
carpeted besides, and strewn with packing cases and
incongruous furniture; several great pier-glasses, in
which he beheld himself at various angles, like an
actor on a stage; many pictures, framed and unframed,
standing, with their faces to the wall ; a fine Sheraton
sideboard, a cabinet of marquetry, and a great old
bed, with tapestry hangings. The windows opened
to the floor; but by great good fortune the lower part
of the shutters had been closed, and this concealed
him from the neighbours. Here, then, Markheim
drew in a packing case before the cabinet, and began
to search among the keys. It was a long business, for
there were many; and it was irksome, besides; for,
after all, there might be nothing in the cabinet, and
time was on the wing. But the closeness of the occu-
pation sobered him. With the tail of his eye he saw
the door — even glanced at it from time to time
directly, like a besieged commander pleased to verify
the good estate of his defences. But in truth he was at
peace. The rain falling in the street sounded natural
and pleasant. Presently, on the other side, the notes

MARKHEIM 127

of a piano were wakened to the music of a hymn, and
the voices of many children took up the air and words.
How stately, how comfortable was the melody ! How
fresh the youthful voices ! Markheim gave ear to it
smilingly, as he sorted out the keys ; and his mind was
thronged with answerable ideas and images ; church-
going children and the pealing of the high organ;
children afield, bathers by the brookside, ramblers on
the brambly common, kite-flyers in the windy and
cloud-navigated sky ; and then, at another cadence of
the hymn, back again to church, and the somnolence
of summer Sundays, and the high genteel voice of the
parson (which he smiled a little to recall) and the
painted Jacobean tombs, and the dim lettering of the
Ten Commandments in the chancel.

And as he sat thus, at once busy and absent, he was
startled to his feet. A flash of ice, a flash of fire, a
bursting gush of blood, went over him, and then he
stood transfixed and thrilling. A step mounted the
stair slowly and steadily, and presently a hand was
laid upon the knob, and the lock clicked, and the
door opened.

Fear held Markheim in a vice. What to expect he
knew not, whether the dead man walking, or the
ofiicial ministers of human justice, or some chance
witness blindly stumbling in to consign him to the
gallows. But when a face was thrust into the aperture,
glanced round the room, looked at him, nodded and
smiled as if in friendly recognition, and then withdrew
again, and the door closed behind it, his fear broke
loose from his control in a hoarse cry. At the sound of
this the visitant returned.

128 MARKHEIM

" Did you call me ? " he asked, pleasantly, and with
that he entered the room and closed the door behind
him.

Markheim stood and gazed at him with all his eyes.
Perhaps there was a film upon his sight, but the out-
lines of the new comer seemed to change and waver
like those of the idols in the wavering candle-light of
the shop ; and at times he thought he kiiew him ; and
at times he thought he bore a likeness to himself; and
always like a lump of living terror, there lay in his
bosom the conviction that this thing was not of the
earth and not of God.

And yet the creature had a strange air of the com-
monplace, as he stood looking on Markheim with a
smile ; and when he added : " You are looking for the
money, I believe f '' it was in the tones of everyday
politeness.

Markheim made no answer.

" I should warn you," resumed the other, " that the
maid has left her sweetheart earlier than usual and
will soon be here. If Mr. Markheim be found in this
house, I need not describe to him the consequences."

'* You know me ? " cried the murderer.

The visitor smiled. " You have long been a favourite
of mine," he said; " and I have long observed and
often sought to help you."

" What are you ? " cried Markheim : " the devil ? "

" What I may be," returned the other, ** cannot
affect the service I propose to render you."

" It can," cried Markheim; " it does! Be helped
by you ? No, never; not by you ! You do not know
me yet; thank God, you do not know mel "

MARKHEIM 129

" I know you/* replied the visitant, with a sort of
kind severity or rather firmness. " I know you to the
soul."

" Know me ! " cried Markheim. " Who can do
so ? My life is but a travesty and slander on myself.
I have lived to belie my nature. All men do; all men
are better than this disguise that grows about and
stifles them. You see each dragged away by life, like
one whom bravos have seized and muffled in a cloak.
If they had their own control — if you could see their
faces, they would be altogether different, they would
shine out for heroes and saints! I am worse than
most ; myself is more overlaid ; my excuse is known
to me and God. But, had I the time, I could disclose
myself"

" To me ? ** inquired the visitant.

" To you before all," returned the murderer. " I
supposed you were intelligent. I thought — since you
exist — you would prove a reader of the heart. And
yet you would propose to judge me by my acts ! Think
of it; my acts ! I was born and I have lived in a land
of giants ; giants have dragged me by the wrists since
I was born out of my mother — the giants of circum-
stance. And you would judge me by my acts ! But
can you not look within ? Can you not understand
that evil is hateful to me ? Can you not see within me
the clear writing of conscience, never blurred by any
wilful sophistry, although too often disregarded ? Cart
you not read me for a thing that surely must be com-
mon as humanity — the unwilling sinner ? "

" All this is very feelingly expressed," was the reply,
** but it regards me not. These points of consistency '

I30 MARKHEIM

are beyond my province, and I care not in the least by
what compulsion you may have been dragged away>
so as you are but carried in the right direction. But
time flies; the servant delays, looking in the faces of
the crowd and at the pictures on the hoardings, but
still she keeps moving nearer; and remember, it is as
if the gallows itself was striding towards you through
the Christmas streets ! Shall I help you; I, who know
all ? Shall I tell you where to find the money ? "

" For what price ? " asked Markheim.

" I offer you the service for a Christmas gift,"
returned the other.

Markheim could not refrain from smiling with a
kind of bitter triumph. ** No," said he, " I will take
nothing at your hands; if I were dying of thirst, and
it was your hand that put the pitcher to my lips, I
should find the courage to refuse. It may be credu-
lous, but I will do nothing to commit myself to evil."

" I have no objection to a death-bed repentance,"
observed the visitant.

" Because you disbelieve their efiicacy ! " Mark-
heim cried.

" I do not say so," returned the other; " but I
look on these things from a different side, and when
the life is done my interest falls. The man has lived
to serve me, to spread black looks under colour of
religion, or to sow tares in the wheat-field, as you do,
in a course of weak compliance with desire. Now that
he draws so near to his deliverance, he can add but
one act of service — to repent, to die smiling, and
thus to build up in confidence and hope the more
timorous of my surviving followers. I am not so hard

MARKHEIM 131

a master. Try me. Accept my help. Please yourself
in life as you have done hitherto; please yourself more
amply, spread your elbows at the board; and when
the night begins to fall and the curtains to be drawn,
I tell you, for your greater comfort, that you will find
it even easy to compound your quarrel with your
consciencQ^ and to make a truckling peace with God.
I came but now from such a deathbed, and the room
was full of sincere mourners, listening to the man's
last words : and when I looked into that face, which
had been set as a flint against mercy, I found it smiling
with hope."

** And do you, then, suppose me such a creature ? "
asked Markheim. " Do you think I have no more
generous aspirations than to sin, and sin, and sin,
and, at last, sneak into heaven ? My heart rises at the
thought. Is this, then, your experience of mankind ?
or is it because you find me with red hands that you
presume such baseness ? and is this crime of murder
indeed so impious as to dry up the very springs of
good ? "

" Murder is to me no special category," replied the
other. " All sins are murder, even as all life is war.
I behold your race, like starving mariners on a raft,
plucking crusts out of the hands of famine and feeding
on each other's lives. I follow sins beyond the moment
of their acting; I find in all that the last consequence
is death ; and to my eyes, the pretty maid who thwarts
her mother with such taking graces on a question of a
ball, drips no less visibly with human gore than such
a murderer as yourself. Do I say that I follow sins ?
I follow virtues also; they differ not by the thickness

132 MARKHEIM

of a nail, they are both scythes for the reaping angel
of Death. Evil, for which I live, consists not in action
but in character. The bad man is dear to me; not
the bad act, whose fruits, if we could follow them far
enough down the hurtling cataract of the ages, might
yet be found more blessed than those of the rarest
virtues. And it is not because you have killed a dealer,
but because you are Markheim, that I offered to
forward your escape.*'

/* I will lay my heart open to you," answered Mark-
heim. " This crime on which you find me is my last.
On my way to it I have learned many lessons ; itself
IS a lesson, a momentous lesson. Hitherto I have been
driven with revolt to what I would not; I was a bond-
slave to poverty, driven and scourged. There are
robust virtues that can stand in these temptations;
mine was not so: I had a thirst of pleasure. But
to-day, and out of this deed, I pluck both warning and
riches — both the power and a fresh resolve to be
myself. I become in all things a free actor in the
world ; I begin to see myself all changed, these hands
the agents of good, this heart at peace. Something
comes over me out of the past; something of what I
have dreamed on Sabbath evenings to the sound of the
church organ, of what I forecast when I shed tears
over noble books, or talked, an innocent child, with
my mother. There lies my life; I have wandered a
few years^ but now I see once more my city of destina-
tion.''

" You are to use this money cm the Stock Exchange,
I think ? " remarked the visitor; " and there, if I
anistake not, you have already lost some thousands ? **

MARKHEIM 133

" Ah," said Markheim, " but this time I have a sure
thing."

" This time, again, you will lose," replied the visitor
quietly.

" Ah, but I keep back the half! " cried Mark-
heim.

" That also you will lose," said the other.

The sweat started upon Markheim's brow. " Well,
then, what matter ? " he exclaimed. " Say it be lost,
say I am plunged again in poverty, shall one part of
me, and that the worse, continue until the end to over-
ride the better? Evil and good run strong in me,
haling me both ways. I do not love the one thing, I
love all. I can conceive great deeds, renunciations,
martyrdoms ; and though I be fallen to such a crime as
murder, pity is no stranger to my thoughts. I pity the
poor; who knows their trials, better than myself? I
pity and help them ; I prize love, I love honest laugh-
ter; there is no good thing nor true thing on earth but
I love it from my heart. And are my vices only to
direct my life, and my virtues to lie without effect, like
some passive lumber of the mind? Not so; good, also,
is a spring of acts."

But the visitant raised his finger. " For six-and-
thirty years that you have been in this world," said he,
" through many changes of fortune and varieties of
humour, I have watched you steadily fall. Fifteen
years ago you would have started at a theft. Three
years back you would have blenched at the name of
murder. Is there any crime, is there any cruelty or
meanness, from which you still recoil ? — five years
from now I shall detect you in the fact ! Downward,

134 MARKHEIM

downward, lies your way; nor can anything but death
avail to stop you."

" It is true," Markheim said huskily, " I have in
some degree complied with evil. But it is so with
all: the very saints, in the mere exercise of living,
grow less dainty, and take on the tone of their sur-
roundings."

" I will propound to you one simple question," said
the other; " and as you answer, I shall read to you
your moral horoscope. You have grown in many
things more lax; possibly you do right to be so; and
at any account, it is the same with all men. But
granting that, are you in any one particular, however
trifling, more difficult to please with your own conduct,
or do you go in all things with a looser rein ? "

" In any one ? " repeated Markheim, with an an-
guish of consideration. ** No," he added, with despair,
" in none ! I have gone down in all."

" Then," said the visitor, " content yourself with
what you are, for you will never change; and the
words of your part on this stage are irrevocably written
down.

Markheim stood for a long while silent, and indeed
it was the visitor who first broke the silence. ** That
being so," he said, " shall I show you the money ? "

" And grace ? " cried Markheim.

" Have you not tried it ? " returned the other.
" Two or three years ago, did I not see you on the
platform of revival meetings, and was not your voice
the loudest in the hymn ? "

" It is true," said Markheim; " and I see clearly
what remains for me by way of duty. I thank you for

MARKHEIM 135

these lessons from my soul ; my eyes are opened, and I
behold myself at last for what I am."

At this moment the sharp note of the dogr-bell rang
through the house; and the visitant, as though this
were some concerted signal for which he had been
waiting, changed at once in his demeanour.

" The maid ! " he cried. ** She has returned, as I
forewarned you, and there is now before you one more
difficult passage. Her master, you must say, is ill ; you
must let her in, with an assured but rather serious
countenance — no smiles, no overacting, and I promise
you success ! Once the girl within, and the door closed,
the same dexterity that has already rid you of the dealer
will relieve you of this last danger in your path.
Thenceforward you have the whole evening — the
whole night, if needful — to ransack the treasures of
the house and to make good your safety. This is help
that comes to you with the mask of danger. Up ! *'
he cried: " up, friend; your life hangs trembling in
the scales : up, and act ! "

Markheim steadily regarded his counsellor. " If I
be condemned to evil acts," he said, " there is still one
door of freedom open — I can cease from action. If
my life be an ill thing, I can lay it down. Though I be,
as you say truly, at the beck of every small temptation,
I can yet, by one decisive gesture, place myself beyond
the reach of all. My love of good is damned to barren-
ness; it may, and let it be I But I have still my hatred
of evil ; and from that, to your galling disappointment,
you shall see that I can draw both energy and
courage."

The features of the visitor began to undergo a won-

136 MARKHEIM

derful and lovely change : they brightened and soft-
ened with a tender triumph ; and, even as they bright-
ened, faded and dislimned. But Markheim did not
pause to watch or understand the transformation. He
opened the door and went downstairs very slowly,
thinking to himself. His past went soberly before him ;
he beheld it as it was, ugly and strenuous Uke a dream,
random as chance-medley — a scene of defeat. Life,
as he thus reviewed it, tempted him no longer; but on
the further side he perceived a quiet haven for his bark.
He paused in the passage, and looked into the shop,
where the candle still burned by the dead body. It was
strangely silent. Thoughts of the dealer swarmed into
his mind, as he stood gazing. And then the bell once
more broke out into impatient clamour.

He confronted the maid upon the threshold with
something like a smile.

" You had better go for the police," said he: "I
have killed your master.**

THRAWN JANET

THRAWN JANET

THE Reverend Murdoch Soulis was long minister
of the moorland parish of Balweary, in the
vale of Dule. A severe, bleak-faced old man,
dreadful to his hearers, he dwelt in the last years of life,
without relative or servant or any human company, in
the small and lonely manse under the Hanging Shaw.
In spite of the iron composure of his features, his eye
was wild, scared, and uncertain ; and when he dwelt, in
private admonitions, on the future of the impenitent,
it seemed as if his eye pierced through the storms of
time to the terrors of eternity. Many young persons,
coming to prepare themselves against the season of the
Holy Communion, were dreadfully affected by his
talk. He had a sermon on ist Peter, v. and 8th, " The
devil as a roaring lion," on the Sunday after every
seventeenth of August, and he was accustomed to sur-
pass himself upon that text both by the appalling na-
ture of the matter and the terror of his bearing in the
pulpit. The children were frightened into fits, and the
old looked more than usually oracular, and were, all
that day, full of those hints that Hamlet deprecated.
The manse itself, where it stood by the water of Dule
among some thick trees, with the Shaw overhanging it
on the one side, and on the other many cold, moorish
hilltops rising towards the sky, had begun, at a very

139

I40 THRAWN JANET

early period of Mr. Soulis's ministry, to be avoided in
the dusk hours by all who valued themselves upon their
prudence ; and guidmen sitting at the clachan alehouse
shook their heads together at the thought of passing
late by that uncanny neighbourhood. There was one
spot, to be more particular, which was regarded with
especial awe. The manse stood between the high road
and the water of Dule, with a gable to each ; its back
was towards the kirktown of Balweary, nearly half a
mile away; in front of it, a bare garden, hedged with
thorn, occupied the land between the river and the
road. The house was two stories high, with two large
rooms on each. It opened not directly on the garden,
but on a causewayed path, or passage, giving on the
road on the one hand, and closed on the other by the
tall willows and elders tljat boi-dered on the stream*
And it was this strip of causeway that enjoyed among
the young parishioners of Balweary so infamous a repu-
tation. The minister walked there often after dark,
sometimes groaning aloud in the instancy of his un-
spoken prayers; and when he was from home, and the
manse door was locked, the more daring schoolboys
ventured, with beating hearts, to " follow my leader "^
across that legendary spot.

This atmosphere of terror, surrounding, as it did, a
man of God of spotless character and orthodoxy, was a
common cause of wonder and subject of inquiry among
the few strangers who were led by chance or business
into that unknown, outlying country. But many even
of the people of the parish were ignorant of the strange
events which had marked the first year of Mr. Soulis's
ministrations ; and among those who were better in-

THRAWN JANET 141

formed, some were naturally reticent, and others shy of
that particular topic. Now and again, only, one of
the older folk would warm into courage over his third
tumbler, and recount the cause of the minister's strange
looks and solitary life.

Fifty years sjme, when Mr. Soulis cam first into
Ba Veary, he was still a young man — a callant, the
folk said — fu' o' book leamin* and grand at the ex-
position, but, as was natural in sae young a man, wi*
nae leevin' experience in religion. The younger sort
were greatly taken wi' his gifts and his gab; but
auld, concerned, serious men and women were moved
even to prayer for the young man, whom they took to
be a self-deceiver, and the parish that was like to be
sae ill-supplied. It was before the days o' the
moderates — weary fa' them ; but ill things are like
guid — they baith come bit by bit, a pickle at a time;
and there were folk even then that said the Lord had
left the college professors to their ain devices, an' the
lads that went to study wi' them wad hae done mair
and better sittin* in a peat-bog, like their for-
bears of the persecution, wi' a Bible under their ox-
ter and a speerit o' prayer in their^ heart. There was
nae doubt, onyway, but that Mr. Soulis had been ower
lang at the college. He was careful and troubled for
mony things besides the ae thing needful. He had a
feck o* books wi' him — mair than had ever been seen
before in a' that presbytery ; and a sair wark the carrier
had wi' them, for they were a' like to have smoored in
the Deil's Hag between this and Kilmackerlie. They
were books o' divinity, to be sure, or so they ca'd them;

142 THRAWN JANET

but the serious were o' opinion there was little service
for sae mony, when the hail o' God's Word would gang
in the neuk of a plaid. Then he wad sit half the day
and half the nicht forbye, which was scant decent —
writin', nae less; and first, they were feared he wad
read his sermons ; and syne it proved he was writin' a
book himsel', which was surely no fittin' for ane of his
years an' sma' experience.

Onyway it behoved him to get an auld, decent wife
to keep the manse for him an' see to his bit denners ;
and he was recommended to an auld limmer — Janet
M'Clour, they ca'd her — and sae far left to himsel' as
to be ower persuaded. There was mony advised him to
the contrar, for Janet was mair than suspeckit by the
best folk in Ba'weary. Lang or that, she had had a
wean to a dragoon; she hadnae come forrit^ for maybe
thretty year; and bairns had seen her mumblin' to
hersel' up on Key's Loan in the gloamin', whilk was aa
unco time an' place for a God-fearin' woman. Howso-
ever, it was the laird himsel' that had first tauld the
minister o' Janet; and in thae days he wad have gane a
far gate to pleesure the laird. When folk tauld him
that Janet was sib to the deil, it was a' superstition by
his way of it ; an' when they cast up the Bible to him
an' the witch of Endor, he wad threep it doun their
thrapples that thir days were a' gane by, and the deil
was mercifully restrained.

Weel, when it got about the clachan that Janet

M'Clour was to be servant at the manse, the folk were

fair mad wi' her an' him thegether; and some o' the

guidwives had nae better to dae than get round her,

* To come forrit — to offer oneself as a communicant.

THRAWN JANET 143

door cheeks and chairge her wi' a' that was ken't again
her, frae the sodger's bairn to John Tamson's twa kye.
She was nae great speaker; folk usually let her gang
her ain gate, an* she let them gang theirs, wi' neither
Fair-guid-een nor Fair-guid-day ; but when she buckled
to, she had a tongue to deave the miller. Up she got,
an' there wasnae an auld story in BaVeary but she
gart somebody lowp for it that day; they couldnae
say ae thing but she could say twa to it; till, at the
hinder end, the guidwives up and claught baud of her,
and clawed the coats a(F her back, and pu'd her doun
the clachan to the water o' Dule, to see if she were a
witch or no, soum or droun. The carline skirled till ye
could hear her at the Hangin* Shaw, and she focht
like ten; there was mony a guidwife bure the mark
of her neist day an' mony a lang day after; and just
in the hettest o' the coUieshangie, wha suld come up
(for his sins) but the new minister.

" Women," said he (and he had a grand voice), " I
charge you in the Lord's name to let her go."

Janet ran to him — she was fair wud wi' terror —
an' clang to him, an' prayed him, for Christ's sake,
save her frae the cummers; an' they, for their pairt,
tauld him a' that was ken't and maybe mair.

" Woman," says he to Janet, " is this true ? "

" As the Lord sees me," says she, " as the Lord
made me, no a word o't. Forbye the bairn," says
she, " I've been a decent woman a' my days."

" Will you," says Mr. Soulis, " in the name of God,
and before me. His unworthy minister, renounce the
devil and his works ? "

Weel, it wad appear that when he askit that, she

144 THRAWN JANET

gave a gim that fairiy frichtit them that saw her, acf
they could hear her teeth play dirl thegether in her
chafts; but there was naething for it but the ae way or
the idler; an' Janet lifted up her hand and renounced
the deil before them a'.

" And now," says Mr. Soulis to the guidwives,
** home with ye, one and all, and pray to God for His
forgiveness."

And he gied Janet his arm, though she had little on
her but a sark, and took her up the clachan to her ain
door like a leddy of the land ; an' her scrieghin' and
laughin' as was a scandal to be heard.

There were mcMiy grave folk lang ower their prayers
that nicht; but when the mom cam' there was sic
fear fell upon a' Ba'weary that the bairns hid theirsels,
and even the men folk stood and keekit frae their doors.
For there was Janet comin' doun the clachan — her of
her Ukeness,nane could tell — wi' her neck thrawn,and
her heid on ae side, like a body that has been hangit,
and a gim on her face, like an unstreakit corp. By an'
by they got used wi' it, and even speered at her to ken
what was wrang; but frae that day forth she couldnae
speak like a Christian woman, but slavered and played
click wi' her teeth like a pair o' shears ; and frae that
day forth the name o' God cam never on her lips.
Whiles she wad try to say it, but it michtnae be.
Them that kenned best said least ; but they never gied
that Thing the name o' Janet M'Clour; for the auld
Janet, by their way o't, was in muckle hell that day.
But the minister was neither to haud nor to bind ; he
preached about naething but the folk's cruelty that had
gi'en her a stroke of the palsy; he skelpt the bairns that

THRAWN JANET 145

meddled her; and he had her up to the manse that
same nicht, and dwalled there a' his lane ^' her under
the Hangin' Shaw.

Wed, time gaed by : and the idler sort commenced
to think mair lichtly o' that black business. The min-
ister was weel thocht o* ; he was aye late at the writing,
folk wad see his can'le doon by the Dule water after
twal' at e*en; and he seemed pleased wi' himsel' and
upsitten as at first, though a' body could see that he
was dwining. As for Janet she cam an' she gaed; if
she didnae speak muckle afore, it was reason she
should speak less then; she meddled naebody; but
she was an eldritch thing to see, an' nane wad hae
mistrysted wi' her for Ba'weary glebe.

About the end o' July there cam' a spell o' weather,,
the like o't never was in that country side; it was lown
an' het an' heartless; the herds couldnae win up the
Black Hill, the bairns were ower weariet to play; an'
yet it was gousty too, wi' claps o' het wund that rum-
m'led in the glens, and bits o' shouers that slockened
naething. We aye thocht it but to thun'er on the
mom ; but the mom cam, an' the mom's morning, and
it was aye the same uncanny weather, sair on folks and
bestial. Of a' that were. the waur, nane suffered like
Mr. Soulis; he could neither sleep nor eat, he tauld his
elders; an' when he wasnae writin' at his weary book,
he wad be stravaguin' ower a' the countryside like a
man possessed, when a' body else was blythe to keep
caller ben the house.

Abune Hangin' Shaw, in the bield o' the Black Hill,
there's a bit enclosed grund wi' an iron yett; and it
seems, in the auld days, that was the kirkyaird o'

146 THRAWN JANET

Ba'weary, and consecrated by the Papists before the
blessed licht shone upon the kingdom. It was a great
howfF, o' Mr. Soulis's onyway; there he would sit an'
consider his sermons; and inded it's a bieldy bit.
Weel, as he came ower the wast end o' the Black Hill,
ae day, he saw first twa, an' syne fower, an' syne seeven
corbie craws fleein' round an' round abune the auld
kirkyaird. They flew laigh and heavy, an' squawked
to ither as they gaed; and it was clear to Mr. Soulis
that something had put them frae their ordinar. He
wasnae easy fleyed, an' gaed straucht up to the wa's;
and what suld he find there but a man, or the appear-
ance of a man, sittin' in the inside upon a grave. He
was of a great stature, an' black as hell, and his e'en
were singular to see.^ Mr. Soulis had heard tell of o'
black men, mony's the time ; but there was something
unco about this black man that daunted him. Het as
he was, he took a kind o' cauld grue in the marrow o'
his banes; but up he spak for a' that; an' says he:
" My friend, are you a stranger in this place ? " The
black man answered never a word; he got upon his
feet, an* begude to hirsle to the wa' on the far side;
but he aye lookit at the minister; an' the minister
stood an' lookit back ; till a' in a meenute the black
man was ower the wa' an' rinnin' for the bield o' the
the trees. Mr. Soulis, he hardly kenned why, ran after
him; but he was sair forjaskit wi' his walk an' the het,
unhalesome weather; and rin as he likit, he got nae

* It was a common belief in Scotland that the devil appeared
as a black man. This appears in several witch trials and I think
in Law's Memorials^ that delightful store-house of the quaint and
grisly.

THRAWN JANET 147

mair than a glisk o' the black man amang the birks,
till he won doun to the foot o' the hillside, an' there he
saw him ance mair, gaun, hap, step, an' lowp, ower
Dule water to the manse.

Mr. Soulis wasnae weel pleased that this fearsome
gangrel suld mak' sae free wi' Ba'weary manse; an'
he ran the harder, an' wet shoon, ower the burn, an'
up the walk ; but the deil a black man was there to see.
He stepped out upon the road, but there was naebody
there; he gaed a' ower the gairden, but na, nae black
man. At the hinder end, and a bit feared as was but
natural, he lifted the hasp and into the manse; and
there was Janet M'Clour before his een, wi' her thrawn
craig, and nane sae pleased to see him. And he aye
minded sinsyne, when first he set his een upon her, he
had the same cauld and deidly grue.

" Janet," says he, " have you seen a black man ? "

"A black man?" quo' she. "Save us a' 1 Ye're
no wise, minister. There's nae black man in a*
Ba-weary."

But she didnae speak plain, ye maun understand;
but yam-yammered, like a powny wi' the bit in its moo.

" Weel," says he, " Janet, if there was nae black
man, I have spoken with the Accuser of the Brethren."

And he sat down like ane wi' a fever, an' his teeth
chittered in his heid.

" Hoots," says she, " think shame to yoursel*,
minister; " an' gied him a drap brandy that she keept
aye by her.

Syne Mr. Soulis gaed into his study amang a' his
books. It's a lang, laigh, mirk chalmer, perishin'
cauld in winter, an' no very dry even in the top o*

148 THRAWN JANET

the simmer, for the manse stands near the bum. Sae
doun he sat, and thocht of a' that had come an' gane
since he was in Ba-weary, an' his hame^ an' the days
when he was a bairn an' ran daffin' on the braes ; and
that black man aye ran in his heid like the owercome
of a sang. Aye the mair he thocht, the mair he thocht
o' the black man. He tried the prayer, an' the words
woiddnae come to him; an' he tried, they say, to
write at his book, but he could nae mak' nae mair
o' that. There was whiles he thocht the black man
was at his oxter, an' the swat stood upon him cauld
as well-water; and there was other whiles, when he
cam to himsel' like a christened bairn and minded
naething.

The upshot was that he gaed to the window an'
stood glowrin' at Dule water. The trees are unco
thick, an' the water lies deep an' black under the
manse; and there was Janet washin' the cla'es wi'
her coats kilted. She had her back to the minister,
an' he, for his pairt, hardly kenned what he was
lookin' at. Syne she turned round, an' shawed her
face; Mr. Soulis had the same cauld grue as twice
that day afore, an' it was borne in upon him what
folk said, that Janet was deid lang syne, an' this was
a bogle in her clay-cauld flesh. He drew back a pickle
and he scanned her narrowly. She was tramp-
trampin' in the cia'es, croonin' to hersel'; and eh!
Gude guide us, but it was a fearsome face. Whiles
she sang louder, but there was nae man born o' woman
that could tell the words o' her sang; an' whiles she
lookit side-lang doun, but there was naething there for
her to look at. There gaed a scunner through the

THRAWN JANET 149

flesh upon his banes; and that was Heeven's adver-
tisement. But Mr. Soulis just blamed himsel', he
said, to think sae ill of a puir, auld afflicted wife that
hadnae a freend forbye himsel'; an' he put up a bit
prayer for him an' her, an' drank a little caller water
— for his heart rose again the meat — an' gaed up to
his naked bed in the gloaming.

That was a nicht that has never been forgotten in
Ba'weary, the nicht o' the seeventeenth of August,
seventeen hun'er' an twal'. It had been het afore, as
I hae said, but that nicht it was better than ever. The
sun gaed doun amang unco-lookki' clouds; it fell as
mirk as the pit ; no a star, no a breath o' wund ; ye
couldnae see your ban' afore your face, and even tnc
auld folk cuist the covers frae their beds and lay
pechin' for their breath. Wi' a' that he had upon his
mind, it was gey and unlikely Mr. Soulis wad get
muckle sleep. He lay an' he tummled; the gude,
caller bed that he got into brunt his very banes; whiles
he slept, and whiles he waukened; whiles he heard
the time o' nicht, and whiles a tyke yowlin' up the
muir, as if somebody was deid ; whiles he thocht he
heard bogles claverin* in his lug, an* whiles he saw
spunkies in the room. He behoved, he judged, to be
sick ; an* sick he was — little he jaloosed the sickness.

At the hinder end, he got a clearness in his mind,
sat up in his sark on the bed-side, and fell thinkin'
ance mair o* the black man an' Janet. He couldnae
weel tell how — maybe it was the cauld to his feet —
but it cam' in upon him wi' a spate that there was some
connection between thir twa, an' that either or baith
o* them were bogles. And just at that moment, in

ISO THRAWN JANET

Janet's room, which was neist to his, there cam' a
stramp o* feet as if men were wars'lin', an' then a loud
bang; an' then a wund gaed reishling round the fower
quarters of the house; an' then a' was aince mair as
seelent as the grave.

Mr. Soulis was feared for neither man nor deevil.
He got his tinder-box, an' lit a can'le, an' made three
steps o't ower to Janet's door. It was on the hasp,
an' he pushed it open, an' keeked bauldly in. It was
a big room, as big as the minister's ain, an' plenished
wi' grand, auld, solid gear, for he had naething else.
There was a fo:wer-posted bed wi' auld tapestry; and
a braw cabinet of aik, that was fu' o' the minister's
divinity books, an* put there to be out o' the gate;
an' a wheen duds o' Janet's lying here and there about
the floor. But nae Janet could Mr. Soulis see; nor
ony sign of a contention. In he gaed (an* there's few
that wad ha'e followed him) an' lookit a* round, an*
listened. But there was naethin' to be heard, neither
inside the manse nor in a' Ba'weary parish, an' nae-
thin' to be seen but the muckle shadows turnin' round
the can'le. An' then a' at aince, the minister's heart
played dunt an' stood stock-still; an' a cauld wund
blew amang the hairs o' his heid. Whaten a weary
sicht was that for the puir man's een ! For there was
Janet hangin' frae a nail beside the auld aik cabinet :
her heid aye lay on her shoother, her een were steeked,
the tongue projekit frae her mouth, and her heels were
twa feet clear abune the floor.

" God forgive us all I " thocht Mr. Soulis, " poor
Janet's dead."

He cam* a step nearer to the corp; an* then his

THRAWN JANET 151

heart fair whammled in his inside. For by what can-
trip it wad ill-beseem a man to judge, she was hingin'
frae a single nail an' by a single wursted thread for
darnin' hose.

It's an awfu' thing to be your lane at nicht wi' siccan
prodigies o' darkness; but Mr. Soulis was strong in
the Lord. He turned an' gaed his ways oot o* that
room, and lockit the door ahint him ; and step by step,
doon the stairs, as heavy as leed; and set doon the
can'le on the table at the stairfoot. He couldnae pray,
he couldnae think, he was dreepin' wi' caul' swat, an'
naething could he hear «but the dunt-dunt-duntin'
o' his ain heart. He micht maybe have stood there an
hour, or maybe twa, he minded sae little; when a' o'
a sudden, he heard a laigh, uncanny steer upstairs; a
foot gaed to an' fro in the cham'er whaur the corp was
hingin' ; s)nie the door was opened, though he minded
weel that he had lockit it; an* syne there was a step
upon the landin', an' it seemed to him as if the corp
was lookin' ewer the rail and doun upon him whaur
he stood.

He took up the can'le again (for he couldnae want
the licht), and as saftly as ever he could, gaed straucht
out o' the manse an to the far end o' the causeway.
It was aye pit-mirk; the flame o' the can'le, when he
set it on the grund, brunt steedy and clear as in a room;
naething moved, but the Dule water seepin' and
sabbin' doon the glen, an' yon unhaly footstep that
cam' ploddin doun the stairs inside the manse. He
kenned the foot over weel, for it was Janet's ; and at
ilka step that cam' a wee thing nearer, the cauld got
deeper in his vitals. He commended his soul to Him

153 THRAWN JANET

that made an' keepit him; " and O Lord/' said he
* give me strength this night to war against the powers
of evil."

By this time the foot was comin' through the passage
for the door; he could hear a hand skirt alang the wa',
as if the fearsome thing was feelin' for its way. The
saughs tossed an' maned th^ether, a long sigh cam'
ower the hills, the flame o' the can'le was blawn aboot;
an' there stood the corp of Thrawn Janet, wi* her
grogram goun an' her black mutch, wi' the heid aye
upon the shouther, an' the girn still upon the face
o't — leevin', ye wad hae said — deid, as Mr. Soulis
wee! kenned — upon the thre^old o' the manse.

It's a strange thing that die saul of man should be
that thirled into his perishable body; but the minister
saw that, an' his heart didnae break.

She didnae stand there lang; she began to move
again an' cam' slowly towards Mr. Soulis whaur he
stood under the saughs. A' the life o' his body^ a' the
strength o' his speerit, were glowerin' frae his een.
It seemed she was gaun to speak, but wanted words,
an' made a sign wi' the left hand. There cam' a clap
o' wund, like a cat's fuff; oot gaed the can'le, the
saughs skrieghed like fdk; an' Mr. Soulis kenned
that, live or die, this was the end o't.

" Witch, beldame, devil J " he criexl, " I charge you
by the ,p€W«r cf Qod, sbegonc — if you be ^dead, to the
grave — if you be damned, to bdL'*

An' at that mocnent the Lord'-s arin Jaand pot o' the
Heavens strack the Horror wiisrar it stjmi ; the aiild,
deid, desecrated ccnp o' the witch-wife, sae long kseipit
frae the grave and hirsled round by dcik, lowed up like

THRAWN JANET 153

a brunstane spunk and fell in ashes to the grund; the
thunder followed, peal on dirling peal, the rairing rain '
upon the back o* that ; and Mr. Soulis lowped through
the garden hedge, and ran, wi' skelloch upon skelloch,
for the clachan.

That same momin* John Christie saw the Black
Man pass the Muckle Cairn as it was chappin' six;
before eicht, be gaed by the change-house at Knock-
dow; an' no lang after, Sandy M'Lellan saw him gaun
linkin' doun the braes frae Kilmackerlie. There's
little doubt but it was him that dwalled sae lang in
Janet's body; but he was awa' at last; and sinsyne
the deil has never fashed us in Ba'weary.

But it was a sair dispensation for the minister; lang,
lang he lay ravin' in his bed ; and frae that hour to this,
he was the man ye ken the day.

OLALLA

'is

OLALLrA

*' TVTOW," isaid the doctor, " my part is done,
j[^^ and, I may say, with some vanity, well
done. It remains only to get you out of
this cold and poisonous city, and to give you two
months of a pure air and an easy conscience. The
last is your affair. To the first I think I can help you.
It falls indeed rather oddly; it was but the other day
the Padre came in from the country; and as he and I
are old friends, although c^ contrary professions, he
applied to me in a matter of distress among some of
his parishioners. This was a family — but you are
ignorant of Spain, and even the names of our grandees
are hardly kxiown to you; suffice it, then, that they
were once great people, and are now fallen to the
brink of destitution. Nothing now belongs to them
but the residencia, and certain leagues of desert moun-
tain, in the greater part of which not even a goat could
support life. But the house is a fine old place, and
stands at a great height among the hills, and most
salubriously; and I had no sooner heard my friend's
taie, than I remembered you. I told him I had a
wounded ofHcer, wounded in the good cause, who was
now able to make a change; and I proposed that his
friends should take you for a lodger. Instantly the

157

yi SI

OLALLA

jk grew dark, as I had maliciously foreseen
/ It was out of the question, he said. Then
starve, said I, for I have no sympathy with
iemalion pride. Thereupon we separated, not
ve*^ content with one another; but yesterday, to my
wonder, the Padre returned and made a submission :
the difficulty, he said, he had found upon enquiry to be
less than he had feared; or, in other words, these
proud people had put their pride in their pocket.
I closed with the offer; and, subject to your approval,
I have taken rooms for you in the residencia. The
air of these mountains will renew your blood; and
the quiet in which you will there live is worth all the
medicines in the world."

" Doctor," said I, " you have been throughout my
good angel, and your advice is a command. But tell
me, if you please, something of the family with which I
am to reside."

" I am coming to that," replied my friend; " and,
indeed, there is a difficulty in the way. These beggars
are, as I have said, of very high descent and swollen
with the most baseless vanity; they have lived for some
generations in a growing isolation, drawing away, on
either hand, from the rich who had now become too
high for them, and from the poor, whom they still
regarded as too low; and even to-day, when poverty
forces them to unfasten their door to a guest, they
cannot do so without a most ungracious stipulation.
You are to remain, they say, a stranger; they will give
you attendance, but they refuse from the first the idea
of the smallest intimacy."

I will not deny that I was piqued, and perhaps the

OLALLA 159

feeling strengthened my desire to go, for I was confi-
dent that I could break down that barrier if I desired.
" There is nothing offensive in such a stipulation/'
said I ; " and I even sympathise with the feeling that
inspired it."

" It is true they have never seen you/' returned the
doctor politely; " and if they knew you were the hand-
somest and the most pleasant man that ever came
from England (where I am told that handsome men
are common, but pleasant ones not so much so), they
would doubtless make you welcome with a better
grace. But since you take the thing so well, it matters
not. To me, indeed, it seems discourteous. But you
will find yourself the gainer. The family will not
much tempt you. A mother, a son, and a daughter;
an old woman said to be halfwitted, a country lout,
and a country girl, who stands very high with her
confessor, and is, therefore,*' chuckled the physician,
" most likely plain ; there is not much in that to
attract the fancy of a dashing officer."
" And yet you say they are high-bom," I objected*
" Well, as to that, I should distinguish," returned the
doctor. " The mother is; not so the children. The
mother was the last representative of a princely stock,
degenerate both in parts and fortune. Her father was
not only poor, he was mad : and the girl ran wild about
the residencia till his death. Then, much of the for-
tune having died with him, and the family being quite
extinct, the girl ran wilder than ever, until at last she
married, Heaven knows whom, a muleteer some say,
others a smuggler; while there are some who uphold
there was no marriage at all, and that Felipe and

l6o OLALLA

Olalla are bastards. The union, such as it was, was*
tragically dissolved some years ago; but they live m
such seclusion, and the country at that time was in
so much disorder, that the precise manner of the man*s
end is known only to the priest — if even to him/*

" I begin to think I shall have strange experiences,"
said I.

" I would not romance, if I were you," replied the
doctor; " you will find, I fear, a very grovelling and
commonplace reality. Felipe, for instance, I have
seen. And what am I to say ? He is very rustic, very
cunning, very loutish, and, I should say, an innocent;
the others are probably to match. No, no, senor
commandante, you must seek congenial society among
the great sights of our mountains; and in these at
least, if you are at all a lover of the works of nature,
I promise yo» will not be disappointed."

The next day Felipe came for me in a rough country
cart, drawn by a mule; and a little beftw^e the stroke of
noon, after I had said farewell to the doctor, the inn-
keeper, and different good souls who had befriended
me during my sickness, we set forth out of the city by
the Eastern gate, and began to ascend into the Sierra.
I had been so long a prisoner, since I was left behind
for dying after the loss of the convoy, that the mere
smell of the earth set me smiling. The country through
which we went was wild and rocky, partially covered
with rough woods, now of the cork-tree, and now of
the great Spanish chestnut, and frequently intersected
by the beds of mountain torrents. The sun shone, the
wind rustled joyously; and we had advanced some
miles, and the city had already shrunk into an incon-

OLALLA i6i

siderable knoll up<m the plain behind us, before my
attention began to be diverted to the companion of my
drive. To the eye, he seemed but a diminutive^ lout*
ish, well-made country lad, such as the doctor had
described, mighty quick and active, but! devoid of any
culture; and this first impression waa with most
observers final. What began to strike me was his
familiar, chattering talk; so strangely imccMisistent
with the terms on which I was to be received; and
partly from his imperfect enunciation, partly from the
sprightly incoherence of the matter, so very difficult
to follow clearly without an effort of the mind. It is
true I had before talked with persons of a similar
mental constitution; persons who seemed to live (as
he did) by the' senses, taken and possessed by the
visual object of the moment and unable to discharge
their minds of that impression. His seemed to me (as
I sat, distantly giving ear) a kind of conversation
proper to drivers, who pass much of their time in a
great vacancy of the intellect and threading the sights
of a famihar country. But this was not the case of
Felipe; by his own account, he was a home-keeper;
" I wish I was there now," he said; and then spying
a tree by the wayside, he broke off to tell me that he
had once seen a crow among its branches.

" A crow ? " I repeated, struck by the ineptitude of
the remark, and thinking I had heard imperfectly.

But by this time he was already filled with a new
idea ; hearkening with a rapt intentness, his head on
one side, his face puckered ; and he struck me rudely,
to make me hold my peace. Then he smiled and
shook his head.

OLALLA

iS5

1 64 OLALLA

was he sang — " O," cried he, " I am just singing ! "
Above all, I was taken with a trick he had of un-
weariedly repeating the same note at little intervals;
it was not so monotonous as you would think, or, at
least, not disagreeable; and it seemed to breathe a
wonderful contentment with what is, such as we love
to fancy in the attitude of trees, or the quiescence of
a pool.

Night had fallen dark before we came out upon a
plateau, and drew up a little after, before a certain
lump of superior blackness which I could only conjec-
ture to be the residencia. Here, my guide, getting
down from the cart, hooted and whistled for a long
time in vain; until at last an old peasant man came
towards us from somewhere in the surrounding dark,
carrying a candle in his hand. By the light of this I
was able to perceive a great arched doorway of a Moor-
ish character : it was closed by iron-studded gates, in
one of the leaves of which Felipe opened a wicket.
The peasant carried off the cart to some out-building;
but my guide and I passed through the wicket, which
was closed again behind us; and by the glimmer of the
candle, passed through a court, up a stone stair, along
a section of an open gallery, and up more stairs again,
until we came at last to the door of a great and some-
what bare apartment. This room, which I understood
was to be mine, was pierced by three windows, lined
with some lustrous wood disposed in panels, and caiv
peted with the skins of many savage animals. A bright
fire burned in the chimney, and shed abroad a change-
able flicker; close up to the blaze there was drawn a
table, laid for supper; and in the far end a bed stood

OLALLA les

ready. I was pleased by these preparations, and said
so to Felipe ; and he, with the same simplicity of dis-
position that I had already remarked in him, warmly
re-echoed my praises. " A fine room," he said; " a
very fine room. And fire, too; fire is good; it melts
out the pleasure in your bones. And the bed," he con-
tinued, carrying over the candle in that direction-^
" see what fine sheets — how soft, how smooth,
smooth ; " and he passed his hand again and again
over their texture, and then laid down his head and
rubbed his cheeks among them with a grossness of con-
tent that somehow offended me. I took the candle
from his hand (for I feared he would set the bed on
fire) and walked back to the supper-table, where, per-
ceiving a measure of wine, I poured out a cup and
called to him to come and drink of it. He started to
his feet at once and ran to me with a strong expression
of hope; but when he saw the wine, he visibly shud-
dered.

" Oh, no," he said, " not that; that is for you. I
hate it."

" Very well, Sefior," said I; " then I will drink to
your good health, and to the prosperity of your house
and family. Speaking of which," I added, after I had
drunk, " shall I not have the pleasure of laying my
salutations in person at the feet of the Seiiora, your
mother ? "

But at these words all the childishness passed out of
his face, and was succeeded by a look of indescribable
cunning and secrecy. He backed away from me at the
same time, as though I were an animal about to leap or
some dangerous fellow with a weapon, and when he

i66 OLALLA

had got near the door, glowered at me sullenly with*
contracted pupils. " No," he said at last, and the
next moment was gone noiselessly out of the room;
and I heard his footing die away downstairs as light
as rainfall, and silence closed over the house.

After I had supped I drew up the table nearer to the
bed and began to prepare for rest; but in the new
position of the light, I was struck by a picture on the
wall. It represented a woman, still young. To judge
by her costume and the mellow unity which reigned
over the canvas, she had long been dead ; to judge by
the vivacity of the attitude, the eyes and the features,
I might have been beholding in a mirror the image of
life. Her figure was very slim and strong, and of a
just proportion ; red tresses lay like a crown over her
brow; her eyes, of a very golden brown, held mine
with a look ; and her face, which was perfectly shaped^
was yet marred by a cruel, sullen, and sensual ex-
pression. Something in both face and figure, some-
thing exquisitely intangible, like the echo of an echo,
suggested the features and bearing of my guide; and
I stood awhile, unpleasantly attracted and wondering
at the oddity of the resemblance. The common,
carnal stock of that race, which had been originally
designed for such high dames as the one now looking
on me from the canvas, had fallen to baser uses, wear-
ing country clothes, sitting on the shaft and holding the
reins of a mule cart, to bring home a lodger. Per-
haps an actual link subsisted; perhaps some scruple
of the delicate flesh that was once clothed upon with
the satin and brocade of the dead lady, now winced
at the rude contact of Felipe's frieze.

OLALLA 167

The first light of the morning shone full upon the
portrait, and, as I lay awake, my eyes continued to
dwell upon it with growing complacency; its beauty
crept about my heart insidiously, silencing my scruples
one after another; and while I knew that to love such
a woman were to sign and seal one's own sentence of
degeneration, I still knew that, if she were alive, I
should love her. Day after day the double knowledge
of her wickedness and of my weakness grew clearer.
She came to be the heroine of many day-dreams, in
which her eyes led on to, and sufliciently rewarded,
crimes. She cast a dark shadow on my fancy; and
when I was out in the free air of heaven, taking vigor-
ous exercise and healthily renewing the current of my
blood, it was often a glad thought to me that my en*
chantress was safe in the grave, her wand of beauty
broken, her lips closed in silence, her philtre spilt.
And yet I had a half-lingering terror that she might
not be dead after all, but re-arisen in the body of some
descendant.

Felipe served my meals in my own apartment ; and
his resemblance to the portrait haunted me. At times
it was not; at times, upon some change or attitude or
flash of expression, it would leap out upon me like a
ghost. It was above all in his ill tempers that the like-
ness triumphed. He certainly liked me ; he was proud
of my notice, which he sought to engage by many
simple and childlike devices ; he loved to sit close be-
fore my fire, talking his broken talk or singing his
odd, endless, wordless songs, and sometimes drawing
his hand over my clothes with an affectionate manner
of caressing that never failed to cause in me an em-

168 OLALLA

barrassment of l^ich I "^^s Ashamed. Bat for all
that, he was capable of flasties of causeless an^r and
fits of sturdy suUwifttts. At a ^ord of reproof, I have
seen him upset the dish of whidi I Was about to eat,
iind this not surreptitiously, but wkh defiance; and
similarly at a hint of inquiisitiofi. I Was not unnatu-
rally curious, being in a stratige place and surrounded
by strange people, but at the ishadow of a question ,
he shrank back, lowering and dangerous. Then it
Was that, for a fraction of a second, this rough lad
might have been the brother of the lady in the frame.
But these humours were swift to pass; and the resem-
blance died along with them.

In these first days I saW nothing of any one but
Felipe, unless the portrait is to be counted ; and since
the lad was plainly of weak mind, and had moments
of passion, it may be Wonderfed that I bore his danger-
ous neighbourhood with equai<iimity. As a miatter rf
fact, it was for soitie time irksome; but it happened
before long that I obtained over him so complete a
Inastery as set my disquietude at rest.

It fell in this way. He was by nature slothful, and
much of a vaga-bond, and yet he kept by the house,
and not only waited upon my %rfnt6, but laboured
every day in the garden or small farm to the south of
the resfdencia. Here 'he >^^f(ou*ld be joined by the peas-
ant "whotti I hid 's6^ 'ttti'^iife wight ^f tny -tfrrrval, ^and
Who dWtlt ^t *he ftfr *ttd ?tf>fhe efttlosu^e, labdtft'lfaflf
a <to8e '4t¥^y, in ^a rtfAe ;^t4N)a^> (btit n wars tpltfhi
tb Wie that, df t*ete 'tW6, ^k ^f$ts Ffe^ipfe Who (Ad
ifHtUt; hh& Vfat^gh I Wdtitd s^^i^iftii^s !s«e liiin 'Airdw
d^n his spade ft^^ go to ^eep amtfng the very>ptentfe

OLALLA 169

ke bad be«n ^Siggitigj his conMinoy atnil energy were
adtmiraUe in themsttl^ts, ciHd still moce «o since I was
well sft^ured thty wetiK faraign to hk disposition and
the f ruh of.an imgraEOsrfal >eSbit. But while I admired^
I tmadered whttt hi»d csHei i&Xfik in a lad so shuttle-
nmteA this endurkig sense -cf duty. How was it sus^
isakied ? I ask^ myt^tU, oand to whart length did it
prevail (jver hi* insriiicis:? The priest was possibly
his in^pirer; but the priest came one day to the
residencia. I sarw him both come and go aiter an in-
terval of close upoMi an hour, {rani a knoll where I
Was skfstching, and uil that time Felipe continued
to bboiri- «iwd^tiii4>cii in the gardeaa.

At last, m a veiy unwmthy spirit, I denewnined to
debauch the lad £rom kas giood resoktscNis, and, way-^
laying him at the gaite, easily persuaded him to join
ine in a ramble. It wais a fttoe day, aoid the woods to
which I led hikn "were grewl^afnd pleasant and sweet*.
smelUtig atid alive with' tke-hom of insects. Here he
discovered hititeietf in ^a ^feedi charaxTter, amounting up
to heights of gaiety '»bat a<batffaed me, and displaying
ttn energy and grace ^of movement rt>at delighted the
eye. He leaped, he raw JttMirtd rrae m mere glee; he
would stop, and 1oK$k and ^Usten, and seemed to drink
in the world (ike a cordial; and thenhe would sud-
denly ^fing into 'a ^tree' with (One )bcuind, and ihang
a^fid/gtfmbbl3Cfaerelike Me>atbofiie. ^liotleiaethe^aaid
10 Mie, 2mil 'i^ust '<9f m$t mtfiih impcm, Q:lmve'sai»ly
^^eiy^hvme^m^mgc^mpaajrry 4he')tfightiof'>faiB.at^
li^t if^ffS'Ja cdntritnall tfaa»t ; ishe-ispeed wvd i^isceasasry
dfihis • tfio^mettts [dealsed /me rto the )hfiart; )anfl J
fflight^ve ^been 'so thoughtlessly ^unkind ^as^to jnacke

IJQ OLALLA

a habit of these walks, had not chance prepared a
very rude conclusion to my pleasure. By some swift-
ness or dexterity the lad captured a squirrel in a tree-
top. He was then some way ahead of me, but I saw
him drop to the ground and crouch there, crying aloud
for pleasure like a child. The sound stirred my
sympathies, it was so fresh and innocent; but as I
bettered my pace to draw near, the cry of the squirrel
knocked upon my heart. I have heard and seen
much of the cruelty of lads, and above all of peasants;
but what I now beheld struck me into a passion of
anger. I thrust the fellow aside, plucked the poor
brute out of his hands, and with swift mercy killed
it. Then I turned upon the torturer, spoke to him
long out of the heat of my indignation, calling him
names at which he seemed to wither; and at length,
pointing towards the residencia, bade him begone and
leave me, for I chose to walk with men, not with
vermin. He fell :upon his knees, and, the words
coming to him with more clearness than usual, poured
out a stream of the most touching supplications, beg-
ging me in mercy to forgive him, to forget what he
had done, to look to the future. " O, I try so hard,"
he said. ** O, commandante, bear with Felipe this
once; he will never be a brute again! " Thereupon,
much more affected than I cared to show, I suffered
myself to be persuaded, and at last shook hands with
him and made it up. But the squirrel, by way of
penance, I made him bury; speaking of the poor
thing's beauty, telling him what pains it had suffered,
and how base a thing was the abuse of strength.
•" See, Felipe," said I, "you are strong indeed; but

OLALLA 171

in my hands you are as helpless as that poor thing of
the trees. Give me your hand in mine. You cannot
remove it. Now suppose that I were cruel like you,
and took a pleasure in pain. I only tighten my hold,
and see how you suffer." He screamed aloud, his
face stricken ashy and dotted with needle points of
sweat; and when I set him free, he fell to the earth
and nursed his hand and moaned over it like a baby.
But he took the lesson in good part ; and whether from
that, or from what I had said to him, or the higher
notion he now had of my bodily strength, his original
affection was changed into a dog-like, adoring fidelity.
Meanwhile I gained rapidly in health. The resi*
dencia stood on the crown of a stony plateau; on
every side the mountains hemmed it about; only
from the roof, where was a bartizan, there might be
seen between two peaks, a small segment of plain
blue, with extreme distance. The air in these altitudes
moved freely and largely; great clouds congregated
there, and were broken up by the wind and left in
tatters on the hilltops; a hoarse, and yet faint rum-
bling of torrents rose from all round ; and one could
there study all the ruder and more ancient characters
of nature in something of their pristine force. I de-
lighted from the first in the vigorous scenery and
changeful weather; nor less in the antique and di-
lapidated mansion where I dwelt. This was a large
oblong, flanked at two opposite comers by bastion-
like projections, one of which commanded the door,
while both were loopholed for musketry. The lower
storey was, besides, naked of windows, so that the
building, if garrisoned, could not be carried without

173 OLALLA

artillery. It enclosed an open court planted with
pomegranate trees. From this a broad flight of marble
stairs ascended to an open gallery, running all round
and resting, towards the court, cm slender pillars.
Thence again, several enclosed stairs led to the upper
storeys of the house, which were thus broken up inta
distinct divisions. The windows, both within and
without, were closely shuttered ; some of the stone-
work in the upper parts had fallen; the roof, in one
place, had been wrecked in one of the flurries of wind
which were common in these mountains; and the
whole house, in the strong, beating sunlight, and
standing out above a grove of stunted cork-trees,
thickly laden and discoloured with dust, looked like
the sleeping palace of the legend. The court, in par-
ticular, seemed the very home of slumber. A hoarse
cooing of doves haunted about the caves; the winds
were excluded, but when they blew outside, thie
mountain dust fell here as thick as rain,^ and veiled
the red bloom of the pomegranates ; shuttered windows
and the closed doors of numerous cellars, and the
vacant arches of the gallery, enclosed it; and all day
long the sun made* broken profiles on the four sides,
and paraded the shadow of the pillars on the gallery
floor. At the ground level there was, however, a
certain pillared recess, which bore the marks of human
habitation. Though it was open in front upon the
court, it was yet provided with a chimney, where a
wood fire would be always prettily blazing; and the
tile floor was littered with the skins of animals.

It was in this place that I first saw my hostess. She
had drawn one of the skins foiward and sat in the sun

OLALLA 173

leaning against a pillar. It was her dress that struck
me first of all, for it was rich and brightly coloured,
and shone out in that dusty courtyard with something
of the same relief as the flowers of the pomegranates.
At a second look it was her beauty of person that took
hold of me. As she sat back — watching me, I
thought, though with invisible eyes — and wearing
at the same time an expression of almost imbecile
good-humour and contentment, she showed a per-
fectncss of feature and a quiet nobility of attitude
that were beyond a statue's. I took off my hat to
her in passing, and her face puckered with suspicion
as swiftly and lightly as a pool ruffles in the breeze ; but
she paid no heed to my courtesy. I went forth on my
customary walk a trifle daunted, her idol-like im-
passivity haunting me; and when I returned, al-
though she was still in much the same posture, I was
half surprised to see that she had moved as far as
the next pillar, following the sunshine. This time,
however, she addressed me with some trivial saluta-
tion, civilly enough conceived, and uttered in the
same deep-chested, and yet indistinct and lisping
tones, that had already baffled the utmost niceness of
my hearing from her son. I answered rather at a .
venture; for not only did I fail to take her meaning
with precision, but the sudden disclosure of her eyes
disturbed me. They were unusually large, the iris
golden like Felipe's, but the pupil at that moment
so distended that they seemed almost black; and
what affected me was not so much their size as (what
was perhaps its consequence) the singular insig-
nificance of their regard. A look more blankly stupid

174 OLALLA

I have never met. My eyes dropped before it even as
I spoke, and I went oa my way upstairs to my own
room, at once baffled and embarrassed. Yet, when I
came there and saw the face of the portrait, I was
again reminded of the miracle of family descent.
My hostess was, indeed, both older and fuller in per-
son; her eyes were of a different colour; her face,
besides, was not only free from the ill-significance
that offended and attracted me in the painting; it was
devoid of either good or bad — a moral blank ex-
pressing literally naught. And yet there was a like-
ness, not so much speaking as immanent, not so much
in any particular feature as upon the whole. It should
seem, I thought, as if when the master set his signa-
ture to that grave canvas, he had not only caught
the image of one smiling and false-eyed woman, but
stamped the essential quality of a race.

From that day forth, whether I came or went, I was
sure to find the Senora seated in the sun against a
pillar, or stretched on a rug before the fire; only at
times she would shift her station to the top round of
the stcHie staircase, where she lay with the same n(xi-
chalance ri^t across my path. In aU these days, I
never knew her to display the least spark of energy
beyond what she expended in brushing and re-brush-
ing her copious copper-coloured hair, or in lisping
out, in the rich and broken hoarseness of her voice,
her customary idle salutations to myself. These, I
think, were her two chief pleasures, beycxid that <rf
mere quiescence. She seemed always proud erf* ber
remarks, as though they had been witticisms: and,
indeed, though they were empty enough, like the con-

OLALLA 175

versation of many respectable persons, and turned on
a very narrow range of subjects, they were never
meaningless or incoherent; nay, they had a certain
beauty of their own, breathing, as they did, of her
entire contentment. Now she would speak of the
warmth in which (like her son) she greatly delighted;
now of the flowers of the pomegranate trees, and now
of the white doves and long-winged swallows that
fanned the air of the court. The birds excited her. As
they raked the eaves in their swift flight, or skimmed
sidelong past her with a rush of wind, she would
sometimes stir, and sit a little up, and seem to awaken
from her doze of satisfaction. But for the rest of her
days she lay luxuriously folded on herself and sunk
in sloth and pleasure. Her invincible content at first
annoyed me, but I came gradually to find repose in
the spectacle, until at last it grew to be my habit to sit
down beside her four times in the day, both coming
and going, and to talk with her sleepily, I scarce knew
of what. I had come to like her dull, almost animal
neighbourhood ; her beauty and her stupidity soothed
and amused me. I began to find a kind of trans-
cendental good sense in her remarks, and her un-
fathomable good nature moved me to admiration
and envy. The liking was returned; she enjoyed
my presence half-unconsciously, as a man in deep
meditation may enjoy the babbling of a brook. I can
scarce say she brightened when I came, for satisfac-
tion was written on her face eternally, as on some
foolish statue's; but I was made conscious of her
pleasure by some more intimate communication than
the sight. And one day, as I sat within reach of her on

u/fl OLALLA

the marble step» she suddcscdy shot forth one o{ her
hands and patted inine;^ The thing waa done, and
^e was bade in her accustonted attitude^ before my
mind had received intelligence of the caress;^ and
when I turned to look her in the face I could perceive
no answerable sentiment. It was plain she attached
no moment to the act, and I blamed myself for my
own more uneasy consciousness.

The sight and (if I may so call it) the acquaintance
of the mother confirmed the view I had already taken
of the son. The family blood had been impoverished
perhaps by long in-breeding, which I knew to be a
common error among the proud and the exclusive.
No decline, indeed, was to be traced in the body,
which had been handed down unimpaired in shapeli-
ness and strength; and the faces of to-day were
struck as sharply from the mint as the face of two
centuries ago that smiled upon me from the portrait.
But the intelligence (that more precious heirloom)
was degenerate; the treasure of ancestral memory
ran low; and it had required the potent, plebeian
crossing of a muleteer or mountain contrabandista
to raise what approached hebetude in the mother into
the active oddity of the son. Yet, of the two, it was
the mother I preferred. Of Felipe, vengeful and
placable, full of starts and shyings, inconstant as a
hare, I could even conceive as a creature possibly
noxious. Of the mother I had no thoughts but those
of kindness. And, indeed, as spectators are apt igno-
rantly to take sides, I grew something of a partisan
in the enmity which I perceived to smoulder between
them. True, it seemed mostly on the mother's part.

OLALLA 177

She would scMnetimes draw in her breath as he came
near, and the pupils of her vacant eyes would contract
with horror or fear. Her emotions, such as they were,
were much upon the surface and readily shared; and
this latent repulsion occupied my mind, and kept me
wondering on what grounds it rested, and whether the
son was certainly in fault.

I had been about ten days in the residencia, when
there sprang up a high and harsh wind, carrying clouds
of dust. It came out of malarious lowlands, and over
several snowy sierras. The nerves of those on whom
it blew were strung and jangled; their eyes smarted
with the dust; their legs ached under the burthen of
their body ; and the touch of one hand upon another
grew to be odious. The wind, besides, came down the
gullies of the hills and stormed about the house with a
great, hollow buzzing and whistling that was weari-
some to the ear and dismally depressing to the mind*
It did not so much blow in gusts as with the steady
sweep of a waterfall, so that there was no remission of
discomfort while it blew. But higher upon the moun-
tain, it was probably of a more variable strength,
with accesses of fury ; for there came down at times
a far-off wailing, infinitely grievous to hear; and at
tin>es, on one of the high shelves or terraces, there
would start up, and then disperse, a tower of dust,
like the smoke of an explosion.

I no sooner awoke in bed than I was conscious of
the nervous tension and depression of the weather,
and the effect grew stronger as the day proceeded.
It was in vain that I resisted ; in vain that I set forth
upon my customary morning's walk; the irrational.

1/8 OLALLA

unchanging fury of the storm had soon beat down
my strength and wrecked my temper ; and I returned
to the residencia, glowing with dry heat, and foul
and gritty with dust. The court had a forlorn ap-
pearance; now and then a glimmer of sun fled over it;
now and then the wind swooped down upon the pome-
granates, and scattered the blossoms, and set the
window shutters clapping on the wall. In the recess
the Senora was pacing to and fro with a flushed
countenance and bright eyes ; I thought, too, she was
speaking to herself, like one in anger. But when I
addressed her with my customary salutation, she only
replied by a sharp gesture and continued her walk.
The weather had distempered even this impassive
creature; and as I went on upstairs I was the less
ashamed of my own discomposure.

All day the wind continued; and I sat in my room
and made a feint of reading, or walked up and down»
and listened to the riot overhead. Night fell, and I
had not so much as a candle. I began to long for some
society, and stole down to the court. It was now
plunged in the blue of the first darkness ; but the recess
was redly lighted by the fire. The wood had been piled
high, and was crowned by a shock of flames, which the
draught of the chimney brandished to and fro. In this
strong and shaken brightness the Sefiora continued
pacing from wall to wall with disconnected gestures,
clasping her hands, stretching forth her arms, throw-
ing back her head as in appeal to heaven. In these
disordered movements the beauty and grace of the
woman showed more clearly; but there was a light in
her eye that struck on me unpleasantly; and when I

OLALLA 179

had looked on awhile in silence, and seemingly unob-
served, I turned tail as I had come, and groped my
way back again to my own chamber.

By the time Felipe brought my supper and lights,
my nerve was utterly gone ; and, had the lad been such
as Lwas used to seeing him, I should have kept him
(even by force had that been necessary) to take off the
edge from my distasteful solitude. But on Felipe, also,
the wind had exercised its influence. He had been
feverish all day; now that the night had come he was
fallen into a low and tremulous humour that reacted on
my own. The sight of his scared face, his starts and
pallors and sudden harkenings, unstrung me; and
when he dropped and broke a dish, I fairly leaped out
of my seat.

" I think we are all mad to-day," said I, affecting to
laugh.

" It is the black wind," he replied dolefully. " You
feel as if you must do something, and you don't know
what it is."

I noted the aptness of the description; but, indeed,
Felipe had sometimes a strange felicity in rendering
into words the sensations of the body. " And your
mother, too," said I ; " she seems to feel this weather
much. Do you not fear she may be unwell ? "

He stared at me a little, and then said, " No," almost
defiantly; and the next moment, carrying his hand to
his brow, cried out lamentably on the wind and the
noise that made his head go round like a millwheel.
** Who can be well ? " he cried; and, indeed, I could
only echo his question, for I was disturbed enough
myself.

1 80 OLALLA

. I went to bed early, wearied with day-long restless-
ness : but the poisonous nature of the wind, and its
ungodly and unintermittent uproar, would not suffer
me to sleep. I lay there and tossed, my nerves and
senses on the str^ch. At times I would doze, dream
horribly, and wake again; and these snatches of
oblivion confused me as to time. But it must have been
late on in the night, when I was suddenly startled by
an outbreak of pitiable and hateful cries. I leaped
from my bed, supposing I had dreamed; but the
cries still continued to fill the house, cries of pain, I
thought, but certainly of rage also, and so savage and
discordant that they shocked the heart. It was no
illusion; some living thing, some lunatic or some wild
animal, was being foully tortured. The thought of
Felipe and the squirrel flashed into my mind, and I
ran to the door, but it had been locked from the out-
side; and I might shake it as I pleased, I was a fast
prisoner. Still the cries continued. Now they would
dwindle down into a moaning that seemed to be
articulate, and at these times I made sure they must
be human ; apd again they would break forth and fill
the house with ravings worthy of hell. I stood at the
door and gave ear to them, till at last they died away.
Long after that, I still lingered and still continued to
hear them mingle in fancy with the storming of the
wind; and when at last I crept to my bed, it was with
a deadly sickness and a blackness of horror on my
heart.

It was little wonder if I slept no more. Why had I
been locked in ? What had passed ? Who was the
author of these indescribable and shocking cries ? A

OLALLA lit

human being ? It was inconceivable. A beast ? The
cries were scarce quite bestial; and what animal,
short of a lion or a tiger, could thus shake the solid
walls of the rcsidencia. And while I was thus turning
over the elements of the mystery, it came into my mind
that I had not yet set eyes upon the daughter of the
house. What was more probable than that the daugh-
ter of the Seiiora, and the sister of Felipe, should be
herself insane ? Or, what mare likely than that these
Ignorant and half-witted people should seek to manage
an afHicted kinswoman by violence? Here was a
solution; and yet when I called to mind the cries
(which I never did without a shuddering chill) it
seemed altogether insufficient : not even crueky could
wring such cries from madness. But of one thing I
was sure : I could not live in a house where sqch a
thing was half conceivable, and not probe the matter
home and, if necessary, interfere.

The next day came, the wind had blown itself out,
and there was nothing to remind me of the busine$s of
the night. FeHpc came to my bedside with obvious
cheerfulness; as I passed through the court, the
Seflora was sunning herself with her accustomed
immobility; and when I issued from the gateway, I
found the whole face of nature austerely smiling, the
heavens of a cold blue, and sown with great cloud
islands, and the mountain-sides mapped forth into
provinces of light and shadow. A short walk restored
me to myself, and renewed within me the resolve to
plumb this mystery; and when, from the vantage of
my knoll, I had seen Felipe pass forth to his labours
in the garden, I. returned at once to the residencia to

i82 OLALLA

put my design in practice. The Sefiora appeared
plunged in slumber; I stood awhile and marked her,
but she did not stir; even if my design were indiscreet
I had little to fear from such a guardian; and turning
away, I mounted to the gallery and began my explora-
tion of the house.

All morning I went from one door to another, and
entered spacious and faded chambers, some rudely
shuttered, some receiving their full charge of daylight,
all empty and unhomely. It was a rich house, on
which Time had breathed his tarnish and dust had
scattered disillusion. The spider swung there; the
bloated tarantula scampered on the cornices; ants
had their crowded highways on the floor of halls of
audience; the big and foul fly, that lives on carrion
and is often the messenger of death, had set up his
nest in the rouen woodwork, and buzzed heavily about
the rooms. Here and there a stool or two, a couch, a
bed, or a great carved chair remained behind, like
islets on the bare floors, to testify of man's bygone
habitation ; and everywhere the walls were set with the
portraits of the dead. I could judge, by these decaying
effigies, in the house of what a great and what a hand-
some race I was then wandering. Many of the men
wore orders on their breasts and had the port of noble
offices; the women were all richly attired; the can-
vases most of them by famous hands. But it was not
so much these evidences of greatness that took hold
upon my mind, even contrasted, as they were, with
the present depopulation and decay of that great house.
It was rather the parable of family life that I read in
diis succession of fair faces and shapely bodies. Never

OLALLA 183

before had I so realised the miracle of the continued
race, the creation and recreation, the weaving and
changing and handing down of fleshly elements. That
a child should be born of its mother, that it should
grow and clothe itself (we know not how) with hu-
manity, and put on inherited looks, and turn its head
with the manner of one ascendant, and offer its hand
with the gesture of another, are wonders dulled for
us by repetition. But in the singular unity of look, in
the common features and common bearing, of all
these painted generations on the walls of the residencia,
the miracle started out and looked me in the face.
And an ancient mirror falling opportunely in my way,
I stood and read my own features a long while, tracing
out on either hand the filaments of descent and the
bonds that knit me with my family.

At last, in the course of these investigations, I opened
the door of a chamber that bore the marks of habita-
tion. It was of large proportions and faced to the
north, where the mountains were most wildly figured.
The embers of a fire smouldered and smoked upon the
hearth, to which a chair had been drawn close. And
yet the aspect of the chamber was ascetic to the degree
of sternness; the chair was uncushioned ; the floor and
walls wepe naked; and beyond the books which lay
here and there in some confusion, there was no instru-
ment of either work or pleasure. The sight of books
in the house of such a family exceedingly amazed me;
and I began with a great hurry, and in momentary
fear of interruption, to go from one to another and
hastily inspect their character. They were of all sorts,
devotional, historical, and scientific, but mostly of a

i84 OLALLA

great age and in the Latin tongue. Some I coald see
to bear the marks of constant study; others had been
torn across and tossed aside as if in petulance or
disapproval. Lastly, as I cruised about that empty
chamber, I espied some papers written upon with
pencil on a table near the wividdW. An unthinking
curiosity led me to take one up. It bore a copy of
verses, very roughly metred in the original Spanish,
and which I may render somewhat thus -^

Pleasure approached with pain and shame,
Grief with a wreadi of lilies came.
Pleasure showed the lovely sun ;
Jesu dear, hdw sweet it shone!
Grief with her worn hand pointed on
Jesu dear, to Thee i

Sliame and confusion at once fell on me; and, laying
down the paper, I beat an immediate retreat from the
apartment. Neither Felipe nor his mother could have
read the books nor written these rough but feeling
verses. It was plain I had stumbled with sacrilegious
feet into the room of the daughter of the house. God
knows, my own heart most sharply punished me for
my indiscretion. The Aought that I had thus secretly
pushed'ttiy way into Ae confidence x>f a girl so strangely
sitttated, tind'the ^ear thut sfhe might somehow come to
htfAT of k, opptisstred ftte Hfee g»ik. I blam«rd myself
besides for my suspicions <tf die night bi^oi^; won-
dered that I shoirid erer have attributed '1^^Me's)M>c'kiDg
cries to one of vrtw^m I now tonqeived as 6( a ^mt,
spectral of mien, wasted with maceration, bound up

OLALLA i8s

in the practices of a mechanical devotion^ and dwell-
ing in a great isolation of soul with her incongruous
relatives; and as I leaned on the balustrade of the
gallery and looked down into the bright close of pome-
granates and at the gaily dressed and somnolent
woman, who just then stretched herself and deli-
cately licked her lips as in the very sensuality of sloth,
my mind swiftly compared the scene with the cold
chamber looking northward on the mountains, where
the daughter dwelt.

That same afternoon, as I sat upon my knoll, I saw
the Padre enter the gates of the residencia. The reve-
lation of the daughter's character had struck home to
my fancy, and almost blotted out the horrors of the
night before; but at sight of this worthy man the mem-
ory revived. I descended, then, from the knoll, and
making a circuit among the woods, posted myself by
the wayside to await his passage. As soon as he ap-
peared I stepped forth and introduced myself as the
lodger of the residencia. He had a very strong, honest
countenance, on which it was easy to read the mingled
emotions with which he regarded me, as a foreigner, a
heretic, and yet x>ne who had been wounded for the
good cause. Of the family at the residencia he spoke
with reserve, and yet with respect. I mentioned that I
had not yet seen the daughter, whereupon he remarked
that that was as it should be, and looked at me a little
askance. Lastly, I plucked up courage to refer to the
cries that had disturbed me in the night. He heard me
out in silence, and then stopped and partly turned
about, as though to mark beyond doubt that he was
dismissing me.

i86 OLALLA

" Do you take tobacco powder ? " said he, offering
his snuff-box; and then, when I had refused, " I am
an old man," he added, ** and I may be allowed to
remind you that you are a guest.''

" I have, then, your authority," I returned, firmly
enough, although I flushed at the implied reproof, " to
let things take their course, and not to inter-
fere ? "

He said ** yes," and with a somewhat uneasy salute
turned and left me where I was. But he had done two
things : he had set my conscience at rest, and he had
awakened my delicacy. I made a great effort, once
more dismissed the recollections of the night, and fell
once more to brooding on my saintly poetess. At the
same time, I could not quite forget that I had been
locked in, and that night when Felipe brought me
my supper I attacked him warily on both points of
interest.

" I never see your sister," said I casually.

" Oh, no," said he; "she is a good, good girl," and
his mind instantly veered to something else.

" Your sister is pious, I suppose," I asked in the next
pause.

" Oh," he cried, joining his hands with extreme
fervour, " a saint; it is she that keeps me up,"

" You are very fortunate," said I, " foe the most of
us, I am afraid, and myself among the number, are
better at going down."

" Seflor," said Felipe earnestly, " I would not say
that. You should not tempt your angel. If one goes
down, where is he to stop ? "

" Why, Felipe," said I, ** I had no guess you were a

OLALLA 187

preacher, and I may say a good one; but I suppose
that is your sister's doing ? "

He nodded at me with round eyes.

" Well, then," I continued, " she has doubtless
reproved you for your sin of cruelty ? "

" Twelve times I " he cried; for this was the phrase
by which the odd creature expressed the sense of fre-
quency. " And I told her you had done so — I remem-
bered that," he added proudly — " and she was
pleased."

" Then, Felipe," said I, " what were those cries that
I heard last night ? for surely they were cries of some
creature in suffering."

" The wind," returned Felipe, looking in the fire*

I took his hand in mine, at which, thinking it to be
a caress, he smiled with a brightness of pleasure that
came near disarming my resolve. But I trod the weak-
ness down. "The wind," I repeated; "and yet I
think it was this hand," holding it up, " that had first
locked me in." The lad shook visibly, but answered
never a word. " Well," said I, " I am a stranger and a
guest. It is not my part either to meddle or to judge
in your affairs; in these you shall take your sister's
counsel, which I cannot doubt to be excellent. But in
so far as concerns my own I will be no man's prisoner,
and I demand that key." Half an hour later my door
was suddenly thrown open, and the key tossed ringing
on the floor.

A day or two after I came in from a walk a little be-
fore the point of noon. The Sefiora was lying lapped
in slumber on the threshold of the recess; the pigeons
dozed below the eaves like snowdrifts ; the house was

i88 OLALLA

under a deep spell of noontide quiet; and only a wan-
dering and gentle wind from the mountain stole round
the galleries, rustled among the pomegranates, and
pleasantly stirred the shadows. Something in the still-
ness moved me to imitation, and I went very lightly
across the court and up the marble staircase. My foot
was on the topmost round, when a door opened, and I
found myself face to face with Olalla. Surprise trans-
fixed me; her loveliness struck to my heart; she
glowed in the deep shadow of the gallery, a gem of
colour; her eyes took hold upon mine and clung there,
and bound us together like the joining of hands; and
the moments we thus stood face to face, drinking each
other in, were sacramental and the wedding of souls.
I know not how long it was before I awoke out of a
deep trance, and, hastily bowing, passed on into the
upper stair. She did not move, but followed me with
her great, thirsting eyes; and as I passed out of sight
it seemed to me as if she paled and faded.

In my own room, I opened the window and looked
out, and could not think what change had come upon
that austere field of mountains that it should thus sing
and shine under the lofty heaven. I had seen her —
Olalla ! And the stone crags answered, Olalla ! and the
dumb, unfathomable azure answered, Olalla I The
pale saint of my dreams had vanished for ever; and in
her place I beheld this maiden on whom God had
lavished the richest colours and the most exuberant
energies of life, whom he had made active as a deer,
slender as a reed, and in whose great eyes he had
lighted the torches of the soul. The thrill of her young
life, strung like a wild animal's, had entered into me;

OLALLA 189

the force of soul that had looked out from her eyes and
conquered mine, mantled about my heart and sprang
to my lips in singing. She passed through my veins :
she was one with me.

I will not say that this enthusiasm declined ; rather
my soul held out in its ecstasy as in a strong castle, and
was there besieged by cold and sorrowful considera-
tions. I could not doubt but that I loved her at first
sight, and already with a quivering ardour that was
strange to my experience. What then was to follow ?
She was the child of an afflicted house, the Seftora's
daughter, the sister of Felipe ; she bore it even in her
beauty. She had the lightness and swiftness of the
one, swift as an arrow, light as dew; like the other,
she shone on the pale background of the world with the
brilliancy of flowers. I could not call by the name (rf
brother that half-witted lad, nor by the name of mother
that immovable and lovely thing of flesh, whose silly
eyes and perpetual simper now recurred to my mind
like something hateful. And if I could not marry,
what then ? She was helplessly unprotected ; her eyes,
in that single and long glance which had been all our
intercourse, had confessed a weakness equal to my
own; but in my heart I knew her for the student of
the cold northern chamber, and the writer of the sor-
rowful lines; and this was a knowledge to disarm a
brute. To flee was more than I could find courage for ;
but I registered a vow of unsleeping circumspection.

As I turned from the window, my eyes alighted on
the portrait. It had fallen dead, like a candle after
sunrise; it followed me with eyes of paint. I knew it
to be like, and marvelled at the tenacity of type in that

I90 OLALLA

declining race; but the likeness was swallowed up in
difference. I remembered how it had seemed to me a
thing unapproachable in the life, a creature rather of
the painter's craft than of the modesty of nature, and I
marvelled at the thought, and exulted in the image of
Olalla. Beauty I had seen before, and not been
charmed, and I had been often drawn to women, who
were not beautiful except to me; but in Olalla all that
I desired and had not dared to imagine was united.

I did not see her the next day, and my heart ached
and my eyes longed for her, as men long for morning.
But the day after, when I returned, about my usual
hour, she was once more on the gallery, and our looks
once more met and embraced. I would have spoken, I
would have drawn near to her; but strongly as she
plucked at my heart, drawing me like a magnet, some-
thing yet more imperious withheld me; and I could
only bow and pass by; and she, leaving my salutation
unanswered, only followed me with her noble eyes.

I had now her image by rote, and as I conned the
traits in memory it seemed as if I read her very heart.
She was dressed with something of her mother's co-
quetry, and love of positive colour. Her robe, which I
knew she must have made with her own hands, clung
about her with a cunning grace. After the fashion of
that country, besides, her bodice stood open in the mid-
dle, in a long slit, and here, in spite of the poverty of
the house, a gold coin, hanging by a ribbon, lay on her
brown bosom. These were proofs, had any been
needed, of her inborn delight in life and her own love-
liness. On the other hand, in her eyes that hung upon
mine, I could read depth beyond depth of passion and

OLALLA 191

sadness, lights of poetry and hope, blacknesses of de<
spair and thoughts that were above the earth. It was
a lovely body, but the inmate, the soul, was more than
worthy of that lodging. Should I leave this incompar-
able flower to wither unseen on these rough moun-
tains ? Should I despise the great gift offered me in the
eloquent silence of her eyes ? Here was a soul im-
mured; should I not burst its prison? All side con-
siderations fell off from me; were she the child of
Herod I swore I should make her mine ; and that very
evening I set myself, with a mingled sense of treachery
and disgrace, to captivate the brother. Perhaps I read
him with more favourable eyes, perhaps the thought of
his sister always summoned up the better qualities of
that imperfect soul; but he had never seemed to me so
amiable, and his very likeness to Olalla, while it
annoyed, yet softened me.

A third day passed in vain — an empty desert of
hours. I would not lose a chance, and loitered all after-
noon in the court where (to give myself a countenance)
I spoke more than usual with the Seflora. God knows
it was with a most tender and sincere interest that I
now studied her; and even as for Felipe, so now for
the mother, I was conscious of a growing warmth of
toleration. And yet I wondered. Even while I spoke
with her, she would doze off into a little sleep, and
presently awake again without embarrassment; and
this composure staggered me. And again, as I marked
her make infinitesimal changes in her posture, savour-
ing and lingering on the bodily pleasure of the mo-
ment, I was driven to wonder at this depth of passive
sensuality. She lived in her body; and her conscious-

192 OLALLA

ness was all sunk into and disseminated through her
members, where it luxuriously dwelt. Lastly, I could
not grow accustomed to her eyes. Each time she
turned on me these great beautiful and meaningless
orbs, wide open to the day, but closed against human
inquiry — each time I had occasion to observe the
lively changes of her pupils which expanded and con-
tracted in a breath — I know not what it was came
over me, I can find no name for the mingled feeling of
disappointment, annoyance, and distaste that jarred
along my nerves. I tried her on a variety of subjects,
equally in vain; and at last led the talk to her
daughter. But even there she proved indifferent; said
she was pretty, which (as with children) was her high-
est word of commendation, but was plainly incapable
of any higher thought; and when I remarked that
Olalla seemed silent, merely yawned in my face and
replied that speech was of no great use when you had
nothing to say. " People speak much, very much,"
she added, looking at me with expanded pupils; and
then again yawned, and again showed me a mouth
that was as dainty as a toy. This time I took the
hint, and, leaving her to her repose, went up into my
own chamber to sit by the open window, looking on
the hills and not beholding them, sunk in lustrous
and deep dreams, and hearkening in fancy to the note
of a voice that I had never heard.

I awoke on the fifth morning with a brightness of
anticipation that seemed to challenge fate. I was sure
of myself, light of heart and foot, and resolved to put
my love incontinently to the touch of knowledge. It
should lie no longer under the bonds of silence, a dumb

OLALLA 193

ihing, living by the eye only, like the love of beasts;
but should now put on the spirit, and enter upon the
joys of the complete human intimacy. I thought of it
<mth wild hopes, like a voyager to £1 Dorado; into
that unknown and lovely country of her soul, I no
longer trembled to adventure. Yet when I did indeed
encounter her, the same force of passion descended on
me and at onqp submerged my mind; speech seemed
to drop away from me like a childish habit; and I
but drew near to her as the giddy man draws near to
the margin of a gulf. She drew back from me a little
as I came; but her eyes did not waver from mine,
and these lured me forward. At last, when I was
already within reach of her, I stopped. Words were
denied me; if I advanced I could but clasp her to my
heart in silence; and all that was sane in me, all that
was still unconquered, revolted against the thought
of such an accost. So we stood for a second, all oui
life in our eyes, exchanging salvos of attraction and
yet each resisting; and then, with a great effort of the
will, and conscious at the same time of a sudden bitter-
ness of disappointment, I turned and went away in the
same silence.

What power lay upon me that I could not speak ?
And she, why was she also silent ? Why did she draw
away before me dumbly, with fascinated eyes ? Was
this love ? or was it a mere brute attraction, mindless
and inevitable, like that of the magnet for the steel f
We had never spoken, we were wholly strangers; and
yet an influence, strong as the grasp of a giant, swept us
silently together. On my side, it filled me with im-
patience; and yet I was sure that she was worthy; I

194 OLALLA

had seen her books, read her verses, and dius, in a
sense, divined the soul of my mistress. But on her side,
it struck me almost cold. Of me, she knew nothing but
my bodily favour; she was drawn to me as stones fall
to earth; the laws that rule the earth conducted her,
unconsenting, to my arms; and I drew back at the
thought of such a bridal, and began to be jealous for
myself. It was not thus that I desired to be loved.
And then I began to fall into a great pity for the girl
herself. I thought how sharp must be her mortifica-
tion, that she, the student, the recluse, Felipe's saintly
. monitress, should have thus confessed an overweening
weakness for a man with whom she had never ex-
changed a word. And at the coming of pity, all other
thoughts were swallowed up : and I longed only to find
and console and reassure her; to tell her how wholly
her love was returned on my side, and how her choice,
even if blindly made, was not unworthy.

The next day it was glorious weather; depth upon
depth of blue over-canopied the mountains; the sun
shone wide; and the wind in the trees and the many
falling torrents in the mountains filled the air with deli-
cate and haunting music. Yet I was prostrated with
sadness. My heart wept for the sight of Olalla, as a
child weeps for its mother. I sat down on a boulder on
the verge of the low cliffs that bound the plateau to the
north. Thence I looked down into the wooded valley of
a stream, where no foot came. In the mood I was in,
it was even touching to behold the place untenanted ; it
lacked Olalla; and I thought of the delight and glory
of a life passed wholly with her in that strong air, and
among these rugged and lovely surrounding, at first

OLALLA 19s

with a whimpering sentiment, and then again with such
a fiery joy that I seemed to grow in strength and
stature, like a Samson.

And then suddenly I was aware of Olalla drawing
near. She appeared out of a grove of cork-trees, and
came straight towards me; and I stood up and waited.
She seemed in her walking a creature of such life and
fire and lightness as amazed me; yet she came quietly
and slowly. Her energy was in the slowness; but for
inimitable strength, I felt she would have run, she
would have flown to me. Still, as she approached,
she kept her eyes lowered to the ground; and when
she had drawn quite near, it was without one glance
that she addressed me. At the first note of her voice
I started. It was for this I had been waiting; this
was the last test of my love. And lo, her enunciation
was precise and clear, not lisping and incomplete like
that of her family; and the voice, though deeper than
usual with women, was still both youthful and wom-
anly. She spoke in a rich chord ; golden contralto
strains mingled with hoarseness, as the red threads
were mingled with the brown among her tresses. It
was not only a voice that spoke to my heart directly;
but it spoke to me of her. And yet her words imme-
diately plunged me back upon despair.
1 " You will go away," she said, " to-day.'*

Her example broke the bonds of my speech ; I felt
as lightened of a weight, or as if a spell had been dis-
solved. I know not in what words I answered ; but,
standing before her on the cliffs, I poured out the
whole ardour of my love, telling her that I lived upon
the thought of her, slept only to dream of her loveliness,

196 OLALLA

and would gladly forswear my country, my language,
and my friends, to live for ever by her side. And then
strongly commanding myself, I changed the note; I
reassured, I comforted her; I told her I had divined
in her a pious and heroic spirit, with which I was
worthy to sympathise, and which I longed to share and
lighten. " Nature," I told her, " was the voice of God,
which men disobey at peril; and if we were thus
dumbly drawn together, ay, even as by a miracle of
love, it must imply a divine fitness in our souls; we
must be made," I said — " made for one another. We
should be mad rebels," I cried out — " mad rebels
against God^ not to obey this instinct."

She shook her head. " You will go to-day," she re-
peated, and then with a gesture, and in a sudden, sharp
note — " no, not to-day,** she cried, " to-morrow."

But at this sign of relenting, power came in upon me
in a tide. I stretched out my arms and called upon her
name; and she leaped to me and clung to me. The
hills rocked about us, the earth quailed ; a shock as of
a blow went through me and left me blind and dizzy.
And the next moment she had thrust me back, broken
rudely from my arms, and fled with the speed of a deer
among the cork-trees.

I stood and shouted to the mountains ; I turned and
went back towards the residencia, walking upon air.
She sent me away, and yet I had but to call upon her
name and she came to me. These were but the weak-
nesses of girls, from which even she, the strangest of
her sex, was not exempted. Go ? Not I, Olalla — O,
not I, Olalla, my Olalla! A bird sang near by; and
in that season, birds were rare. It bade me be of good

OLALLA 197

cheer. And once more the whole countenance of
nature, from the ponderous and stable mountains
down to the lightest leaf and the smallest darting fly
in the shadow of the groves, began to stir before me
and to put on the lineaments of life and wear a face
of awful joy. The sunshine struck upon the hills,
strong as a hammer on the anvil, and the hills shook ;
the earth, under that vigorous insolation, yielded up
heady scents; the woods smouldered in the blaze. I
felt the thrill of travail and delight run through the
earth. Something elemental, something rude, violent,
and savage, in the love that sang in my heart, was like
a key to nature's secrets; and the very stones that
rattled under my feet appeared alive and friendly.
Olalla ! Her touch had quickened, and renewed, and
strung me up to the old pitch of concert with the rugged
earth, to a swelling of the soul that men learn to forget
in their polite assemblies. Love burned in me like
rage; tenderness waxed fierce; I hated, I adored, I
pitied, I revered her with ecstasy. She seemed the
link that bound me in with dead things on the one hand
and with our pure and pitying God upon the other;
a thing brutal and divine, and akin at once to the
innocence and to the unbridled forces of the earth.

My head thus reeling, I came into the courtyard of
the residencia, and the sight of the mother struck me
like a revelation. She sat there, all sloth and content-
ment, blinking under the strong sunshine, branded
with a passive enjoyment, a creature set quite apart,
before whom my ardour fell away like a thing ashamed.
I stopped a moment, and, commanding such shaken
tones as I was able, said a word or two. She looked at

198 OLALLA •

me with her unfathomable kindness; her voice in
reply sounded vaguely out of the realm of peace in
which she slumbered, and there fell on my mind, for
the first time, a sense of respect for one so uniformly
innocent and happy, and I passed on in a kind of
wonder at myself, that I should be so much disquieted.
On my table there lay a piece of the same yellow
paper I had seen in the north room; it was written on
with pencil in the same hand, Olalla's hand, and I
picked it up with a sudden sinking of alarm, and read,
" If you have any kindness for Olalla, if you have any
chivalry for a creature sorely wrought, go from here
to-day; in pity, in honour, for the sake of Him who
died, I supplicate that you shall go." I looked at this
awhile in mere stupidity, then I began to awaken to a
weariness and horror of life; the sunshine darkened
outside on the bare hills, and I began to shake like a
man in terror. The vacancy thus suddenly opened in
my life unmanned me like a physical void. It was not
my heart, it was not my happiness, it was life itself
that was involved. I could not lose her. I said so, and
stood repeating it. And then, like one in a dream, I
moved to the window, put forth my hand to open the
casement, and thrust it through the pane. The blood
spurted from my wrist; and with an instantaneous
quietude and command of myself, I pressed my thumb
on the little leaping fountain, and reflected what to do.
In that empty room there was nothing to my purpose;
i felt, besides, that I required assistance. There shot
into my mind a hope that Olalla herself might be my
helper, and I turned and went down stairs, still keep-
ing my thumb upon the wound.

OLALLA 199

There was no sign of either Olalla or Felipe, and I
addressed myself to the recess, whither the Sefiora had
now drawn quite back and sat dozing dose before the
fire, for no degree of heat appeared too much for her.

" Pardon me," said I, " if I disturb you, but I must
apply to you for help."

She looked up sleepily and asked me what it was,
and with the very words, I thought she drew in her
breath with a widening of the nostrils and seemed to
come suddenly and fully alive.

" I have cut myself," I said, " and rather badly.
See 1 " And I held out my two hands from which the
blood was oozing and dripping.

Her great eyes opened wide, the pupils shrank into
points ; a veil seemed to fall from her face, and leave it
sharply expressive and yet inscrutable. And as I still
stood, marvelling a little at her disturbance, she came
swiftly up to me, and stooped and caught me by the
hand; and the next moment my hand was at her
mouth, and she had bitten me to the bone. The pang
of the bite, the sudden spurting of blood, and the
monstrous horror of the act, flashed through me all
in one, and I beat her back; and she sprang at me
again and again, with bestial cries, cries that I recog-
nised^ such cries as had awakened me on the ni^ of
the high wind. Her strengdi was like that of madness ;
mine was rapidly ebbing with the loss of blood; my
mind besides was whirling with the abhorrent strange-
ness of the onslaught, and I was already forced
against the wall, when Olalla ran betwixt us, and
Felipe, following at a bound, pinned down his mother
on the flooi.

2CX) , OLALLA

A trance-like weakness fell upon me; I saw^ heard,
and felt, but I was incapable of movement. I heard
the struggle roll to and fro upon the floor, the yells of
that catamount ringing up to Heaven as she strove to
reach me. I felt Olalla clasp me in her arms, her hair
falling on my face, and, with the strength of a man,
raise and half drag, half carry me up stairs into my
own room, where she cast me down upon the bed.
Then I saw her hasten to the door and lock it, and
stand an instant listening to the savage cries that
shook the residencia. And then, swift and light as a
thought, she was again beside me, binding up my
hand, laying it in her bosom, moaning and mourning
over it with dove-like sounds. They were not words
that came to her, they were sounds more beautiful
than speech, infinitely touching, infinitely tender; and
yet as I lay there, a thought stung to my heart, a
thought wounded me like a sword, a thought, like a
worm in a flower, profaned the holiness of my love.
Yes, they were beautiful sounds, and they were in-
spired by human tenderness; but was their beauty
human ?

All day I lay there. For a long time the cries of that
nameless female thing, as she struggled with her half-
witted whelp, resounded through the house, and
pierced me with despairing sorrow and disgust. They
were the death-cry of my love ; my love was murdered ;
it was not only dead, but an offence to me; and yet,
think as I pleased, feel as I must, it still swelled within
me like a storm of sweetness, and my heart melted at
her looks and touch. This horror that had sprang out,
this doubt upon Olalla, this savage and bestial strain

OLALLA 20I

that ran not only through the whole behaviour of her
family, but found a place in the very foundations and
story of our love — though it appalled, though it
shocked and sickened me, was yet not of power to
break the knot of my infatuation.

When the cries had ceased, there came the scraping
at the door, by which I knew Felipe was without; and
Olalla went and spoke to him — I know not what.
With that exception, she stayed close beside me, now
kneeling by my bed and fervently prapng, now sitting
with her eyes upon mine. So then, for these six hours
I drank in her beauty, and silently perused the story
in her face. I saw the golden coin hover on her breaths ;
I saw her eyes darken and brighten, and still speak no
language but that of an unfathomable kindness; I
saw the faultless face, and, through the robe, the lines
of the faultless body. Night came at last, and in the
growing darkness of the chamber, the sight of her
slowly melted; but even then the touch of her smooth
hand lingered in mine and talked with me. To lie
thus in deadly weakness and drink in the traits of the
beloved, is to reawake to love from whatever shock of
disillusion. I reasoned with myself; and I shut my
eyes on horrors, and again I was very bold to accept
the worst. What mattered it, if that imperious senti-
ment survived; if her eyes still beckoned and attached
me; if now, even as before, every fibre of my. dull
body yearned and turned to her? Late on in the
night some strength revived in me, and I spoke : —

** Olalla," I said, " nothing matters; I ask nothing;
I am content; I love you."

She knelt down awhile and prayed, and I devoutly

20« OLALLA

respected her devoticms. The moon had begun to
$hine in upon one side of each of the three windows,
and make a misty clearness in the room, by which I
saw her indistinctly. When she rearose she made the
sign of the cross.

" It is for me to speak," she said, " and for you to
listen. I know; you can but guess. I prayed, how I
prayed for you to leave this place. I begged it of you,
and I know you would have granted me even this ; or
if not, O let me think so 1 '*

" I love you," I said.

** And yet you have lived in the world," she said;
after a pause, '' you are a man and wise; and I am but
a child. Forgive me, if I seem to teach, who am as
ignorant as the trees of the mountain; but those who
learn much do but skim the face of knowledge; they
seize the laws» they conceive the dignity of the design
— the horror of the living fact fades from their mem-
ory. It is we who sit at home with evil who remember,
I think, and are warned and pity. Go, rather, go now,
and keep me in mind. So I shall have a life in the
cherished places of your memory : a life as much my
own, as that which I lead in this body."

*' I love you," I said once more; and reaching out
my weak hand, took hers^ and carried it to my lips,
and kissed it. Nor did she resist, but winced a little;
and I could see her look upon me with a frown that
was not unkindly, only sad and baffled. And then it
seemed she made a call upon her resoluti(xi; plucked
my hand towards her, herself at the same time leaning
somewhat forward, and laid it oa the beating of her
heart. " There," she cried, " you fed the very footfall

OLALLA 203

of my life. It only moves for you ; it is yours. But
is it even mine ? It is mine indeed to oflFer you, as I
might take the coin from my neck, as I might break
a live branch from a tree, and give it you. And yet not
mine ! I dwell, or I think I dwell (if I exist at all),
somewhere apart, an impotent prisoner, and carried
about and deafened by a mob that I disown. This
capsule, such as throbs against the sides of animals,
knows you at a touch for its master; ay, it loves you !
But my soul, does my soul ? I think not; I know not,
fearing to ask. Yet when you spoke to me your words
were of the soul; it is of the soul that you ask — it is
only from the soul that you would take me."

" Olalla," I said, " the soul and the body are one,
and mostly so in love. What the body chooses, the
soul loves; where the body clings, the soul cleaves;
body for body, soul to soul they come together at
God's signal; and the lower part (if we can call aught
low) is only the footstool and foundation of the high-
est."

" Have you," she said, " seen the portraits in the
house of my fathers ? Have you looked at my mother
or at Felipe? Have your eyes ever rested on that
picture that hangs by your bed ? She who sat for it
died ages ago; and she did evil in her life. But look
again : there is my hand to the least line, there are my
eyes and my hair. What is mine, then, and what am
I ? If not a curve in this poor body of mine (which
you love, and for the sake of which you dotingly
dream that you love me), not a gesture that I can
frame, not a tone of my voice, not any look from my
eyes, no, not even now when I speak to him I love,

204 OLALLA

but has belonged to others ? Others, ages dead, have
wooed other men with my eyes ; other men have heard
the pleading of the same voice that now sounds in
your ears. The hands of the dead are in my bosom;
they move me, they pluck me, they guide me; I am
a puppet at their command; and I but reinform
features and attributes that have long been laid aside
from evil in the quiet of the grave. Is it me you love,
friend ? or the race that made me ? The girl who does
not know and cannot answer for the least portion of
herself? or the stream of which she is a transitory
eddy, the tree of which she is the passing fruit ? The
race exists; it is old, it is ever young, it carries its
eternal destiny in its bosom ; upon it, like waves upon
the sea, individual succeeds to individual, mocked
with a semblance of self-control, but they are nothing.
We speak of the soul, but the soul is in the race."

" You fret against the common law," I said. " You
rebel against the voice of God, which he has made so
winning to convince, so imperious to command. Hear
it, and how it speaks between us ! Your hand clings
to mine, your heart leaps at my touch, the unknown
elements of which we are compounded awake and run
together at a look; the clay of the earth remembers its
independent life and yearns to join us; we are drawn
together as the stars are turned about in space, or as
the tides ebb and flow, by things older and greater than
we ourselves."

" Alas ! " she said, " what can I say to you ? My
fathers, eight hundred years ago, ruled all this prov-
ince : they were wise, great, cunning, and cruel; they
were a picked race of the Spanish ; their flags led in

OLALLA 205

war; the king called them his cousin; the people,
when the rope was slung for them or when they re-
turned and found their hovels smoking, blasphemed
their name. Presently a change began. Man has
risen; if he has sprung from the brutes, he can descend
again to the same level. The breath of weariness blew
on their humanity and the cords relaxed; they began
to go down; their minds fell on sleep, their passions
awoke in gusts, heady and senseless like the wind in
the gutters of the mountains ; beauty was still handed
down, but no longer the guiding wit nor the human
heart; the seed passed on, it was wrapped in flesh, the
flesh covered the bones, but they were the bones and
the flesh of brutes, and their mind was as the mind of
flies. I speak to you as I dare; but you have seen for
yourself how the wheel has gone backward with my
doomed race. I stand, as it were, upon a little rising
ground in this desperate descent, and see both before
and behind, both what we have lost and to what we are
condemned to go farther downward. And shall I — I
that dwell apart in the house of the dead, my body,
loathing its ways — shall I repeat the spell ? Shall I
bind another spirit, reluctant as my own, into this
bewitched and tempest-broken tenement that I now
suffer in ? Shall I hand down this cursed vessel of
humanity, charge it with fresh life as with fresh poison,
and dash it, like a fire, in the faces of posterity ? But
my vow has been given ; the race shall cease from off"
the earth. At this hour my brother is making ready;
his foot will soon be on the stair; and you will go with
him and pass out of my sight for ever. Think of me
sometimes as one to whom the lesson of life was very

2o6 OLALLA

harshly tdd, but who heard it with courage; as one
who loved you indeed, but who hated herself so deeply
that her love was hateful to her; as one who sent you
' away and yet would have longed to keep you for ever;
who had no dearer hope than to forget you, and no
(greater fear than to be forgotten."

She had drawn towards the door as she spoke, her
rich voice sounding softer and farther away; and with
the last word she was gone, and I lay alone in the
moonlit chamber. What I might have done had not I
lain bound by my extreme weakness, I know not; but
as it was there fell upon me a great and blank despair.
It was not long before there shone in at the door the
ruddy glimmer of a lantern, and Felipe coming,
charged me without a word upon his shoulders, and
carried me down to the great gate, where the cart was
waiting. In the moonlight the hills stood out sharply,
as if they were of cardboard ; on the glimmering sur-
face of the plateau, and from among the low trees
which swung together and sparkled in the wind, the
great black cube of the residencia stood out bulkily,
its mass only broken by three dimly lighted windows in
the northern front above the gate. They were Olalla's
windows, and as the cart jolted onwards I kept my
eyes fixed upon them till, where the road dipped into
a valley, they were lost to my view for ever. Felipe
walked in silence beside the shafts, but from time to
time he would check the mule and seem to look back
upon me ; and at length drew quite near and laid his
hand upon my head. There was such kindness in the
touch, and such a simplicity, as of the brutes, that
tears broke from me like the bursting of an artery.

OLALLA 207

" Felipe/' I said, " take me where they will ask no
questions."

He said never a word, but he turned his mule about,
end for end, retraced some part of the way we had
gone, and, striking into another path, led me to the
mountain village, which was, as we say in Scotland,
the kirkton of that thinly peopled district. Some
broken memories dwell in my mind of the day breaking
over the plain, of the cart stopping, of arms that helped
me down, of a bare room into which I was carried, and
of a swoon that fell upon me like sleep.

The next day and the days following, the old priest
was often at my side with his snuff-box and prayer
book, and after a while, when I began to pick up
strength, he told me that I was now on a fair way to
recovery, and must as soon as possible hurry my
departure; whereupon, without naming any reason,
he took snuff and looked at me sideways. I did not
affect ignorance; I knew he must have seen Olalla*
" Sir," said I, " you know that I do not ask in wanton-
ness. What of that family ? "

He said they were very unfortunate; that it seemed
a declining race, and that they were very poor and had
been much neglected.

" But she has not," I said. " Thanks, doubtless, to
yourself, she is insti^icted and wise beyond the use of
women."

"Yes," he said; "the Seflorita is well-informed.
But the family has been neglected."

" The mother ? " I queried.

" Yes, the mother too," said the Padre, taking snuff
" But Felipe is a well-intentioned lad."

208 OLALLA

" The mother is odd ? " 1 asked.

" Very odd," replied the priest.

" I think, sir, we beat about the bush," said I.
" You must know more of my affairs than you allow.
You must know my curiosity to be justified on many
grounds. Will you not be frank with me ? "

" My son," said the old gentleman, " I will be very
frank with you on matters within my competence; on
those of which I know nothing it does not require much
discretion to be silent. I will not fence with you, I
take your meaning perfectly; and what can I say, but
that we are all in God's hands, and that His ways are
not as our ways ? I have even advised with my
superiors in the church, but they, too, were dumb.
It is a great mystery."

"Is she mad?" I asked.

" I will answer you according to my belief. She is
not," returned the Padre, " or she was not. When she
was young — God help me, I fear I neglected that
wild lamb — she was surely sane ; and yet, although
it did not run to such heights, the same strain was
already notable; it had been so before her in her
father, ay, and before him, and this inclined me»
perhaps, to think too lightly of it. But these things go
on growing, not only in the individual but in the race."

* ' When she was young," I began, and my voice
failed me for a moment, and it was only with a great
effort that I was able to add, " was she like Olalla ? "

"Now God forbid!" exclaimed the Padre. "God
forbid that any man should think so slightingly of my
favourite penitent. No, no; the Sellorita (but for her
beauty, which I wish most honestly she had less of)

OLALLA 209

has not a hair's resemblance to what her mother was
at the same age. I could not bear to have you think
so; though, Heaven knows, it were, perhaps, better
that you should."

At this, I raised myself in bed, and opened my heart
to the old man; telling him of our love and of her
decision, owning my own horrors, my own passing
fancies, but telling him that these were at an end; and
with something more than a purely formal submission,
appealing to his judgment.

He heard me very patiently and without surprise;
and when I had done, he sat for some time silent.
Then he began : " The church," and instantly broke
off again to apologise. ^* I had forgotten, my child,
that you were not a Christian," said he. " And indeed,
upon a point so highly unusual, even the church can
scarce be said to have decided. But would you have
my opinion ? The Sefiorita is, in a matter of this kind,
the best judge; I would accept her judgment."

On the back of that he went away, nor was he
thenceforward so assiduous in his visits; indeed, even
when I began to get about again, he plainly feared
and deprecated my society, not as in distaste but much
as a man might be disposed to flee from the riddling
sphynx. The villagers, too, avoided me; they were
unwilling to be my guides upon the mountain. I
thought they looked at me askance, and I made sure
that the more superstitious crossed themselves on my
approach. At first I set this down to my heretical
opinions ; but it began at length to dawn upon me that
if I was thus redoubted it was because I had stayed at
the residencia. All men despise the savage notions o£

2IO OLALLA

such peasantry; and yet I was conscious of a chiU
shadow that seemed to fall and dwell upon my love.
It did not conquer, but I may not deny that it re*
strained my ardour.

Some miles westward of the village there was a gap
in the sierra, from which the eye plunged direct upon
the residencia; and thither it became my daily habit
to repair. A wood crowned the summit; and just
where the pathway issued from its fringes, it was
overhung by a considerable shelf of rock, and that, in
its turn, was surmounted by a crucifix of the size of
life and more than usually painful in design. This
was my perch; thence, day after day, I looked down
upon the plateau, and the great old house, and could
see Felipe, no bigger than a fly, going to and fro about
the garden. Sometimes mists would draw across the
view, and be broken up again by mountain winds;
sometimes the plain slumbered below me in unbroken
sunshine; it would sometimes be all blotted out by
rain. This distant post, these interrupted sights of
the place where my liife had been so strangely changed
suited the indecision of my humour. I passed whole
days there, debating with myself the various elements
of our position ; now leaning to the suggestions of love,
now giving an ear to prudence, and in the end halting
irresolute between the two.

One day, as I was sitting on my rock, there came
by that way a somewhat gaunt peasant wrapped in a
mantle. He was a stranger, and plainly did not know
me even by repute; for, instead of keeping the other
side, he drew near and sat down beside me, and we
had soon fallen in talk. Among other things he told

OLALLA art

me he had been a muleteer^ and in former years had
much frequented these mountains; later on, he had
followed the army with his mules, had realised a
competence, and was now living retired with his
family.

** Do you know that house ? ^' I inquired, at last,
pointing to the residencia, for I readily wearied of any
talk that kept me from tiie thought of Olalla.

He looked at me darkly and crossed him-
self.

" Too well," he said, " it was there that one of my
comrades sold himself to Satan ; the Virgin shield us
from temptations 1 He has paid the price; he is now
burning in the reddest place in Hell ! "

A fear came upon me; I could answer nothing; and
presently the man resumed, as if to himself. " Yes,"
he said, *^ O yes, I know it. I have passed its doors.
There was snow upon the pass, the wind was driving
it; sure enough there was death that night upon the
mountains, but there was worse beside the hearth. I
took him by the arm, Seftor, and dragged him to the
gate; I conjured him, by all he loved and respected, to
go forth with me; I went on my knees before him in
the snow; and I could see he was moved by my
entreaty. And just then she came out on the gallery,
and called him by his name; and he turned, and there
was she standing i/nth a lamp in her hand and smiling
on him to come back. I cried out aloud to God, and
threw my arms about him, but he put me by, and left
me alone. He had made his choice; God help us. I
would pray for him, but to what end ? there are sins
that not even the Pope can loose."

212 OLALLA

**And your friend/' I asked, "what became of
him?''

" Nay, God knows," said the muleteer. " If all be
true that we hear, his end was like his sin, a thing to
raise the hair."

*' Do you mean that he was killed ? " I asked.

** Sure enough, he was killed," returned the man.
'* But how ? Ay, how ? But these are things that
it IS sin to speak of."

" The people of that house ..." I began.

But he interrupted me with a savage outburst.
" The people ? " he cried. " What people ? There
are neither men nor women in that house of Satan's !
What ? have you lived here so long, and never heard ? "
And here he put his mouth to my ear and whispered,
as if even the fowls of the mountain might have over-
heard and been stricken with horror.

What he told me* was not true, nor was it even
original; being, indeed, but a new edition, vamped up
again by village ignorance and superstition, of stories
nearly as ancient as the race of man. It was rather
the application that appalled me. In the old days,
he said, the church would have burned out that nest
of basilisks; but the arm of the church was now
shortened; his friend Miguel had been unpunished
by the hands of men, and left to the more awful
judgment of an offended God. This was wrong; but
it should be so no more. The Padre was sunk in age ;
he was even bewitched himself; but the eyes of his
flock were now awake to their own danger; and some
day — ay, and before long — the smoke of that house
should go up to heaven.

OLALLA 213

He left me filled with horror and fear. Which way
to turn I knew not ; whether first to warn the Padre, or
to carry my ill-news direct to the threatened inhabit-
ants of the residencia. Fate was to decide for me;
for, while I was still hesitating, I beheld the veiled
figure of a woman drawing near to me up the pathway.
No veil could deceive my penetration; by every line
and every movement I recognised Olalla; and keep-
ing hidden behind a comer of the rock, I suffered her
to gain the summit. Then I came forward. She
knew me and paused, but did not speak; I, too^
remained silent; and we continued for some time
to gaze upon each other with a passionate sad-
ness.

" I thought you had gone," she said at length. " It
is all that you can do for me — to go. It is all I ever
asked of you. And you still stay. But do you know,
that every day heaps up the peril of death, not only on
your head, but on ours ? A report has gone about the
mountain; it is thought you love me, and the people
will not suffer it."

I saw she was already informed of her danger,
and I rejoiced at it. " Olalla,^ I said, " I am
ready to go this day, this very hour, but not
alone."

She stepped aside and knelt down before the crucifix
to pray, and I stood by and looked now at her and now
at the object of her adoration, now at the living figure
of the penitent, and now at the ghastly, daubed coun-
tenance, the painted wounds, and the projected ribs
of the image. The silence was only broken by the
wailing of some large birds that circled sidelong, as if

214 OLALLA

in surprise or alarm, about the summit of the hills.
Presently Olalla rose again, turned towards me,
raised her veil, and, still leaning with one hand on the
shaft of the crucifix, looked upon me with a pale and
sorrowful countenance.

" I have laid my hand upon the cross," she said.
" The Padre says you are no Christian ; but look up
for a moment with my eyes, and behold the face of the
Man of Sorrows. We are all such as He was — the
inheritors of sin; we must all bear and expiate a past
which was not ours ; there is in all of us — ay, even in
me — a sparkle of the divine. Like Him, we must
endure for a little while, until morning returns bring-
ing peace. Suffer me to pass on upon my way alone ;
it is thus that I shall be least lonely, counting for my
friend Him who is the friend of all the distressed; it is
thus that I shall be the most happy, having taken my
farewell of earthly happiness, and willingly accepted
sorrow for my portion.'*

I looked at the face of the crucifix, and, though I
was no friend to images, and despised that imitative
and grimacing art of which it was a rude example,
some sense of what the thing implied was carried home
to my intelligence. The face looked down upon me
with a painful and deadly contraction; but the rays
of a glory encircled it, and reminded me that the
sacrifice was voluntary. It stood there, crowning the
rock, as it still stands on so many highway sides,
vainly preaching to passers-by, an emblem of sad and
noble truths; that pleasure is not an end, but an
accident; that pain is the choice of the magnanimous;
that it is best to suffer all things and do well. I turned

OLALLA 215

and went down the mountain in silence; and when I
looked back for the last time before the wood closed
about my path, I saw Olalla still leaning on the
crucifix.

THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

CHAPTER I

BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK

THEY had sent for the doctor from Bourron
before six. About eight some villagers came
round for the performance, and were told
how matters stood. It seemed a liberty for a mounte-
bank to fall ill like real people, and they made off
again in dudgeon. By ten Madame Tentaillon was
gravely alarmed, and had sent down the street for
Doctor Desprez.

The Doctor was at work over his manuscripts in one
comer of the little dining-room, and his wife was
asleep over the fire in another, when the messenger
arrived.

" Sapristi ! " said the Doctor, " you should have
sent for me before. It was a case for hurry.** And
he followed the messenger as he was, in his slippers
and skull-cap.

The inn was not thirty yards away, but the messen-
ger did not stop there ; he went in at one door and out
by another into the court, and then led the way by a
flight of steps beside the stable, to the loft where the
mountebank lay sick. If Doctor Desprez were to live
a thousand years, he would never forget his arrival in

219

220 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

that room; for not only was the scene picturesque, but
the moment made a date in his existence. We reckon
our lives, I hardly know why, from the date of our
first sorry appearance in society, as if from a first
humiliation; for no actor can come upon the stage
with a worse grace. Not to go further back, which
would be judged too curious, there are subsequently
many moving and decisive accidents in the lives of all,
which would make as logical a period as this of birth.
And here, for instance, Doctor Desprez, a man past
forty, who had made what is called a failure in life,
and was moreover married, found himself at a new
point of departure when he opened the door of the
loft above Tentaillon's stable.

It was a large place, lighted only by a single candle
set upon the floor. The mountebank lay on his back
upon a pallet; a large man, with a Quixotic nose
inflamed with drinking. Madame Tentaillon stooped
over him, applying a hot water and mustard embroca-
tion to his feet; and on a chair close by sat a little
fellow of eleven or twelve, with his feet dangling.
These three were the only occupants, except the
shadows. But the shadows were a company in them-
selves; the extent of the room exaggerated them to a
gigantic size, and from the low position of the candle
the light struck upwards and produced deformed
foreshortenings. The mountebank's profile was
enlarged upon the wall in caricature, and it was
strange to see his nose shorten and lengthen as the
flam&was blown about by draughts. As for Madame
Tentaillon, her shadow was no more than a gross
hump of shoulders, with now and again a hemisphere

BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK 221

of head. The chair legs were spindled out as long as
stilts, and the boy sat perched atop of them, like a
cloud in the comer of the roof. ^

It was the boy who took the Doctor's fancy. He
had a great arched skull, the forehead and the hands
of a musician, and a pair of haunting eyes. It was not
merely that these eyes were large, or steady, or the
softest ruddy brown. There was a look in them,
besides, which thrilled the Doctor, and made him half
uneasy. He was sure he had seen such a look before,
and yet he could not remember how or where. It was
as if this boy, who was quite a stranger to him, had the
eyes of an old friend or an old enemy. And the boy
would give him no peace; he seemed profoundly
indifferent to what was going on, or rather abstracted
from it in a superior contemplation, beating gently
¥rith his feet against the bars of the chair, and holding
his hands folded on his lap. But, for all that, his eyes
kept following the Doctor about the room with a
thoughtful fixity of gaze. Desprez could not tell
whether he was fascinating the boy, or the boy was
fascinating him. He busied himself over the sick
man: he put questions, he felt the pulse, he jested,
he grew a little hot and swore : and still, whenever
he looked round, there were the brown eyes wait-
ing for his with the same inquiring, melancholy
gaze.

At last the Doctor hit on the solution at a leap. He
remembered the look now. The little fellow, although
he was as straight as a dart, had the eyes that go
usually with a crooked back; he was not at all de-
formed, and yet a deformed person seemed to be

222 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

looking at you from below his brows. The Doctor
irew a long breath, he was so much relieved to find
a theory (for he loved theories) and to explain away
his interest.

For all that, he despatched the invalid with unusual
haste, and, still kneeling with one knee on the floor,
turned a little round and looked the hay over at his
leisure. The boy was not in the least put out, but
looked placidly back at the Doctor.

" Is this your father ? " asked Desprez.

" Oh, no," returned the boy; " my master."

" Are you fond of him ? " continued the Doc-
tor.

"No, sir," said the boy.

Madame Tentaillon and Desprez exchanged ex-
pressive glances,

" That is bad, my man," resumed the latter, with a
shade of sternness. " Every one should be fond of the
dying, or conceal their sentiments; and your master
here is dying. If I have watched a bird a little while
stealing my cherries, I have a thought of disappoint-
ment when he flies away over my garden wall, and I
see him steer for the forest and vanish. How much
more a creature such as this, so strong, so astute,
so richly endowed with faculties! When I think
that, in a few hours, the speech will be silenced, the
breath extinct, and even the shadow vanished from
the wall, I who never saw him, this lady who knew
him only as a guest, are touched with some aflPec-
tion."

The boy was silent for a little, and appeared to be
reflecting.

BY THE DYING MOUNTEBANK ^ \

" You did not know him/' he replied at last. " He
was a bad man."

" He is a little pagan," said the landlady. " For
that matter, they are all the same, these mountebanks,
tumblers, artists, and what not. They have no inte-
rior."

But the doctor was still scrutinising the little pagan,
his eyebrows knotted and uplifted.

" What is your name ? " he asked.

" Jean-Marie," said the lad.

Desprez leaped upon him with one of his sudden
flashes of excitement, and felt his head all over irom
an ethnological point of view.

" Celtic, Celtic ! " he said.

" Celtic ! " cried Madame Tentaillon, who had
perhaps confounded the word with hydrocephalous.
" Poor lad ! is it dangerous ? "

" That depends," returned the Doctor, grimly.
And then once more addressing the boy : " And what
do you do for your living, Jean-Marie ? " he inquired.

" I tumble," was the answer.

" So ! Tumble ? " repeated Desprez. " Probably
healthful. I hazard the guess, Madame Tentaillon,
that tumbling is a healthful way of life. And have
you never done an3rthing else but tumble ? "

** Before I learned that, I used to steal," answered
Jean-Marie gravely.

" Upon my word ! " cried the Doctor. " You are a
nice little man for your age. Madame, when my
confrere comes from Bourron, you will communicate
my unfavourable opinion. I leave the case in his
hands; but of course, on any alarming symptom.

224 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

above all if there should be a sign of ralljr, do not
hesiute to knock me up. I am a doctor do longer,
I thank God; but I have been one. Good ni^it,
madame. Good sleep to you, Jean-Maiie."

CHAPTER II

MORNING TALK

DOCTOR DESPREZ always rose early. Be-
fore the smoke arose, before the first cart
rattled over the bridge to the day's labour in
the fields, he was to be found wandering in his garden.
Now he would pick a bunch of grapes; now he would
eat a big pear under the trellice; now he would draw
all sorts of fancies on the path with the end of his cane;
now he would go down and watch the river running
endlessly past the timber landing-place at which he
moored his boat. There was no time, he used to say,
for making theories like the early morning. " I rise
earlier than any one else in the village," he once
boasted. ** It is a fair consequence that I know more
and wish to do less with my knowledge."

The Doctor was a connoisseur of sunrises, and loved
a good theatrical effect to usher in the day. He had a
theory of dew, by which he could predict the weather.
Indeed, most things served him to that end : the sound
of the bells from all the neighbouring villages, the
smell of the forest, the visits and the behaviour of
both birds and fishes, the look of the plants in his
garden, the disposition of cloud, the colour of the lights

225

226 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

aod last, although not least, the arsenal of meteoro-
logical instruments, in a louvie-baarded hutch upon
the lawn. Ever since he had settled at Gretz, he had
been growing more and more into the local meteorol-
ogist, the unpaid champion of the local climate. He
thought at first there was no place so healthful in the
arrondissement. By the end of the second year, he
protested there was none so wholesome in the whole
department. And for some time before he met Jean-
Marie he had been prepared to challenge all France
and the better part of Europe for a rival to his chosen
spot.

** Doctor," he would say — " doctor is a foul word.
It should not be used to ladies. It implies disease. I
remark it, as a flaw in our civilisation, that we have not
the proper horror of disease. Now I, for my part^
have washed my hands of it; I have renounced my
laureation; I am no doctor; I am only a worshipper
of the true goddess Hygieia. Ah, believe me, it is she
who has the cestus ! And here, in this exiguous ham-
let, has she placed her shrine: here she dwells and
lavishes her gifts; here I walk with her in the early
morning, and she shows me how strong she has made
the peasants, how fruitful she has made the fields,
how the trees grow up tall and comely under her eyes,
and the fishes in the river become clean and agile at
her presence. — Rheumatism ! *' he would cry, on
some malapert interruption, " O, yes, I believe we do
have a little rheumatism. That could hardly be
avoided, you know, on a river. And of course the
place stands a little low; and the meadows are marshy,
there's no doubt. But, my dear sir, look at Bourron !

MORNING TALK 227

Bourron stands high. Bourron is close to the forest;
plenty of ozone there, you would say. Well, compared
with Gretz, Bourron is a perfect shambles."

The morning after he had been summoned to the
dying mountebank, the Doctor visited the wharf at the
tail of his garden, and had a long look at the running
water. This he called prayer; but whether his adora-
tions were addressed to the goddess Hygieia or some
more orthodox deity, never plainly appeared. For he
had uttered doubtful oracles, sometimes declaring
that a river was the type of bodily health, sometimes
extolling it as the great moral preacher, continually
preaching peace, continuity, and diligence to man's
tormented spirits. After he had watched a mile or so
of the clear water running by before his eyes, seen a
fish or two come to the surface with a gleam of silver,
and sufficiently admired the long shadows of the trees
falling half across the river from the opposite bank,
with patches of moving sunlight in between, he strolled
once more up the garden and through his house into
the street, feeling cool and renovated.

The sound of his feet upon the causeway began the
business of the day; for the village was still sound
asleep. The church tower looked very airy in the sun-
light ; a few birds that turned about it, seemed to swim
in an atmosphere of more than usual rarity; and the
Doctor, walking in long transparent shadows, filled his
lungs amply, and proclaimed himself well contented
with the morning.

On one of the posts before Tentaillon's carriage en-
try he espied a little dark figure perched in a meditative
attitude, and immediately recognised Jean-Marie.

228 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

** Aha ! " he said, stopping before him humourously,
with a hand on either knee. '' So we rise early in the
morning, do we ? It appears to me that we have all
the vices of a philosopher."

The boy got to his feet and made a grave salutation.

** And how is our patient ? " asked Desprez.

It appeared the patient was about the same.

'' And why do you rise early in the morning ? " he
pursued.

Jean-Marie, after a long silence, professed that he
hardly knew.

"You hardly know?" repeated Desprez. "We
hardly know anything, my man, until we try to learn.
Interrogate your consciousness. Come, push me this
inquiry home. Do you like it ? "

" Yes," said the boy slowly; " yes, I like it."

" And why do you like it ? " continued the Doctor.
" (We are now pursuing the Socratic method.) Why
do you like it ? "

" It is quiet," answered Jean-Marie; " and I have
nothing to do; and then I feel as if I were good."

Doctor Desprez took a seat on the post at the oppo-
site side. He was beginning to take an interest in the
talk, for the boy plainly thought before he spoke, and
tried to answer truly. " It appears you have a taste
for feeling good," said the Doctor. " Now, there you
puzzle me extremely; for I thought you said you were
a thief; and the two are incompatible.**

" Is it very bad to steal ? " asked Jean-Marie.

" Such is the general opinion, little boy," replied
the Doctor.

" No; but I mean as I stole," exclaimed the other.

MORNING TALK 229

** For I had no choice. I think it is surely right to
have bread; it must be right to have bread, there
comes so plain a want of it. And then they beat me
cruelly if I returned with nothing," he added. " I
was not ignorant of right and wrong; for before that I
had been well taught by a priest, who was very kind to
to me." (The Doctor made a horrible grimace at the
word " priest.") " But it seemed to me, when one had
nothing to eat and was beaten, it was a different affair.
I would not have stolen for tartlets, I believe ; but any
one would steal for baker's bread."

" And so I suppose," said the doctor, with a rising
sneer, " you prayed God to forgive you, and explained
the case to Him at length."

" Why, sir ? " asked Jean-Marie. " I do not see."

" Your priest would see, however," retorted Des-
prez.

" Would he ? " asked the boy, troubled for the first
time. " I should have thought God would have
known."

" Eh ? " snarled the Doctor.

" I should have thought God would have under-
stood me," replied the other. " You do not, I see ;
but then it was God that made me think so, was it
not?"

" Little boy, little boy," said Dr. Desprez, " I told
you already you had the vices of philosophy; if you
display the virtues also, I must go. I am a student of
the blessed laws of health, an observer of plain and
temperate nature in her common walks ; and I cannot
preserve my equanimity in presence of a monster.
Do you understand ? "

i

230 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

" No, sir/' said the boy.

" I will make my meaning clear to you," replied the
Doctor. " Look there at the sky — behind the belfry
first, where it is so light, and then up and up, turning
your chin back, right to the top of the dome, where it
is already as blue as at noon. Is not that a beautiful
colour ? Does it not please the heart ? We have seen
it all our lives, until it has grown in with our familiar
thoughts. Now," changing his tone, " suppose that
sky to become suddenly of a live and fiery amber, like
the colour of clear coals, and growing scarlet towards
the top — I do not say it would be any the less beauti-
ful; but would you like it as well ? "

" I suppose not," answered Jean-Marie.

" Neither do I like you," returned the Doctor,
roughly. " I hate all odd people, and you are the
most curious little boy in all the world."

Jean-Marie seemed to ponder for a while, and then
he raised his head again and looked over at the Doctor
with an air of candid inquiry. " But are not you a
very curious gentleman ? " he asked.

The Doctor threw away his stick, bounded on the
boy, clasped him to his bosom, and kissed him on
both cheeks. " Admirable, admirable imp ! " he
cried. " What a morning, what an hour for a theorist
of forty-two! No," he continued, apostrophising
heaven, " I did not know that such boys existed; I
was ignorant they made them so; I had doubted of
my race; and now! It is like," he added, picking up
his stick, " like a lovers' meeting. I have bruised my
favourite staff in that moment of enthusiasm. The
injury, however, is not grave." He caught the boy

MORNING TALK ^31

kK)king at him in obvious wonder, embarrassment, and
alarm. " Hello ! " said he, " why do you look at me
like that ? Egad, I believe the boy despises me. Do
you despise me, boy ? "

'* O, no," replied Jean-Marie, seriously; " only I
do not understand."

" Y6u must excuse me, sir," returned the Doctor,
^with gravity ; " I am still so young. O, hang him ! "
he added to himself. And he took his seat again and
observed the boy sardonically. " He has spoiled the
quiet of my morning," thought he. " I shall be nerv-
ous all day, and have a febricule when I digest. Let
me compose myself." And so he dismissed hiis pre^
occupations by an effort of the will which he had long
practised, and let his soul roam abroad in the con-
templation of the morning. He inhaled the air, tasting
it critically as a connoisseur tastes a vintage^ and
prolonging the expiration with hygienic gusto. He
counted the Kttle flecks of cloud along the sky. He
followed the movements of the birds round the church
tower — making long sweeps, hanging poised, or
turning airy somersaults in fancy, and beating the
wind with imaginary pinions. And in this way he
regained peace of mind and animal composure^ coi^
scious of his limbs,. coBsdotts of the sight of his eyes,
conscioos that the air had a cool taste, Isike a fruity at
the top of his thdroat; and at bst,. in cocnplete abstiac-
tioti,, he began to sing. The Doctor had but one air —
'' Malbiouck s'en T»-t-en guerre;. "" even with tkat he
was on teroB of mere politeocss; and his musical
expioiu were always icservcd for miunents whca he
was alone and entirely happy.

232 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

He was recalled to earth rudely by a pained expres*
sion on the boy's face. " What do you think of my
singing ? " he inquired, stopping in the middle of a
note; and then, after he had waited some little while
and received no answer, " What do you think of my
singing ? " he repeated, imperiously.

" I do not like it," faltered Jean-Marie.

" Oh, come ! " cried the Doctor. " Possibly you
are a performer yourself? "

" I sing better than that," replied the boy.

The Doctor eyed him for some seconds in stupefac-
tion. He was aware that he was angry, and blushed
for himself in consequence, which made him angrier.
" If this is how you address your master ! " he
said at last, with a shrug and a flourish of his
arms.

" I do not speak to him at all," returned the boy.
" I do not like him."

" Then you like me ? " snapped Doctor Desprez,
with unusual eagerness.

" I do not know," answered Jean-Marie.

The Doctor rose. " I shall wish you a good morn-
ing," he said. " You are too much for me. Perhaps
you have blood in your veins, perhaps celestial ichor,
or perhaps you circulate nothing more gross than
respirable air; but of one thing I am inexpugnably
assured : — that you are no human being. No, boy"
— shaking his stick at him — " you are not a human
being. Write, write it in your memory — * I am not
a human being — I have no pretension to be a human
being — I am a dive, a dream, an angel, an acrostic,
an illusion — what you please, but not a human being.'

MORNING TALK 233

And so accept my humble salutations and fare-
well!"

And with that the Doctor made off along the street
in some emotion, and the boy stood, mentally gaping,
where he left him.

CHAPTER III

THE ADOPTION

MADAME DESPREZ, who answered to the
Christian name of Anastasie, presented an
agreeable type of her sex; exceedingly
wholesome to look upon^ a stout brune, with cool
smooth cheeks, steady, dark eyes, and hands that
neither art nor nature could improve. She was the
sort of person over whom adversity passes like a
summer cloud ; she might, in the worst of conjunctions,
knit her brows into one vertical furrow for a moment,
but the next it would be gone. She had much of the
placidity of a contented nun ; with little of her piety,
however; for Anastasie was of a very mundane nature,
fond of oysters and old wine, and somewhat bold
pleasantries, and devoted to her husband for her own
sake rather than for his. She was imperturbably
good-natured, but had no idea of self-sacrifice. To
live in that pleasant old house, with a green garden
behind and bright flowers about the window, to eat
and drink of the best, to gossip with a neighbour for
a quarter of an hour, never to wear stays or a dress
except when she went to Fontainebleau shopping, to
be kept in a continual supply of racy novels, and to be

234

THE ADOPTION 235

married to Doctor Desprez and have no ground o(
jealousy, filled the cup of her nature to the brim.
Those who had known the Doctor in bachelor days,
when he had aired quite as many theories, but of a
different order, attributed his present philosophy to
the study of Anastasie. It was her brute enjoy-
ment that he rationalised and perhaps vainly imi-
tated.

Madame Desprez was an artist in the kitchen, and
made coffee to a nicety. She had a knack of tidiness,
with which she had infected the Doctor; everything
was in its place; everything capable of polish shone
gloriously; and dust was a thing banished from her
empire. Aline, their single servant, had no other
business in the world but to scour and burnish. So
Doctor Desprez lived in his house Hke a fatted calf,
warmed and cosseted to his heart's content.

The midday meal was excellent. There was a ripe
melon, a fish from the river in a memorable Bearnaise
sauce, a fat fowl in a fricassee, and a dish of asparagus,
followed by some fruit. The Doctor drank half a
bottle plus one glass, the wife half a bottle minus the
same quantity, which was a marital privilege, of an
excellent Cote-Rotie, seven years old. Then the
coffee was brought, and a flask of Chartreuse for
madame, for the Doctor despised and distrusted such
decoctions; and then Aline left the wedded pair to the
pleasures of memory and digestion.

" It is a very fortunate circumstance, my cherished
one," observed the Doctor — " this coffee is adorable
— a very fortunate circumstance upon the whole —
Anastasie, I beseech you, go without that poison for

236 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

to-day; only one day, and you will feel the benefit, I
pledge my reputation."

" What is this fortunate circumstance, my friend ? **
inquired Anastasie, not heeding his protest, which was
of daily recurrence.

" That we have no children, my beautiful,*' replied
the Doctor. " I think of it more and more as the years
go on, and with more and more gratitude towards the
Power that dispenses such afflictions. Your health,
my darling, my studious quiet, our little kitchen deli-
cacies, how they would all have suffered, how they
would all have been sacrificed! And for what?
Children are the last word of human imperfection.
Health flees before their face. They cry, my dear;
they put vexatious questions; they demand to be fed,
to be washed, to be educated, to have their noses
blown; and then, when the time comes, they break
our hearts, as I break this piece of sugar. A pair of
professed egoists, like you and me, should avoid off-
spring, like an infidelity."

"Indeed!" said she; and she laughed. "Now,
that is like you — to take credit for the thing you could
not help."

" My dear," returned the Doctor, solemnly, " we
might have adopted."

" Never ! " cried madame. " Never, Doctor, with
my consent. If the child were my own flesh and blood,
I would not say no. But to take another person's
indiscretion on my shoulders, my dear friend, I have
too much sense."

" Precisely,' replied the Doctor. " We both had.
And I am all the better pleased with our wis-

THE ADOPTION 237

dom, betause — because " He looked at her

sharply.

" Because what ? " she asked, with a faint premo-
nition of danger.

" Because I have found the right person," said the
Doctor firmly, " and shall adopt him this afternoon."

Anastasie looked at him out of a mist. " You have
lost your reason," she said ; and there was a clang in
her voice that seemed to threaten trouble.

" Not so, my dear," he replied ; " I retain its com-
plete exercise. To the proof: instead of attempting
to cloak my inconsistency, I have, by way of preparing
you, thrown it into strong relief. You will there, I
think, recognise the philosopher who has the ecstasy to
call you wife. The fact is, I have been reckoning all
this while without an accident. I never thought to
find a son of my own. Now, last night, I found one.
Do not unnecessarily alarm yourself, my dear; he is
not a drop of blood to me that I know. It is his mind,
darling, his mind that calls me father."

" His mind ! " she repeated with a titter between
scorn and hysterics. " His mind, indeed ! Henri, is
this an idiotic pleasantry, or are you mad? His
mind ! And what of my mind ? "

^* Truly," replied the Doctor, with a shrug, " you
have your finger on the hitch. He will be strikingly
antipathetic to my beautiful Anastasie. She will
never understand him; he will never understand her.
You married the animal side of my nature, dear; and
it is on the spiritual side that I find my affinity for
Jean-Marie. So much so, that, to be perfectly frank^
I stand in some awe of him myself. You will easily

238 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

perceive that I am announcing a calamity for you.
Do not," he broke out in tones of real solicitude —
** do not give way to tears after a meal, Anastasie.
You will certainly give yourself a false digestion."

Anastasie controlled herself. " You know how
willing I am to humour you," she said, " in all rea-
sonable matters. But on this point *'

** My dear love," interrupted the Doctor, eager to
prevent a refusal, " who wished to leave Paris ? Who
made me give up cards, and the opera, and the boule-
vard, and my social relations, and all that was my
life before I knew you ? Have I been faithful ? Have
I been obedient ? Have I not borne my doom with
cheerfulness ? In all honesty, Anastasie, have I not
a right to a stipulation on my side ? I have, and you
know it. I stipulate my son."

Anastasie was aware of defeat; she struck her
colours instantly. " You will break my heart," she
sighed.

" Not in the least," said he. " You will feel a
trifling inconvenience for a month, just as I did when
I was first brought to this vile hamlet; then your ad-
mirable sense and temper will prevail, and I see you
alread as content as ever, and making your husband
the happiest of men."

" You know I can refuse you nothing," she said,
with a last flicker of resistance ; " nothing that will
make you truly happier. But will this ? Are you sure,
my husband ? Last night, you say, you found him I
He may be the worst of humbugs."

" I think not," replied the Doctor. " But do not
suppose me so unwary as to adopt him out of hand. I

THE ADOPTION 239

am, I flatter myself, a finished man of the world;
i have had all possibilities in view; my plan is con-
trived to meet them all. I take the lad as stable-boy.
If he pilfer, if he grumble, if he -desire to change, I
shall see I was mistaken; I shall recognise him for no
son of mine, and send him tramping."

" You will never do so when the time comes," said
his wife ; " I know your good heart."

She reached out her hand to him, with a sigh ; the
Doctor smiled as he took it and carried it to his lips;
he had gained his point with greater ease than he had
dared to hope; for perhaps the twentieth time he had
proved the efficacy of his trusty argument, his Excali-
bur, the hint of a return to Paris. Six months in the
capital, for a man of the Doctor's antecedents and re-
lations, implied no less a calamity than total ruin.
Anastasie had saved the remainder of his fortune by
keeping him strictly in the country. The very name
of Paris put her in a blue fear; and she would have
allowed her husband to keep a menagerie in the
back garden, let alone adopting a stable-boy, rather
than permit the question of return to be discussed.

About four of the afternoon, the mountebank ren-
dered up his ghost; he had never been conscious since
his seizure. Doctor Desprez was present at his last
passage, and declared the farce over. Then he took
Jean-Marie by the shoulder and led him out into the
inn garden where there was a convenient bench be-
side the river. Here he sat him down and made the
boy place himself on his left.

" Jean-Marie," he said very gravely, " this world is
jcxceedingly vast; and even France, which is only a

240 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

small comer of it, is a great place for a little lad like
you. Unfortunately it is full of eager, shouldering
people moving on; and there are very few bakers'
shops for so many eaters. Your master is dead; you
are not fit to gain a living by yourself; you do not
wish to steal? No. Your situation then is unde-
sirable; it is, for the moment critical. On the other
hand, you behold in me a man not old, though elderly,
still enjoying the youth of the heart and the intelli-
gence; a man of instruction; easily situated in this
world's affairs; keeping a good table; — a man,
neither as friend nor host, to be despised. I offer you
your food and clothes, and to teach you lessons in the
evening, which will be infinitely more to the purpose
for a lad of your stamp than those of all the priests in
Europe. I propose no wages, but if ever you take a
thought to leave me, the door shall be open, and I will
give you a hundred francs to start the world upon.
In return, I have an old horse and chaise, which you
would very speedily learn to clean and keep in order.
Do not hurry yourself to answer, and take it or leave
it as you judge aright. Only remember this, that I am
no sentimentalist or charitable person, but a man who
lives rigorously to himself; and that if I make the pro*
posal, it is for my own ends — it is because I perceive
clearly an advantage to myself. And now, reflect."

" I shall be very glad. I do not see what else I can
do. I thank you, sir, most kindly, and I will try to be
useful," said the boy.

" Thank you," said the Doctor warmly, rising at the
same time and wiping his brow, for he had suffered
agonies while the thing hung in the wind. A refusal.

THE ADOPTION 241

after the scene at noon, would have placed him in a
ridiculous light before Anastasie. " How hot and
heavy is the evening, to be sure ! I have always had
a fancy to be a fish in summer, Jean-Marie, here in
the Loing beside Gretz. I should lie under a water-
lily and listen to the bells, which must sound most
delicately down below. That would be a life — do
you not think so too ? **

" Yes," said Jean-Marie.

** Thank God you have imagination ! " cried the
Doctor, embracing the boy with his usual effusive
warmth, though it was a proceeding that seemed to
disconcert the sufferer almost as much as if he had
been an English schoolboy of the same age. ** And
now," he added, " I will take you to my wife."

Madame Desprez sat in the dining-room in a cool
wrapper. All the blinds were down, and the tile floor
had been recently sprinkled with water; her eyes
were half shut, but she affected to be reading a novel
as they entered. Though she was a bustling woman,
she enjoyed repose between whiles and had a re-
markable appetite for sleep.

The Doctor went through a solemn form of intro-
duction, adding, for the benefit of both parties, " You
must try to like each other for my sake."

"He is very pretty," said Anastasie. "Will you
kiss me, my pretty little fellow ? "

The Doctor was furious, and dragged her into the
passage. " Are you a fool, Anastasie ? " he said.
" What is all this I hear about the tact of women ?
Heaven knows, I have not met with it in my experience.
You address my little philosopher as if he were an

242 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

infant. He must be spoken to with more respect, I
tell you; he must not be kissed and Georgy-porgy'd
like an ordinary child."

" I only did it to please you, I am sure," replied
Anastasie; " but I will try to do better."

The Doctor apologised for his warmth. " But I do
wish him," he continued, " to feel at home among us.
And really your conduct was so idiotic, my cherished
one, and so utterly and distantly out of place, that a
«aint might have been pardoned a little vehemence in
disapproval. Do, do try — if it is possible for a woman
to understand young people — * but of course it is not,
and I waste my breath. Hold your tongue as much as
^ssible at least, and observe my conduct narrowly;
it will serve you for a model."

Anastasie did as she was bidden, and considered
the Doctor's behaviour. She observed that he em-
braced the boy three times in the course of the evening,
and managed generally to confound and abash the
Jittle fellow out of speech and appetite. But she had
the true womanly heroism in little affairs. Not only
did she refrain from the cheap revenge of exposing the
Doctor's errors to himself, but she did her best to re-
move their ill-effect on Jean-Marie. When Desprez
went out for his last breath of air before retiring for
the night, she came over to the boy's side and took
his hand.

" You must not be surprised nor frightened by my
husband's manners," she said. *^ He is the kindest of
men, but so clever that he is sometimes difficult to un-
derstand. You will soon grow used to him, and then
you will love him, for that nobody can help. As for

THE ADOPTION 243

me, you may be sure, I shall try to make you happy,
and will not bother you at all. I think we should be
excellent friends, you and I. I am not clever, but I am
very good-natured. Will you give me a kiss ? "

He held up his face, and she took him in her arms
and then began to cry. The woman had spoken in
complaisance; but she had warmed to her own words,
and tenderness followed. The Doctor, entering,
found them enlaced : he concluded that his wife was
in fault; and he was just beginning, in an awful

voice, " Anastasie ,'* when she looked up at him,

smiling, with an upraised finger; and he held his
peace, wondering, while she led the boy to his attic.

CHAPTER IV

THE EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER

THE installation of the adopted stable-boy was
thus happily affected, and the wheels of life
continued to run smoothly in the Doctor's
house. Jean-Marie did his horse and carriage duty
in the morning; sometimes helped in the housework;
sometimes walked abroad with the Doctor, to drink
wisdom from the fountain-head; and was introduced
at night to the sciences and the dead tongues. He
retained his singular placidity of mind and manner;
he was rarely in fault; but he made only a very
partial progress in his studies, and rema^ined much
of a stranger in the family.

The Doctor was a pattern of regularity. All fore-
noon he worked on his great book, the " Comparative
Pharmacopceia, or Historical Dictionary of all Medi-
cines," which as yet consisted principally of slips of
paper and pins. When finished, it was to fill many
personable volumes and to combine antiquarian inter-
est with professional utility. But the Doctor was stu-
dious of literary graces and the picturesque; an anec-
dote, a touch of manners, a moral qualification, or a
sounding epithet was sure to be preferred before a

244

EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER 245

piece of science; a little more, and he would have
written the " Comparative Pharmacopoeia " in verse !
The article " Mummia," for instance, was already
complete, though the remainder of the work had not
progressed beyond the letter A. It was exceedingly
copious and entertaining, written with quaintness and
colour, exact, erudite, a literary article; but it would
hardly have afforded guidance to a practising physi-
cian of to-day. The feminine good sense of his wife
had led her to point this out with uncompromising
sincerity; for the Dictionary was duly read aloud to
her, betwixt sleep and waking, as it proceeded towards
an infinitely distant completion; and the Doctor was
a little sore on the subject of mummies, and some-
times resented an allusion with asperity.

After the midday meal and a proper period of di-
gestion, he walked, sometimes alone, sometimes ac-
companied by Jean-Marie; for madame would have
preferred any hardship rather than walk.

She was, as I have said, a very busy person, con-
tinually occupied about material comforts, and ready
to drop asleep over a novel the instant she was dis-
engaged. This was the less objectionable, as she
never snored or grew distempered in complexion
when she slept. On the contrary, she looked the
very picture of luxurious and appetising ease, and
woke without a start to the perfect possession of her
faculties. I am afraid she was greatly an animal,
but she was a very nice animal to have about. In
this way, she had little to do with Jean-Marie; but
the sympathy which had been established between
them on the first night remained unbroken; they

346 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

keld occasional conversations, mostly on household
matters; to the extreme disappointment of the Doc-
tor, they occasionally sallied off together to that
temple of debasing superstition, the village church;
madame and he, both in their Sunday's best, drove
twice a month to Fontainebleau and returned laden
with purchases; and in short, although the Doctor still
continued to regard them as irreconcihbly antipa-
thetic, their relation was as intimate, friendly, and
confidential as their natures suffered.

I fear, however, that in her heart of hearts, madame
kindly despised and pitied the boy. She had no ad-
miration for his class of virtues; she Uked a smart,
polite, forward, roguish sort of boy, cap in hand, light
of foot, meeting the eye; she liked volubility, charm,
a little vice — the promise of a second Doctor Des-
prez. And it was her indefeasible belief that Jean-
Marie was dull. " Poor dear boy," she had said once,
" how sad it is that he should be so stupid ! " She
had never repeated that remark, for the Doctor had
raged like a wild bull, denouncing the brutal blunt-
ness of her mind, bemoaning his own fate to be so
unequally mated with an ass, and, what touched
Anastasie more nearly, menacing the table china by
the fury of his gesticulations. But she adhered si-
lently to her opinion; and when Jean-Marie was
sitting, stolid, blank, but not unhappy, over his un-
finished tasks, she would snatch her opportunity in
the Doctor's absence, go over to him, put her arms
about his neck, lay her cheek to his, and communi-
cate her sympathy with his distress. " Do not mind,"
she would say; " I, too, am not at all clever, and I

EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER 247

can assure you that it makes no difiRerence in
life/'

The Doctor's view waa naturally different. That
gentleman never wearied of the sound of his own
voice, which was, to say the truth, agreeable enough
to hear. He now had a listener, who was not so
cynically indifferent as Anastasie, and who sometimes
put him on his mettle by the most relevant objections.
Besides, was he not educating the boy ? And educa-
tion, philosophers are agreed, is the most philosoph-
ical of duties. What can be more heavenly to poor
mankind than to have one's hobby grow into a duty
to the State ? Then, indeed, do the ways of life be-
come ways of pleasantness. Never had the Doctor
seen reason to be more content with his endowments.
Philosophy flowed smoothly from his lips. He was so
agile a dialectician that he could trace his nonsense,
when challenged, back to some root in sense, and
prove it to be a sort of flower upon, his system. He
slipped out of antinomies like a fish, and left his
, disciple marvelling at the rabbi's depth.

Moreover, deep down in his heart the Doctor was
disappointed with the ill-success of his more formal
education. A bc^, chosen by so acute an observer
for his aptif tide, amd guided! a?ll€wg the padft of leammg
by so phStesophic an instructor, was boand, by tl^
mtvtre of the univcf se, to make a more obvious aflnd
Jasting atfrancc. Now Jean-Ma?rie wasi slow in aB
things, impenetrable in others ; aii^ his power ol
forgetting was fufly on a terel wkrh his power to learn.
Therefore the I>0€tor cherished his peripatetic tec-
lures, to which the hay attended, which he generally

248 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

appeared to enjoy, and by which he often prof-
ited.

Many and many were the talks they had together;
and health and moderation proved the subject of the
Doctor's divagations. To these he lovingly returned.

" I lead you," he would say, " by the green pas-
tures. My system, my beliefs, my medicines, are
resumed in one phrase — to avoid excess. Blessed
nature, healthy, temperate nature, abhors and exter-
minates excess. Human law, in this matter, imitates
at a great distance her provisions; and we must
strive to supplement the efforts of the law. Yes, boy,
we must be a law to ourselves and for our neighbours
— lex armata — armed, emphatic, tyrannous law. If
you see a crapulous human ruin snuffing, dash him
from his box! The judge, though in a way an ad-
mission of disease, is less offensive to me than either
the doctor or the priest. Above all the doctor — the
doctor and the purulent trash and garbage of his
pharmacopoeia 1 Pure air — from the neighbour-
hood of a pinetum for the sake of the turpentine —
unadulterated wine, and the reflections of an unso-
phisticated spirit in the presence of the works of
nature — these, my boy, are the best medical appli-
ances and the best religious comforts. Devote your-
self to these. Hark ! there are the bells of Bourron
(the wind is in the north, it will be fair). How clear
and airy is the sound! The nerves are harmonised
and quieted; the mind attuned to silence; and ob'
serve how easily and regularly beats the heart!
Your unenlightened doctor would see nothing in these
sensations; and yet you yourself perceive they are a

EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER 249

part of health. — Did you remember your cinchona
this morning? Good. Cinchona also is a work of
nature ; it is, after all, only the bark of a tree which
we might gather for ourselves if we lived in the locality.
— What a world is this 1 Though a professed atheist,
I delight to bear my testimony to the world. Look at
the gratuitous remedies and pleasures that surround
our path! The river runs by the garden end, our
bath, our fishpond, our natural system of drainage.
There is a well in the court which sends up sparkling
water from the earth's very heart, clean, cool, and,
with a little wine, most wholesome. The district is
notorious for its salubrity; rheumatism is the only
prevalent complaint, and I myself have never had a
touch of it. I tell you — and my opinion is based upon
the coldest, clearest processes of reason — if I, if you,
desired to leave this home of pleasures, it would be the
duty, it would be the privilege, of our best friend to
prevent us with a pistol bullet."

One beautiful June day they sat upon the hill outside
the village. The river, as blue as heaven, shone here
and there among the foliage. The indefatigable birds
turned and flickered about Gretz church tower. A
healthy wind blew from over the forest, and the sound
of innumerable thousands of tree-tops and innumer-
able millions on millions of green leaves was abroad in
the air, and filled the ear with something between
whispered speech and singing. It seemed as if every
blade of grass must hide a cigale; and the fields rang
merrily with their music, jingling far and near as with
the sleigh-bells of the fairy queen. From their station
on the slope the eye embraced a large space of poplar'd

2SO THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

plain upon the one hand, the waving hill-tops of the
forest on the other, and Gretz itself in the middle, a
handful of roofs. Under the bestriding arch of the
blue heavens, the place seemed dwindled to a toy. It
seemed incredible that people dwelt, and could find
room to turn or air to breathe, in such a corner of the
world. The thought came home to the boy, perhaps
for the first time, and he gave it words.

" How small it looks ! " he sighed.

" Ay," replied the Doctor, " small enough now. Yet
It was once a walled city; thriving, full of furred bur-
gesses and men in armour, humming with affairs ; —
with tall spires, for aught that I know, and portly
towers along the battlements. A thousand chimneys
ceased smoking at the curfew bell. There were gib-
bets at the gate as thick as scarecrows. In time of war,
the assault swarmed against it with ladders, the arrows
fell like leaves, the defenders sallied hotly over the
drawbridge, each side uttered its cry as they plied their
weapons. Do you know that the walls extended as far
as the Commanderie? Tradition so reports. Alas,
what a long way off is all this confusion — nothing left
of it but my quiet words spoken in your ear — and the
town itself shrunk to the hamlet underneath us ! By-
and-by came the English wars — you shall hear more
of the English, a stupid people, who sometimes blun-
dered into good — and Gretz was taken, sacked, and
burned. It is the history of many towns; but Gretz
never rose again ; it was never rebuilt ; its ruins were
a quarry to serve the growth of rivals ; and the stones
of Gretz are now erect along the streets of Nemours.
It gratifies me that our old house was the first to rise

EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER 251

after the calamity; when the town had come to an
end, it inaugurated the hamlet."

" I, too, am glad of that," said Jean-Marie.

" It should be the temple of the humbler virtues,"
responded the Doctor with a savoury gusto. " Perhaps
one of the reasons why I love my little hamlet as I do,
is that we have a similar history, she and I. Have I
told you that I was once rich ? "

" I do not think so," answered Jean-Marie. " I do
not think I should have forgotten. I am sorry you
should have lost your fortune."

" Sorry ? " cried the Doctor. " Why, I find I have
scarce begun your education after all. Listen to me !
Would you rather live in the old Gretz or in the new,
free from the alarms of war, with the green country at
the door, without noise, passports, the exactions of the
soldiery, or the jangle of the curfew-bell to send us off
to bed by sundown ? "

" I suppose I should prefer the new," replied the
boy.

" Precisely," returned the Doctor; " so do I. And,
in the same way, I prefer my present moderate fortune
to my former wealth. Golden mediocrity ! cried the
adorable ancients; and I subscribe to their enthusi-
asm. Have I not good wine, good food, good air, the
fields and the forest for my walk, a house, an admirable
wife, a boy whom I protest I cherish like a son ? Now,
if I were still rich, I should indubitably make my resi-
dence in Paris — you know Paris — Paris and Para-
dise are not convertible terms. This pleasant noise of
the wind streaming among leaves changed into the
grinding Babel of the street, the stupid glare of plaster

252 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

substituted for this quiet pattern of greens and greys,
the nerves shattered, the digestion falsified — picture
the fall ! Already you perceive the consequences; the
mind is stimulated, the heart steps to a different meas-
ure, and the man is himself no longer. I have passion-
ately studied myself — the true business of philosophy.
I know my character as the musician knows the vent-
ages of his flute. Should I return to Paris, I should
ruin myself gambling; nay, I go further — I should
break the heart of my Anastasie with infideli-
ties."

This was too much for Jean-Marie. That a place
should so transform the most excellent of men tran-
scended his belief. Paris, he protested, was even an
agreeable place of residence. " Nor when I lived in
that city did I feel much difference," he pleaded.

" What ! " cried the Doctor. " Did you not steal
when you were there ? "

But the boy could never be brought to see that he
had done anything wrong when he stole. Nor, indeed,
did the Doctor think he had; but that gentleman
was never very scrupulous when in want of a re-
tort.

" And now," he concluded, " do you begin to under-
stand ? My only friends were those who ruined me.
Gretz has been my academy, my sanatorium, my
heaven of innocent pleasures. If millions are offered
me, I wave them back : Retro, Sathanas! — Evil one,
begone! Fix your mind on my example; despise
riches, avoid the debasing influence of cities. Hygiene
— hygiene and mediocrity of fortune — these be your
watchwords during life ! "

EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER 253

The Doctor's system of hygiene strikingly coincided
with his tastes ; and his picture of the perfect life was
a faithful description of the one he was leading at the
time. But it is easy to convince a boy, whom you sup-
ply with all the facts for the discussion. And besides,
there was one thing admirable in the philosophy, and
that was the enthusiasm of the philosopher. There
was never any one more vigorously determined to be
pleased; and if he was not a great logician, and so had
no right to convince the intellect, he was certainly
something of a poet, and had a fascination to seduce
the heart. What he could not achieve in his customary
humour of a radiant admiration of himself and his
circumstances, he sometimes effected in his fits of
gloom.

" Boy,'* he would say, " avoid me to-day. If I were
superstitious, I should even beg for an interest in your
prayers. I am in the black fit; the evil spirit of King
Saul, the hag of the merchant Abudah, the personal
devil of the mediaeval monk, is with me — is in me,"
tapping on his breast. " The vices of my nature are
now uppermost; innocent pleasures woo me in vain;
I long for Paris, for my wallowing in the mire. See,"
he would continue, producing a handful of silver, " I
denude myself, I am not to be trusted with the price of
a fare. Take it, keep it for me, squander it on deleteri-
ous candy, throw it in the deepest of the river — I will
homologate your action. Save me from that part of
myself which I disown. If you see me falter, do not
hesitate; if necessary, wreck the train! I speak, of
course, by a parable. Any extremity were better than
for me to reach Paris alive."

2S4 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

Doubtless the Doctor enjoyed these little scenes, as a
variation in his part; they represented the Byronic
element in the somewhat artificial poetry of his exist-
ence; but to the boy, though he was dimly aware of
their theatricality, they represented more. The Doctor
made perhaps too little, the boy possibly too much, of
the reality and gravity of these temptations.

One day a great light shone for Jean-Marie. " Could
not riches be used well ? " he asked.

" In theory, yes," replied the Doctor. " But it is
found in experience that no one does so. All the world
imagine they will be exceptional when they grow
wealthy; but possession is debasing, new desires
spring up ; and the silly taste for ostentation eats out
the heart of pleasure."

" Then you might be better if you had less," said the
boy.

" Certainly not," replied the Doctor; but his voice
quavered as he spoke.

" Why ? " demanded pitiless innocence.

Doctor Desprez saw all the colours of the rainbow
in a moment; the stable universe appeared to be about
capsizing with him. " Because," said he — affecting
deliberation after an obvious pause — " because I
have formed my life for my present income. It is not
good for men of my years to be violently dissevered
from their habits."

That was a sharp brush. The Doctor breathed
hard, and fell into taciturnity for the afternoon. As
for the boy, he was delighted with the resolution of his
doubts; even wondered that he had not foreseen the
obvious and conclusive answer. His faith in the Doc-

EDUCATION OF A PHILOSOPHER 255

tor was a stout piece of goods. Desprez was inclined
to be a sheet in the wind's eye after dinner, especially
after Rhone wine, his favourite weakness. He would
then remark on the warmth of his feeling for Anastasie,
and with inflamed cheeks and a loose, flustered smile,
debate upon all sorts of topics, and be feebly and indis-
creetly witty. But the adopted stablt-boy would not
permit himself to entertain a doubt that savoured of
ingratitude. It is quite true that a man may be a sec-
ond father to you, and yet take too much to drink;
but the best natures are ever slow to accept such
truths.

The Doctor thoroughly possessed his heart, but per-
haps he exaggerated his influence over his mind. Cer-
tainly Jean-Marie adopted some of his master's opin-
ions but I have yet to learn that he ever surrendered
one of his own. Convictions existed in him by divine
right; they were virgin, unwrought, the brute metal of
decision. He could add others indeed, but he could
not put away; neither did he care if they were per-
fectly agreed among themselves; and his spiritual
pleasures had nothing to do with turning them over or
justifying them in words. Words were with him a mere
accomplishment, like dancing. When he was by him-
self, his pleasures were almost vegetable. He would
slip into the woods towards Acheres, and sit in the
mouth of a cave among grey birches. His soul stared
straight out of his eyes; he did not move or think;
sunlight, thin shadows moving in the wind, the edge
of firs against the sky, occupied and bound his facul-
ties. He was pure unity, a spirit wholly abstracted.
A single mood filled him, to which all the objects of

256 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

sense contributed, as the colours of the spectrum
merge and disappear in white light.

So while the Doctor made himself drunk with words,
the adopted stable-boy bemused himself with silence.

CHAPTER V

TREASURE TROVE

THE Doctor's carriage was a two-wheeled gig
with a hood ; a kind of vehicle in much favour
among country doctors. On how many roads
has one not seen it, a great way off between the pop-
lars ! — in how many village streets, tied to a gate-
post ! This sort of chariot is affected — particularly
at the trot — by a kind of pitching movement to and
fro across the axle, which well entitles it to the style
of a Noddy. The hood describes a considerable arc
against the landscape, with a solemnly absurd effect
on the contemplative pedestrian. To ride in such a
carriage cannot be numbered among the things that
appertain to glory; but I have no doubt it may be
useful in liver complaint. Thence, perhaps, its wide
popularity among physicians.

One morning early, Jean-Marie led forth the Doc-
tor's noddy, opened the gate, and mounted to the
driving-seat. The Doctor followed, arrayed from top
to toe in spotless linen, armed with an immense flesh-
coloured umbrella, and girt with a botanical case on a
baldric; and the equipage drove off smartly in a breeze
of its own provocation. They were bound for Fran-
ks?

258 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

chard, to collect plants, with an eye to the " Compara*
tive Pharmacopoeia."

A little rattling on the open roads, and they came to
the borders of the forest and struck into an unfre-
quented track; the noddy yawed softly over the sand,
with an accompaniment of snapping twigs. There was
a great, green softly murmuring cloud of congregated
foliage overhead. In the arcades of the forest the air
retained the freshness of the night. The athletic bear-
ing of the trees, each carrying its leafy mountain,
pleased the mind like so many statues and the lines of
the trunk led the eye admiringly upward to where the
extreme leaves sparkled in a patch of azure. Squirrels
leaped in mid air. It was a proper spot for a devotee
of the goddess Hygieia.

" Have you been to Franchard, Jean-Marie ? " in-
quired the Doctor. " I fancy not."

" Never," replied the boy.

" It is ruin in a gorge," continued Desprez, adopting
his expository voice; " the ruin of a hermitage and
chapel. History tells us much of Franchard ; how the
recluse was often slain by robbers; how he lived on a
most insufficient diet; how he was expected to pass his
days in'prayer. A letter is preserved, addressed to one
of these solitaries by the superior of his order, full of
admirable hygienic advice; bidding him go from
his book to praying, and so back again, for variety's
sake, and when he was weary of both to stroll about his
garden and observe the honey bees. It is to this day
my own system. You must often have remarked me
leaving the * Pharmacopoeia ' — often even in the
middle of a phrase — to come forth into the sun and

TREASURE TROVE 259

air. I admire the writer of that letter from my heart;
he was a man of thought on the most important sub-
jects. But, indeed, had I lived in the Middle Ages (I
am heartily glad that I did not) I should have been an
eremite myself — if I had not been a professed buf-
foon, that is. These were the only philosophical
lives yet open: laughter or prayer; sneers, we might
say, and tears. Until the sun of the Positive arose,
the wise man had to make his choice between these
two."

" I have been a buffoon, of course," observed Jean-
Marie.

" I cannot imagine you to have excelled in your pro-
fession," said the Doctor, admiring the boy's gravity.
" Do you ever laugh ? "

" Oh, yes," replied the other. " I laugh often. I
am very fond of jokes."

" Singular being ! " said Desprez. " But I divagate
(I perceive in a thousand ways that I grow old) Fran-
chard was at length destroyed in the English wars, the
same that levelled Gretz. But — here is the point —
the hermits (for there were already more than one) had
foreseen the danger and carefully concealed the sacrifi-
cial vessels. These vessels were of monstrous value,
Jean-Marie — monstrous value — priceless, we may
say; exquisitely worked, of exquisite material. And
now, mark me, they have never been found. In the
reign of Louis Quatorze some fellows were digging
hard by the ruins. Suddenly — tock ! — the spade hit
upon an obstacle. Imagine the men looking one to
another ; imagine how their hearts bounded, how their
colour came and went. It was a coffer, and in Fran-

26o THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

chard the place of buried treasure. They tore it open
like famished beasts. Alas! it was not the treasure;
only some priestly robes, which, at the touch of the eat-
ing air, fell upon themselves and instantly wasted into
dust. The perspiration of these good fellows turned
cold upon them, Jean-Marie. I will pledge my repu-
tation, if there was anything like a cutting wind, one or
other had a pneumonia for his trouble."

" I should like to have seen them turning into dust,"
said Jean-Marie. " Otherwise, I should not have
cared so greatly."

" You have no imagination," cried the Doctor.
" Picture to yourself the scene. Dwell on the idea — a
great treasure lying in the earth for centuries: the
material for a giddy, copious, opulent existence not
employed ; dresses and exquisite pictures unseen ; the
swiftest galloping horses not stirring a hoof, arrested by
a spell ; women with the beautiful faculty of smiles, not
smiling; cards, dice, opera singing, orchestras, castles,
beautiful parks and gardens, big ships with a tower of
sailcloth, all lying unborn in a coffin — and the stupid
trees growing overhead in the sunlight, year after year.
The thought drives one frantic."

" It is only money," replied Jean-Marie. " It would
do harm."

" O come ! " cried Desprez, " that is philosophy; it
is all very fine, but not to the point just now. And be-
sides, it is not ' only money,* as you call it ; there are
works of art in the question ; the vessels were carved.
You speak like a child. You weary me exceedingly,
quoting my words out of all logical connection, like a
parroquet."

TREASURE TROVE 261

" And at any rate we have nothing to do with it,"
returned the boy submissively.

They struck the Route Ronde at that moment; and
the sudden change to the rattling causeway combined,
with the Doctor's irritation, to keep him silent. The
noddy jigged along; the trees went by, looking on
silently, as if they had something on their minds.
The Quadrilateral was passed ; then came Franchard.
They put up the horse at the little solitary inn, and
went forth strolling. The gorge was dyed deeply with
heather; the rocks and birches standing luminous in
the sun. A great humming of bees about the flowers
disposed Jean-Marie to sleep, and he sat down against
a clump of heather, while the Doctor went briskly to
and fro, with quick turns, culling his simples.

The boy's head had fallen a little forward, his eyes
were closed, his fingers had fallen lax about his knees,
when a sudden cry called him to his feet. It was a
Strange sound, thin and brief; it fell dead, and silence
returned as though it had never been interrupted. He
had not recognised the Doctor's voice; but, as there
was no one else in all the valley, it was plainly the
Doctor who had given utterance to the sound. He
looked right and left, and there was Desprez, standing
in a niche between two boulders, and looking round
on his adopted son with a countenance as white as
paper.

" A viper ! " cried Jean-Marie, running towards
him. " A viper 1 You are bitten ! "

The Doctor came down heavily out of the cleft, and
advanced in silence to meet the boy, whom he took
roughly by the shoulder.

262 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

" I have found it," he said, with a gasp.

" A plant ? " asked Jean-Marie.

Desprez &ad a fit of unnatural gaiety, which the
rocks took up and mimicked. " A plant ! " he re-
peated scornfully. " Well — yes — a plant. And
here," he added suddenly, showing his right hand,
which he had hitherto concealed behind his back —
" here is one of the bulbs."

Jean-Marie saw a dirty platter, coated with earth.

" That ? " said he. " It is a plate ! "

" It is a coach and horses," cried the Doctor.
" Boy," he continued, growing warmer, " I plucked
away a great pad of moss from between these boulders,
and disclosed a crevice; and when I looked in, what
do you suppose I saw ? I saw a house in Paris with a
court and garden, I saw my wife shining with dia-
monds, I saw myself a deputy, I saw you — well, I —
I saw your future," he concluded, rather feebly. ** I
have just discovered America," he added.

" But what is it ? " asked the boy.

" The Treasure of Franchard," cried the Doctor;
and, throwing his brown straw hat upon the ground,
he whooped like an Indian and sprang upon Jean-
Marie, whom he suffocated with embraces and be-
dewed with tears. Then he flung himself down among
the heather and once more laughed until the valley
rang.

But the boy had now an interest of his own, a boy's
interest. No sooner was he released from the Doctor's
accolade than he ran to the boulders, sprang into the
niche, and, thrusting his hand into the crevice, drew
forth one after another, encrusted with the earth of

TREASURE TROVE 263

ages, the flagons, candlesticks, and patens of the her-
mitage of Franchard. A casket came last, tightly shut
and very heavy.

" O, what fun 1 " he cried.

But when he looked back at the Doctor, who had
followed close behind and was silently observing, the
words died from his lips. Desprez was once more the
colour of ashes ; his lip worked and trembled ; a sort
of bestial greed possessed him.

" This is childish," he said. " We lose precious
time. Back to the inn, harness the trap, and bring it
to yon bank. Run for your life, and remember —
not one whisper. I stay here to watch."

Jean-Marie did as he was bid, though not without
surprise. The noddy was brought round to the spot
indicated; and the two gradually transported the
treasure from its place of concealment to the boot
below the driving seat. Once it was all stored the
Doctor recovered his gaiety.

" I pay my grateful duties to the genius of this dell,"
he said. " Oh, for a live coal, a heifer, and a jar of
country wine ! ' I am in the vein for sacrifice, for a
superb libation. Well, and why not? We are at
Franchard. English pale ale is to be had — not clas-
sical, indeed, but excellent. Boy, we shall drink
ale."

" But I thought it was so unwholesome," said
Jean-Marie, " and very dear besides."

" Fiddle-de-dee ! " exclaimed the Doctor gaily.
'* To the inn!"

And he stepped into the noddy, tossing his head,
with an elastic, youthful air. The horse was turned.

264 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

and In a few seconds they drew up beside the palings:
of the inn garden.

" Here," said Desprez — " here, near the stable, so
that we may keep an eye upon things."

They tied the horse, and entered the garden, the
Doctor singing, now in fantastic high notes, now pro-
ducing deep reverberations from his chest. He took
a seat, rapped loudly on the table, assailed the waiter
with witticisms; and when the bottle of Bass was at
length produced, far more charged with gas than the
most delirious champagne, he filled out a long glassful
of froth and pushed it over to Jean-Marie. " Drink,"
he said; " drink deep."

" I would rather not," faltered the boy, true to his
training.

" What ? " thundered Desprez.

" I am afraid of it," said Jean-Marie; " my
stomach "

" Take it or leave it," interrupted Desprez fiercely;
" but understand it once for all — there is nothing sa
contemptible as a precisian."

Here was a new lesson I The boy sat bemused,,
looking at the glass but not tasting it, while the Doctor
emptied and refilled his own, at first with clouded
brow, but gradually yielding to the sun, the heady,
prickling beverage, and his own predisposition to be
happy.

" Once in a way," he said at last, by way of a con-
cession to the boy's more rigoroUs attitude, " once in
a way, and at so critical a moment, this ale is a nectar
for the gods. The habit, indeed, is debasing; wine,
the juice of the grape, is the true drink of the Frenchi»

TREASURE TROVE 265

man, as I have often had occasion to point out; and
I do not know that I can blame you for refusing this
outlandish stimulant. You can have some wine and
cakes. Is the bottle empty? Well, we will not be
proud; we will have pity on your glass."

The beer being done, the Doctor chafed bitterly
while Jean-Marie finished his cakes. '' I burn to be
gone," he said, looking at his watch. " Good God,
how slow you eat ! " And yet to eat slowly was
his own particular prescription, the main secret of
longevity !

His martyrdom, however, reached an end at last;
the pair resumed their places in the buggy, and
Desprez, leaning luxuriously back, announced his
intention of proceeding to Fontainebleau.

" To Fontainebleau ? " repeated Jean-Marie.

" My words are always measured," said the Doctor.
"On!"

The Doctor was driven through the glades of para-
dise; the air, the light, the shining leaves, the very
movements of the vehicle, seemed to fall in tune with
his golden meditations; with his head thrown back,
he dreamed a series of sunny visions, ale and pleasure
dancing in his veins. At last he spoke.

" I shall telegraph for Casimir," he said. " Good
Casimir! a fellow of the lower order of intelligence,
Jean-Marie, distinctly not creative, not poetic; and
yet he will repay your study; his fortune is vast, and
is entirely due to his own exertions. He is the very
fellow to help us to dispose of our trinkets, find us a
suitable house in Paris, and manage the details of
our installadon. Admirable Casimir, one of my old-

266 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

est comrades ! It was on his advice, I may add, that
I invested my little fortune in Turkish bonds; when
we have added these spoils of the mediaeval church
to our stake in the Mahometan empire, little boy, we
shall positively roll among doubloons, positively roll !
Beautiful forest," he cried, " farewell ! Though
called to other scenes, I will not forget thee. Thy
name is graven in my heart. Under the influence of
prosperity I become dithyrambic, Jean-Marie. Such
is the impulse of the natural soul ; such was the con-
stitution of primaeval man. And I — well, I will not
refuse the credit — I have preserved my youth like
a virginity; another, who should have led the same
snoozing, countrified existence for these years, another
had become rusted, become stereotype ; but I, I praise
my happy constitution, retain the spring unbroken.
Fresh opulence and a new sphere of duties find me
unabated in ardour and only more mature by knowl-
edge. For this prospective change, Jean-Marie —
it may probably have shocked you. Tell me now,
did it not strike you as an inconsistency? Confess
— it is useless to dissemble — it pained you ? "

" Yes," said the boy.

" You see," returned the Doctor, with sublime
fatuity, " I read your thoughts ! Nor am I surprised —
your education is not yet complete ; the higher duties
of men have not been yet presented to you fully. A
hint — till we have leisure — must suffice. Now
that I am once more in possession of a modest com-
petence ; now that I have so long prepared myself in
silent meditation, it becomes my superior duty to
proceed to Paris. My scientific training, my un-

TREASURE TROVE 267

doubted command of language, mark me out for the
service of my country. Modesty in such a case would
be a snare. If sin were a philosophical expression,
I should call it sinful. A man must not deny his
manifest abilities, for that is to evade his obligations.
I must be up and doing; I must be no skulker in life's
battle."

So he rattled on, copiously greasing the joint of his
inconsistency with words; while the boy listened
silently, his eyes fixed on the horse, his mind seething.
It was all lost eloquence; no array of words could
unsettle a belief of Jean-Marie's; and he drove into
Fontainebleau filled with pity, horror, indignation,
and despair.

In the town Jean-Marie was kept a fixture on the
driving-seat, to guard the treasure; while the Doctor,
with a singular, slightly tipsy airiness of manner,
fluttered in and out of cafes, where he shook hands
with garrison ofiicers, and mixed an absinthe with
the nicety of old experience ; in and out of shops, from
which he returned laden with costly fruits, real turtle,
a magnificent piece of silk for his wife, a preposterous
cane for himself, and a kepi of the newest fashion for
the boy; in and out of the telegraph ofiice, whence he
despatched his telegram, and where three hours
later he received an answer promising a visit on the
morrow; and generally pervaded Fontainebleau with
the first fine aroma of his divine good humour.

The sun was very low when they set forth again;
the shadows of the forest trees extended across the
broad white road that led them home; the penetrat-
ing odour of the evening wood had already arisen.

268 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

like a cloud of incense, from that broad field of tree-
tops ; and even in the streets of the town, where the
air had been baked all day between white walls, it
came in whiffs and pulses, like a distant music. Half-
way home, the last gold flicker vanished from a great
oak upon the left ; and when they came forth beyond
the borders of the wood, the plain was already sunken
in pearly greyness, and a great, pale moon came
swinging skyward through the filmy poplars.

The Doctor sang, the Doctor whistled, the Doctor
talked. He spoke of the woods, and the wars, and the
deposition of dew; he brightened and babbled of
Paris; he soared into cloudy bombast on the glories
of the political arena. All was to be changed ; as the
day departed, it took with it the vestiges of an out-
worn existence, and to-morrow's sun was to inaugu-
rate the new. " Enough," he cried, " of this life of
maceration ! " His wife (still beautiful, or he was
sadly partial) was to be no longer buried ; she should
now shine before society. Jean-Marie would find the
world at his feet; the roads open to success, wealth,
honour, and posthumous renown. " And O, by the
way," said he, " for God's sake keep your tongue
quiet! You are, of course, a very silent fellow; it
is a quality I gladly recognise in you — silence,
golden silence ! But this is a matter of gravity. No
word must get abroad; none but the good Casimir
is to be trusted; we shall probably dispose of the
vessels in England."

" But are they not even ours ? " the boy said, al-
most with a sob — it was the only time he had spoken.

" Ours in this sense, that they are nobody else's,"

TREASURE TROVE 269

replied the Doctor. " But the State would have some
claim. If they were stolen, for instance, we should
be unable to demand their restitution; we should
have no title ; we should be unable even to communi-
cate with the police. Such is the monstrous condition
of the law.^ It is a mere instance of what remains to
be done, of the injustices that may yet be righted by
an ardent, active, and philosophical deputy."

Jean-Marie put his faith in Madame Desprez; and
as they drove forward down the road from Bourron,
between the rustling poplars, he prayed in his teeth,
and whipped up the horse to an unusual speed.
Surely, as soon as they arrived, madame would assert
her character, and bring this waking nightmare to an
end.

Their entrance into Gretz was heralded and ac-
companied by a most furious barking; all the dogs in
the village seemed to smell the treasure in the noddy.
But there was no one in the street, save three lounging
landscape painters at Tentaillon's door. Jean-Marie
opened the green gate and led in the horse and car-
riage; and almost at the same moment Madame
Desprez came to the kitchen threshold with a lighted
lantern; for the moon was not yet high enough to
clear the garden walls.

" Close the gates, Jean-Marie ! " cried the Doctor,
somewhat unsteadily alighting. " Anastasie, where is
AUne ? "

" She has gone to Montereau to see her parents,"
said madame.

" All is for the best ! " exclaimed the Doctor fer-
' Let it be so, for my tale I

270 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

vently. ** Here, quick, come near to me; I do not
wish to speak too loud/' he continued. ** Darling,
we are wealthy ! "

" Wealthy! " repeated the wife.

** t have found the treasure of Franchard," replied
her husband. " See, here are the first fruits; a pine-
apple, a dress for my ever-beautiful — it will suit
her — trust a husband's, trust a lover's, taste ! Em-
brace me, darling! This grimy episode is over; the
butterfly unfolds its painted wings. To-morrow
Casimir will come ; in a week we may be in Paris —
happy at last! You shall have diamonds. Jean-
Marie, take it out of the boot, with religious care, and
bring it piece by piece into the dining-room. We
shall have plate at table ! Darling, hasten and pre-
pare this turtle; it will be a whet — it will be an
addition to our meagre ordinary. I myself will proceed
to the cellar. We shall have a bottle of that little
Beaujolais you like, and finish with the Hermitage;
there are still three bottles left. Worthy wine for a
worthy occasion."

" But, my husband ; you put me in a whirl," she
cried. " I do not comprehend."

" The turtle, my adored, the turtle ! " cried the
Doctor; and he pushed her towards the kitchen,
lantern and all.

Jean-Marie stood dumfounded. He had pictured
fo himself a different scene — a more immediate
protest, and his hope began to dwindle on the spot.

The Doctor was eveiywhere, a little doubtful on his
legs, perhaps, and now and then taking the wall with
his shoulder; for it was long since he had tasted ab-

TREASURE TROVE 271:

sinthe, and he was even then reflecting that the
absinthe had been a misconception. Not that he
regretted excess on such a glorious day, but he made
a mental memorandum to beware; he must not, a
second time, become the victim of a deleterious habit.
He had his wine out of the cellar in a twinkling; he
arranged the sacrificial vessels, some on the white
table-cloth, some on the sideboard, still crusted with
historic earth. He was in and out of the kitchen,
plying Anastasie with vermouth, heating her with
glimpses of the future, estimating their new wealth at
ever larger figures; and before they sat down to sup-
per, the lady's virtue had melted in the fire of his
enthusiasm, her timidity had disappeared; she, too,
had begun to speak disparagingly of the life at Gretz;
and as she took her place and helped the soup, her
eyes shone with the glitter of prospective dia-
monds.

All through the meal, she and the Doctor made and
unmade fairy plans. They bobbed and bowed and
pledged each other. Their faces ran over with smiles ;
their eyes scattered sparkles, as they projected the
Doctor's political honours and the lady's drawing-
room ovations,

" But you will not be a Red ! " cried Anastasie.

" I am Left Centre to the core," replied the Doctor.

" Madame Gastein will present us — we shall find
ourselves forgotten," said the lady.

** Never,'* protested the Doctor. " Beauty and
talent leave a mark."

" I have positively forgotten how to dress," she
sighed.

2/2 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

" Darling, you make me blush," cried he. " Yours
has been a tragic marriage ! "

" But your success — to see you appreciated, hon-
oured, your name in all the papers, that will be more
than pleasure — it will be heaven ! " she cried.

*' And once a week," said the Doctor, archly scan-
ning the syllables, " once a week — one good little
game of baccarat ? '*

" Only once a week ? " she questioned, threatening
him with a finger.

" I swear it by my political honour," cried he.

" I spoil you," she said, and gave him her hand.

He covered it with kisses.

Jean-Marie escaped into the night. The moon
swung high over Gretz. He went down to the garden
end and sat on the jetty. The river ran by with eddies
of oily silver, and a low, monotonous song. Faint
veils of mist moved among the poplars on the farther
side. The reeds were quietly nodding. A hundred
times already had the boy sat, on such a night, and
watched the streaming river with untroubled fancy.
And this perhaps was to be the last. He was to leave
this familiar hamlet, this green, rustling country, this
bright and quiet stream; he was to pass into the great
city; his dear lady mistress was to move bedizened
into saloons; his good, garrulous, kind-hearted
master to become a brawling deputy; and both be
lost for ever to Jean-Marie and their better selves.
He knew his own defects; he knew he must sink into
less and less consideration in the turmoil of a city life ;
sink more and more from the child into the servant.
And he began dimly to believe the Doctor's prophecies

TREASURE TROVE 273

of evil. He could see a change in both. His generous
incredulity failed him for this once; a child must have
perceived that the Hermitage had completed what the
absinthe had begun* If this were the first day, what
would be the last ? " If necessary, wreck the train,"
thought he, remembering the Doctor's parable. He
looked round on the delightful scene; he drank deep
of the charmed night air, laden with the scent of hay.
*' If necessary, wreck the train," he repeated. And
he rose and returned to the house.

CHAPTER VI

A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION, IN TWO PARTS

THE next morning there was a most unusual
outcry in the Doctor's house. The last thing
before going to bed, the Doctor had locked
up some valuables in the dining-room cupboard ; and
behold, when he rose again, as he did about four
o'clock, the cupboard had been broken open, and the
valuables in question had disappeared. Madame and
Jean-Marie were summoned from their rooms, and
appeared in hasty toilets ; they found the Doctor rav-
ing, calling the heavens to witness and avenge his
injury, pacing the room bare-footed, with the tails of
his night-shirt flirting as he turned.

" Gone! " he said; " the things are gone, the for-
tune gone! We are paupers once more. Boy! what
do you know of this ? Speak up, sir, speak up. Do
you know of it ? Where are they ? " He had him by
the arm, shaking him like a bag, and the boy's words,
if he had any, were jolted forth in inarticulate mur-
murs. The Doctor, with a revulsion from his own
violence, set him down again. He observed Anastasie
in tears. ** Anastasie," he said, in quite an altered
voice, " compose yourself, command your feelings.

274

A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION 275

I would not have you give way to passion like the
vulgar. This — this trifling accident must be lived
down. Jean-Marie, bring me my smaller medicine
chest. A gentle laxative is indicated."

And he dosed the family all round, leading the way
himself with a double quantity. The wretched Anas-
tasie, who had never been ill in the whole course of her
existence, and whose soul recoiled from remedies, wept
floods of tears as she sipped, and shuddered, and
protested, and then was bullied and shouted at until
she sipped again. As for Jean-Marie, he took his
portion down with stoicism.

** I have given him a less amount," observed the
Doctor, " his youth protecting him against emotion.
And now that we have thus parried any morbid con-
sequences, let us reason."

" I am so cold," wailed Anastasie.

" Cold ! " cried the Doctor. " I give thanks to God
that I am made of fierier material. Why, madame, a
blow like this would set a frog into a transpiration.
If you are cold, you can retire; and, by the way, you
might throw me down my trousers. It is chilly for the
legs."

" Oh, no ! " protested Anastasie; " I will stay with
you."

" Nay, madame, you shall not suffer for your devo-
tion," said the Doctor. " I will myself fetch you a
shawl." And he went upstairs and returned more
fully clad and with an armful of wraps for the shiver-
ing Anastasie. " And now," he resumed, " to in-
vestigate this crime. Let us proceed by induction.
Anastasie, do you know anything that can help

276 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

us ? " Anastasie knew nothing. " Or you, Jean-
Marie?"

" Not I," replied the boy steadily.

" Good/* returned the Doctor. " We shall now
turn our attention to the material evidences. (I was
bom to be a detective; I have the eye and the sys-
tematic spirit.) First, violence has been employed.
The door was broken open ; and it may be observed,
in passing, that the lock was dear indeed at what I
paid for it: a crow to pluck with Master Goguelat.
Second, here is the instrument employed, one of our
own table-knives, one of our best, my dear; which
seems to indicate no preparation on the part of the
gang — if gang it was. Thirdly, I observe that noth-
ing has been removed except the Franchard dishes
and the casket; our own silver has been minutely
respected. This is wily; it shows intelligence, a
knowledge of the code, a desire to avoid legal con-
sequences. I argue from this fact that the gang
numbers persons of respectability — outward, of
course, and merely outward, as the robbery proves.
But I argue, second, that we must have been observed
at Franchard itself by some occult observer, and
dogged throughout the day with a skill and patience
that I venture to qualify as consummate. No ordinary
man, no occasional criminal, would have shown him-
self capable of this combination. We have in our
neighbourhood, it is far from improbable, a retired
bandit of the highest order of intelligence."

" Good heaven ! " cried the horrified Anastasie.
" Henri, how can you ! "

" My cherished one, this is a process of induction,**

A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION 2n

said the Doctor. " If any of my steps are unsound,
correct me. You are silent ? Then do not, I beseech
you, be so vulgarly illogical as to revolt from my
conclusion. We have now arrived," he resumed,
" at some idea of the composition of the gang — for
I incline to the hypothesis of more than one — and
we now leave this room, which can disclose no more,
and turn our attention to the court and garden.
(Jean-Marie, I trust you are observantly following my
various steps ; this is an excellent piece of education
for you.) Come with me to the door. No steps on the
court; it is unfortunate our court should be paved.
On what small matters hang the destiny of these
delicate investigations ! Hey ! What have we here ?
I have led you to the very spot," he said, standing
grandly backward and indicating the green gate. " An
escalade, as you can now see for yourselves, has taken
place."

Sure enough, the green paint was in several places
scratched and broken; and one of the panels preserved
the print of a nailed shoe. The foot had slipped, how-
ever, and it was difficult to estimate the size of the
shoe, and impossible to distinguish the pattern of the
nails.

" The whole robbery," concluded the Doctor, " step
by step, has been reconstituted. Inductive science
can no further go."

" It is wonderful," said his wife. " You should
indeed have been a detective, Henri. I had no idea of
your talents."

** My dear," replied Desprez, condescendingly, " a
man of scientific imagination combines the lesser facul-

278 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

ties; he is a detective just as he is a publicist or a
general ; these are but local applications of his special
talent. But now," he continued, " would you have me
go further? Would you have me lay my finger on
the culprits — or rather, for I cannot promise quite
so much, point out to you the very house where they
consort ? It may be a satisfaction, at least it is all we
are likely to get, since we are denied the remedy of
law. I reach the further stage in this way. In order to
fill my outline of the robbery, I require a man likely to
be in the forest idling, I require a man of education, I
require a man superior to considerations of morality.
The three requisites all centre in Tantaillon's boarders.
They are painters, therefore they are continually
lounging in the forest. They are painters, therefore
they are not unlikely to have some smattering of
education. Lastly, because they are painters, they are
probably immoral. And this I prove in two ways.
First, painting is an art which merely addresses the
eye; it does not in any particular exercise the moral
sense. And second, painting, in common with all the
other arts, implies the dangerous quality of imagina-
tion. A man of imagination is never moral ; he out-
soars literal demarcations and reviews life under too
many shifting lights to rest content with the invidious
distinctions of the law ! *'

" But you always say — at least, so I understood
you " — said madame, ** that these lads display no
imagination whatever."

" My dear, they displayed imagination, and of a
very fantastic order, too," returned the Doctor, " when
they embraced their beggarly profession. Besides -^

i

A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION 279

and this is an argument exactly suited to your intel*
lectual level — many of them are English and Amer-
ican. Where else should we expect to find a thief?
— And now you had better get your coffee. Because
we have lost a treasure, there is no reason for starving.
For my part, I shall break my fast with white wine.
I feel unaccountably heated and thirsty to-day. I
can only atctribute it to the shock of the discovery. And
yet, you ^^ill bear me out, I supported the emotion
nobly."

The Doctor had now talked himself back into an
admirable humour; and as he sat in the arbour and
slowly imbibed a large allowance of white wine and
picked a little bread and cheese with no very impet-
uous appetite, if a third of his meditations ran upon
the missing treasure, the other two-thirds were more
pleasi^ngly busied in the retrospect of his detective skill.

About eleven Casimir arrived; he had caught an
early train to Fontainebleau, and driven over to save
time.; and now his cab was stabled at Tentaillon's,
andi he remarked, studying his watch, that he could
spa.re an hour and a half. He was much the man of
bu;siness, decisively spoken, given to frovming in an
in:tellectual manner. Anastasie's bom brother, he did
n/ot waste much sentiment on the lady, gave her an
English family kiss, and demanded a meal without
delay.

" You can tell me your story while we eat,'* he
, observed. " An)rthing good to-day, Stasie ? **

He was promised something good. The trio sat
down to table in the arbour, Jean-Marie waiting as
well as eating, and the Doctor recounted what had

28o THE TREASURE OF FRAftCHARD

happened in his richest narrative manner. Casimir
heard it with explosions of laughter.

" What a streak of luck for you, my good brother,"
he observed, when the tale was over. '* If you had
gone to Paris, you would have played dickVduck-drake
with the whole consignment in three moriths. Your
own would have followed ; and you would Vhave come
to me in a procession like the last time, put I give
you warning — Stasie may weep and Henri iVatiocinate

— it will not serve you twice. Your next colllapse will
be fatal. I thought I had told you so, StasieV? Hey ?
No sense ? "

The Doctor winced and looked furtively «kt Jean-
Marie; but the boy seemed apathetic. I

" And then again," broke out Casimir, V* what
children you are — vicious children, my faith 1 1 How
could you tell the value of this trash ? It mighti have
been worth nothing, or next door."

" Pardon me," said the Doctor. " You have
usual flow of spirits, I perceive, but even less than ^
usual deliberation. I am not entirely ignorant!
these matters."

" Not entirely ignorant of anything ever I heard o:l
interrupted* Casimir, bowing, and raising his glal
with a sort of pert politeness.

" At least," resumed the Doctor, " I gave my minci
to the subject — that you may be willing to believei

— and I estimated that our capital would be doubled. "
And he described the nature of the find.

" My word of honour ! " said Casimir, " I half
believe you ! But much would depend on the quality
of the gold."

A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION 281

" The quality, my dear Casimir, was " And

the Doctor, in default of language, kissed his finger-
tips.

" I would not take your word for it, my good
friend," retorted the man of business. " You are a
man of very rosy views. But this robbery,'* he con-
tinued — " this robbery is an odd thing. Of course I
pass over your nonsense about gangs and landscape-
painters. For me, that is a dream. Who was in the
house last night ? *'

" None but ourselves," replied the Doctor.

" And this young gentleman ? " asked Casimir,
jerking a nod in the direction of Jean-Marie.

" He too " — the Doctor bowed.

" Well; and, if it is a fair question, who is he? '*
pursued the brother-in-law.

" Jean-Marie," answered the Doctor, ** combines
the functions of a son and stable-boy. He began as
the latter, but he rose rapidly to the more honourable
rank in our affections. He is, I may say, the greatest
comfort in our lives."

" Ha ! " said Casimir. " And previous to becoming
one of you ? "

" Jean-Marie has lived a remarkable existence ; his
experience has been eminently formative," replied
Desprez. " If I had to choose an education for my
son, I should have chosen such another. Beginning
life with mountebanks and thieves, passing onward
to the society and friendship of philosophers, he may
be said to have skimmed the volume of human life."

" Thieves ? " repeated the brother-in-law, with a
meditative air.

I

282 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

The Doctor could have bitten his tongue out. He
foresaw what was coming, and prepared his mind for
a vigorous defence.

"Did you ever steal yourself?" asked Casimir,
turning suddenly on Jean-Marie, and for the first time
employing a single eyeglass which hung round his neck.

" Yes, sir," replied the boy, with a deep blush.

Casimir turned to the others with pursed lips, and
nodded to them meaningly. " Hey ? " said he; " how
is that?"

" Jean-Marie is a teller of the truth," returned the
Doctor, throwing out his bust.

" He has never told a lie," added madame. " He
is the best of boys."

" Never told a lie, has he not ? " reflected Gasimir.
** Strange, very strange. Give me your attention my
young friend," he continued. " You knew about this
treasure ? "

" He helped to bring it home," interposed the
Doctor.

" Desprez, I ask you nothing but to hold your
tongue," returned Casimir. " I mean to question this
stable-boy of yours ; and if you are so certain of his
innocence, you can afford to let him answer for him-
self. Now, sir," he resumed, pointing his eyeglass
straight at Jean-Marie. " You knew it could be stolen
with impunity? You knew you could not be pros-
ecuted ? Come ! Did you, or did you not ? "

" I did," answered Jean-Marie, in a miserable
whisper. He sat there changing colour like a revolv-
ing pharos, twisting his fingers hysterically, swalloW'
ing air, the picture of guilt.

A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION 283

"You knew where it was put?" resumed the
inquisitor.

" Yes," from Jean-Marie.

" You say you have been a thief before," continued
Casimir. " Now how am I to know that you are not
one still? I suppose you could climb the green
gate?"

" Yes," still lower, from the culprit.

" Well, then, it was you who stole these things.
You know it, and you dare not deny it. Look me in
the face ! Raise your sneak's eyes, and answer ! "

But in place of an)rthing of that sort Jean-Marie
broke into a dismal howl and fled from the arbour.
Anastasie, as she pursued to capture and reassure the
victim, found time to send one Parthian arrow —
" Casimir, you are a brute ! "

" My brother," said Desprez, vrith the greatest
dignity, " you take upon yourself a license "

" Desprez," interrupted Casimir, " for Heaven's
sake be a man of the world. You telegraph me to
leave my business and come down here on yours.
I come, I ask the business, you say ' Find me this
thief!' Well, I find him; I say ' There he is ! ' You
need not like it, but you have no manner of right to
take oflFence."

" Well," returned the Doctor, " I grant that; I will
even thank you for your mistaken zeal. But your
hypothesis was so extravagantly monstrous "

** Look here," interrupted Casimir; "was it you
or Stasie ? "

" Certainly not," answered the Doctor.

" Veiy well; then it was the boy. Say no more

284 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

about it," said the brother-in-law, and he produced
his cigar-case.

" I will say this much more," returned Desprez :
" if that boy came and told me so himself, I should not
believe him; and if I did believe him, so implicit is my
trust, I should conclude that he had acted for the
best."

" Well, well," said Casimir, indulgently. " Have
you a light ? I must be going. And by the way, I wish
you would let me sell your Turks for you. I always
told you, it meant smash. I tell you so again. Indeed,
it was partly that that brought me down. You never
acknowledge my letters — a most unpardonable
habit."

" My good brother," replied the Doctor blandly,
** I have never denied your ability in business; but I
can perceive your limitations."

" Egad, my friend, I can return the compliment,"
observed the man . of business. " Your limitation is
to be downright irrational."

" Observe the relative position," returned the Doc-
tor with a smile. " It is your attitude to believe
through thick and thin in one man's judgment —
your own. I follow the same opinion, but critically
and with open eyes. Which is the more irrational ? —
I leave it to yourself."

" O, my dear fellow ! " cried Casimir, " stick to
your Turks, stick to your stable-boy, go to the devil
in general in your own way and be done with it. But
don't ratiocinate with me — I cannot bear it. And
so, ta-ta. I might as well have stayed away for any
good I've done. Say good-bye from me to Stasie, and

A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION 285

to the sullen hang-dog of a stable-boy, if you insist on
it; Fm off/'

And Casimir departed. The Doctor, that night,
dissected his character before Anastasie. " One
thing, my beautiful," he said, " he has learned one
thing from his lifelong acquaintance with, your hus-
band: the word ratiocinate. It shines in his vocab-
ulary, like a jewel in a muck-heap. And, even so,
he continually misapplies it. For you must have
observed he uses it as a sort of taunt, in the case of
to ergotise, implying, as it were — the poor, dear
fellow ! — a vain of sophistry. As for his cruelty to
Jean-Marie, it must be forgiven him — it is not his
nature, it is the nature of his life. A man who deals
with money, my dear, is a man lost."

With Jean-Marie the process of reconciliation had
been somewhat slow. At first he was inconsolable,
insisted on leaving the family, went from paroxysm to
paroxysm of tears; and it was only after Anastasie
had been closeted for an hour with him, alone, that
she came forth, sought out the Doctor, and, with tears
in her eyes, acquainted that gentleman with what had
passed.

" At first, my husband, he would hear of nothing,"
she said. " Imagine ! if he had left us ! what would
the treasure be to that? Horrible treasure, it has
brought all this about ! At last, after he has sobbed
his very heart out, he agrees to stay on a condition —
we are not to mention this matter, this infamous
suspicion, not even to mention the robbery. On that
agreement only, the poor, cruel boy will consent to
remain among his friends."

2S6 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

** But this inhibition," said the Doctor, " this em-
bargo — it cannot possibly apply to me ? "

" To all of us," Anastasie assured him.

" My cherished one," Desprez protested, " you
must have misunderstood. It cannot apply to me.
He would naturally come to me."

" Henri," she said, " it does; I swear to you it
does."

** This is a painful, a very painful circumstance,"
the Doctor said, looking a liule black. ** I cannot
affect, Anastasie, to be anything but justly wounded.
I feel this, I feel it, my wife, acutely."

" I knew you would," she said. " But if you had
seen his distress 1 We must make allowances, we must
sacrifice our feelings."

" I trust, my dear, you have never found me averse
to sacrifices," returned the Doctor very stiffly.

" And you will let me go and tell him that you have
agreed ? It will be like your noble nature," she cried.

So it would, he perceived — it would be like his
noble nature I Up jumped his spirits, triumphant at
the thought. " Go, darling," he said nobly, " reassure
him. The subject is buried; more — I make an
effort, I have accustomed my will to these exertions
— and it is forgotten."

A little after, but still with swollen eyes and looking
mortally sheepish, Jean-Marie reappeared and went
ostentatiously about his business. He was the only
unhappy member of the party that sat down that
night to supper. As for the Doctor, he was radiant.
He thus sang the requiem of the treasure : —

** This has been, on the whole, a most amusing

A CRIMINAL INVESTIGATION 287

episode," he said. " We are not a penny the worse
— nay, we are immensely gainers. Our philosophy
has been exercised; some of the turtle is still left —
the most wholesome of delicacies; I have my staff,
Anastasie has her new dress, Jean-Marie is the proud
possessor of a fashionable kepi. Besides, we had a
glass of Hermitage last night; the glow still suffuses
my memory. I was growing positively niggardly with
that Hermitage, positively niggardly. Let me take
the hint : we had one bottle to celebrate the appearance
of our visionary fortune; let us have a second to
console us for its occultation. The third I hereby
dedicate to Jean-Marie's wedding breakfast."

CHAPTER VII

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ

THE Doctor's house has not yet received the
compliment of a description, and it is now
high time that the omission were supplied,
for the house is itself an actor in the story, and one
whose part is nearly at an end. Two stories in height,
walls of a warm yellow, tiles of an ancient ruddy brown
diversified with moss and lichen, it stood with one wall
to the street in the angle of the Doctor's property. It
was roomy, draughty, and inconvenient. The large
rafters were here and there engraven with rude marks
and patterns ; the handrail of the stair was carved in
countrified arabesque; a stout timber pillar, which
did duty to support the dining-room roof, bore mys-
terious characters on its darker side, runes, according
to the Doctor; nor did he fail, when he ran over the
legendary history of the house and its possessors, to
dwell upon the Scandinavian scholar who had left
them. Floors, doors, and rafters made a great va-
riety of angles; every room had a particular inclina-
tion ; the gable had tilted towards the garden, after the
manner of a leaning tower, and one of the former pro-
prietors had buttressed the building from that side with

288

THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ 289

a great strut of wood, like the derrick of a crane. Al-
together, it had many marks of ruin ; it was a house for
the rats to desert ; and nothing but its excellent bright-
ness — the window-glass polished and shining, the
paint well scoured, the brasses radiant, the very prop
all wreathed about with climbing flowers — nothing
but its air of a well-tended, smiling veteran, sitting,
crutch and all, in the sunny corner of a garden, marked
it as a house for comfortable people to inhabit. In
poor or idle management it would soon have hurried
into the blackguard stages of decay. As it was, the
whole family loved it, and the Doctor was never better
inspired than when he narrated its imaginary story and
drew the character of its successive masters, from the
Hebrew merchant who had re-edified its walls after
the sack of the town, and past the mysterious engraver
of the runes, down to the long-headed, dirty-handed
boor from whom he had himself acquired it at a ruin-
ous expense. As for any alarm about its security, the
idea had never presented itself. What had stood four
centuries might well endure a little longer.

Indeed, in this particular winter, after the finding
and losing of the treasure, the Desprez' had an anxiety
of a very different order, and one which lay nearer their
hearts. Jean-Marie was plainly not himself. He had
fits of hectic activity, when he made unusual exertions
to please, spoke more and faster, and redoubled in at-
tention to his lessons. But these were interrupted by
spells of melancholia and brooding silence, when the
boy was little better than unbearable.

" Silence," the Doctor moralised — " you see, Anas-
tasie, what comes of silence. Had the boy properly un-

290THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

bosomed himself, the little disappointment about the
treasure, the little annoyance about Casimir's incivility,
would long ago have been forgotten. As it is, they
prey upon him like a disease. He loses flesh, his appe-
tite is variable, and, on the whole, impaired. I keep
him on the strictest regimen, I exhibit the most power-
ful tonics; both in vain."

" Don't you think you drug him too much ? " asked
madame, with an irrepressible shudder.

" Drug ? " cried the Doctor; ** I drug ? Anastasie,
you are mad ! "

Time went on, and the boy's health still slowly de-
clined. The Doctor blamed the weather, which was
cold and boisterous. He called in his confrere from
Bourron, took a fancy for him, magnified his capacity,
and was pretty soon under treatment himself — it
scarcely appeared for what complaint. He and Jean-
Marie had each medicine to take at different periods of
the day. The Doctor used to lie in wait for the exact
moment, watch in hand. " There is nothing like regu-
larity," he would say, fill out the doses, and dilate on
the virtues of the draught; and if the boy seemed none
the better, the Doctor was not at all the worse.

Gunpowder Day, the boy was particularly low. It
was scowling, squally weather. Huge broken compa-
nies of cloud sailed swiftly overhead ; raking gleams of
sunlight swept the village, and were followed by inter-
vals of darkness and white, flying rain. At times the
wind lifted up its voice and bellowed. The trees were
all scourging themselves along the meadows, the last
leaves flying like dust.

The Doctor, between the boy and the weather, was

THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ 291

in his element; he had a theoiy to prove. He sat with
his watch out and a barometer in front of him, waiting
for the squalls and noting their effect upon the human
pulse. " For the true philosopher/* he remarked de-
lightedly, " every fact in nature is a toy." A letter
came to him; but, as its arrival coincided with the
approach of another gust, he merely crammed it into
his pocket, gave the time to Jean-Marie, and the next
moment they were both counting their pulses as if for a
wager.

At nightfall the wind rose into a tempest. It be-
sieged the hamlet, apparently from every side, as if
with batteries of cannon; the houses shook and
groaned; live coals were blown upon the floor. The
uproar and terror of the night kept people long awake,
sitting with pallid faces giving ear.

It was twelve before the Desprez family retired. By
half-past one, when the storm was already somewhat
past its height, tlie Doctor was awakened from a
troubled slumber, and sat up. A noise still rang in his
ears, but whether of this world or the world of dreams
he was not certain. Another clap of wind followed. It
was accompanied by a sickening movement of the
whole house, and in the subsequent lull Desprez could
hear the tiles pouring like a cataract into the loft above
his head. He plucked Anastasie bodily out of
bed.

" Run ! " he cried, thrusting some wearing apparel
into her hands; ''the house is falling! To th'e
garden I "

She did not pause to be twice bidden; she was down
the stair in an instant. She had never before suspected

292 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

herself of such activity. The Doctor meanwhile, with
the speed of a piece of pantomime business, and unde-
terred by broken shins, proceeded to rout out Jean-
Marie, tore Aline from her virgin slumbers, seized her
by the hand, and tumbled downstairs and into the
garden, with the girl tumbling behind him, still not
half-awake.

The fugitives rendezvoused in the arbour by some
common instinct. Then came a bull's-eye flash of
struggling moonshine, which disclosed their four
figures standing huddled from the wind in a raffle of
flying drapery, and not without a considerable need
for more. At the humiliating spectacle Anastasie
clutched her nightdress desperately about her and
burst loudly into tears. The Doctor flew to console
her; but she elbowed him away. She suspected
everybody of being the general public, and thought
the darkness was alive with eyes.

Another* gleam and another violent gust arrived
together; the house was seen to rock on its founda-
tion, and, just as the light was once more eclipsed,
a crash which triumphed over the shouting of the
wind announced its fall, and for a moment the whole
garden was alive with skipping tiles and brickbats.
One such missile grazed the Doctor's ear; another
descended on the bare foot of Aline, who instantly
made night hideous with her shrieks.

By this time the hamlet was alarmed, lights flashed
from the windows, hails reached the party, and the
Doctor answered, nobly contending against Aline and
the tempest. But this prospect of help only awakened
Anastasie to a more active stage of terror.

THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ 293

" Henri, people will be coming," she screamed in
her husband's ear.

" I trust so," he replied.

" They cannot. I would rather die," she wailed.

" My dear," said the Doctor reprovingly, " you are
excited. I gave you some clothes. What have you
done with them ? "

" Oh, I don't know — I must have thrown them
away ! Where are they ? " she sobbed.

Desprez groped about in the darkness. " Admi-
rable ! " he remarked ; " my grey velveteen trousers 1
This will exactly meet your necessities."

" Give them to me I " she cried fiercely; but as soon
as she had them in her hands her mood appeared to
alter — she stood silent for a moment, and then
pressed the garment back upon the Doctor. " Give it
to Aline," she said — " poor girl."

" Nonsense ! " said the Doctor. " Aline does not
know what she is about. Aline is beside herself with
terror; and at any rate, she is a peasant. Now I am
really concerned at this exposure for a person of your
housekeeping habits ; my solicitude and your fantastic
modesty both point to the same remedy — the panta-
loons." He held them ready.

** It is impossible. You do not understand," she
said with dignity.

By this time rescue was at hand. It had been found
impracticable to enter by the street, for the gate was
blocked with masonry, and the nodding ruin still
threatened further avalanches. But between the Doc-
tor's garden and the one on the right hand there was
that very picturesque contrivance — a common well ;

294 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

the door on the Desprez' side had chanced to be un-
bolted, and now, through the arched aperture a man's
bearded face and an arm supporting a lantern were in-
troduced into the world of windy darkness, where
Anastasie concealed her woes. The light struck here
and there among the tossing apple boughs, it glinted
on the grass; but the lantern and the glowing face be-
came the centre of the world. Anastasie crouched
back from the intrusion.

" This way ! " shouted the man. " Are you all
safe?"

Aline, still screaming, ran to the new comer, and
was presently hauled head-foremost through the wall.

** Now, Anastasie, come on ; it is your turn," said
the husband.

** I cannot," she replied.

" Are we all to die of exposure, madame ? " thun-
dered Doctor Desprez.

" You can go ! " she cried. " Oh, go, go away ! I
can stay here; I am quite warm."

The Doctor took her by the shoulders with an oath.

" Stop ! " she screamed. ** I will put them on."

She took the detested lendings in her hand once
more; but her repulsion was stronger than shame.
" Never ! " she cried, shuddering, and flung them far
away into the night

Next moment the Doctor had whirled her to the well.
The man was there and the lantern; Anastasie closed
her eyes and appeared to herself to be about to die.
How she was transported through the arch she knew
not; but once on the other side she was received by the
neighbour's wife, and enveloped in a friendly blanket*

THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ 295

Beds were made ready for the two women, clothes of
very various sizes for the Doctor and Jean-Marie; and
for the remainder of the night, while madame dozed in
and out on the borderland of hysterics, her husband sat
beside the fire and held forth to the admiring neigh-
bours. He showed them, at length, the causes of the
accident; for years, he explained, the fall had been im-
pending; one sign had followed another, the joints had
opened, the plaster had cracked, the old walls bowed
inward; last, not three weeks ago, the cellar door had
begun to work with difficulty in its grooves. " The
cellar I " he said, gravely shaking his head over a glass
of mulled wine. " That reminds me of my poor vint-
ages. By a manifest providence the Hermitage was
nearly at an end. One bottle — I lose but one bottle of
that incomparable wine. It had been set apart against
Jean-Marie's wedding. Well, I must lay down some
more; it will be an interest in life. I am, however, a
man somewhat advanced in years. My great work is
now buried in the fall of my humble roof; it will never
be completed — my name will have been writ in water.
And yet you find me calm — I would say cheerful.
Can your priest do more ? "

By the first glimpse of day the party sallied forth
from the fireside into the street. The wind had fallen,
but still charioted a world of troubled clouds ; the air
bit like frost; and the party, as they stood about the
ruins in the rainy twilight of the morning, beat upon
their breasts and blew into their hands for warmth.
The house had entirely fallen, the walls outward, the
roof in; it was a mere heap of rubbish, with here and
there a forlorn spear of broken rafter. A sentinel was

296 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

placed over the ruins to protect the property, and the
party adjourned to Tentaillon's to break their fast at
the Doctor's expense. The bottle circulated somewhat
freely; and before they left the table it had begun to
snow.

For three days the snow continued to fall, and the
ruins, covered with tarpaulin and watched by sentries,
were left undisturbed. The Desprez' meanwhile had
taken up their abode at Tentaillon's. Madame spent
her time in the kitchen, concocting little delicacies,
with the admiring aid of Madame Tentaillon, or sitting
by the fire in thoughtful abstraction. The fall of the
house affected her wonderfully little; that blow had
been parried by another; and in her mind she was con-
tinually fighting over again the battle of the trousers.
Had she done right ? Had she done wrong ? And now
she would applaud her determination ; and anon, with
a horrid flush of unavailing penitence, she would regret
the trousers. No juncture in her life had so much ex-
ercised her judgment. In the meantime the Doctor
had become vastly pleased with his situation. Two of
the summer boarders still lingered behind the rest,
prisoners for lack of a remittance; they were both Eng-
lish, but one of them spoke French pretty fluently, and
was, besides, a humourous, agile-minded fellow, with
whom the Doctor could reason by the hour, secure of
comprehension. Many were the glasses they emptied,
many the topics they discussed.

" Anastasie," the Doctor said on the third morning,
"take an example from your husband, from Jean-
Marie. The excitement has done more for the boy
than all my tonics, he takes his turn as sentry with pos-

THE HOUSE OF DESPREZ 297

itive gusto. As for me, you behold me. I have made
friends with the Egyptians; and my Pharaoh is, I
swear it, a most agreeable companion. You alone are
hipped. About a house — a few dresses ? What are
they in comparison to the * Pharmacopoeia * — the
labour of years lying buried below stones and sticks in
this depressing hamlet .? The snow falls ; I shake it
from my cloak ! Imitate me. Our income will be im-
paired, I grant it, since we must rebuild ; but modera-
tion, patience, and philosophy will gather about the
hearth. In the meanwhile, the Tentaillons are oblig-
ing; the table, with your additions, will pass; only the
wine is execrable — well, I shall send for some to-day.
My Pharaoh will be gratified to drink a decent glass;
aha I and I shall see if he possesses that acme of
organisation — a palate. If he has a palate, he is
perfect."

" Henri," she said, shaking her head, " you are a
man ; you cannot understand my feelings ; no woman
could shake off the memory of so public a humilia-
tion."

The Doctor could not restrain a titter. " Pardon
me, darling," he said; " but really, to the philosophi-
cal intelligence, the incident appears so small a trifle.
You looked extremely well "

"Henri! "she cried.

** Well, well, I will say no more," he replied.
" Though, to be sure, if you had consented to indue

A proposy* he broke off, " and my trousers !

They are lying in the snow — my favourite trousers ? "
And he dashed in quest of Jean-Marie.

Two hours afterwards the boy returned to the inn

298 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

with a spade under one arm and a curious sop of
clothing under the other.

The Doctor ruefully took it in his* hands. " They
have been ! " he said. " Their tense is past. Excellent
pantaloons, you are no more ! Stay ! something in the
pocket," and he produced a piece of paper. " A letter !
ay, now I mind me; it was received on the morning of
the gale, when I was absorbed in delicate investiga-
tions. It is still legible. From poor, dear Casimir!
It is as well," he chuckled, " that I have educated him
to patience. Poor Casimir and his correspondence —
his infinitesimal, timorous, idiotic correspondence ! "

He had by this time cautiously unfolded the wet
letter; but, as he bent himself to decipher the writing,
a cloud descended on his brow.

" Bigre! " he cried, with a galvanic start.

And then the letter was whipped into the fire, and
the Doctor's cap was on his head in the turn of a hand.

" Ten minutes ! I can catch it, if I run," he cried.
** It is always late. I go to Paris. I shall telegraph."

" Henri ! what is wrong ? " cried his wife.

" Ottoman Bonds ! " came from the disappearing
Doctor; and Anastasie and Jean-Marie were left face
to face with the wet trousers. Desprez had gone to
Paris, for the second time in seven years; he had gone
to Paris with a pair of wooden shoes, a knitted spencer,
a black blouse, a country nightcap, and twenty francs
in his pocket. The fall of the house was but a second-
ary marvel; the whole world might have fallen and
scarce left his family more petrified.

CHAPTER VIII

THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY

ON the morning of the next day, the Doctor, a
mere spectre of himself, was brought back in
the custody of Casimir. They found Anastasie
and the boy sitting together by the fire; and Desprez,
who had exchanged his toilette for a ready-made rig-
out of poor materials, waved his hand as he entered,
and sank speechless on the nearest chair. Madame
turned direct to Casimir.

" What is wrong ? " she cried.

" Well," replied Casimir, " what have I told you all
along? It has come. It is a clean shave, this time;
so you may as well bear up and make the best of it.
House down, too, eh ? Bad luck, upon my soul."

** Are we — are we — ruined ? " she gasped.

The Doctor stretched out his arms to her.
" Ruined," he replied, " you are ruined by your
sinister husband."

Casimir observed the consequent embrace through
his eyeglass; then he turned to Jean-Marie. ".You
hear ? " he said. " They are ruined; no more pick-
ings, no more house, no more fat cutlets. It strikes
me, my friend, that you had best be packing; the

299

300 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

present speculation is about worked out." And he
nodded to him meaningly.

" Never ! " cried Desprez, springing up. " Jean-
Marie, if you prefer to leave me, now that I am poor,
you can go; you shall receive your hundred francs, if
so much remains to me. But if you will consent to
stay " — the Doctor wept a little — " Casimir offers
me a place — as clerk," he resumed. " The emolu-
ments are slender, but they will be enough for three.
It is too much already to have lost my fortune; must
I lose my son ? "

Jean-Marie sobbed bitterly, but without a word.

" I don't like boys who cry," observed Casimir.
** This one is always crying. Here ! you clear out of
this for a little ; I have business with your master and
mistress, and these domestic feelings may be settled
after I am gone. March ! " and he held the door open.

Jean-Marie slunk out, like a detected thief.

By twelve they were all at table but Jean-Marie.

" Hey ? " said Casimir. " Gone, you see. Took
the hint at once."

" I do not, I confess," said Desprez, " I do not seek
to excuse his absence. It speaks a want of heart that
disappoints me sorely."

" Want of manners," corrected Casimir. " Heart,
he never had. Why, Desprez, for a clever fellow, you
are the most gullible mortal in creation. Your igno-
rance of human nature and human business is beyond
belief. You are swindled by heathen Turks, swindled
by vagabond children, swindled right and left, up-
stairs and downstairs. I think it must be your imagi-
nation. I thank my stars I have none."

THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY 301

" Pardon me," replied Desprez, still humbly, but
with a return of spirit at sight of a distinction to be
drawn ; " pardon me, Casimir. You possess, even ta
an eminent degree, the commercial imagination. It
was the lack of that in me — it appears it is my weak
point — that has led to these repeated shocks. By.
the commercial imagination the financier forecasts
the destiny of his investments, marks the falling
house "

"Egad," interrupted Casimir: "our friend the
stable-boy appears to have his share of it."

The Doctor was silenced; and the meal was con-
tinued and finished principally to the tune of the
brother-in-law's not very consolatory conversation.
He entirely ignored the two young English painters,
turning a blind eyeglass to their salutations, and con-
tinuing his remarks as if he were alone in the bosom
of his family; and with every second word he ripped
another stitch out of the air balloon of Desprez's
vanity. By the time coffee was over the poor Doctor
was as limp as a napkin.

" Let us go and see the ruins," said Casimir.

They strolled forth into the street. The fall of the
house, like the loss of a front tooth, had quite trans-
formed the village. Through the gap the eye com-
manded a great stretch of open snowy country, and the
place shrank in comparison. It was like a room with
an open door. The sentinel stood by the green gate,
looking very red and cold, but he had a pleasant
word for the Doctor and his wealthy kinsman.

Casimir looked at the mound of ruins, he tried the
quality of the tarpaulin. " H*m," he said, " I hope

302 THE TREASURE OF FRANCHARD

the cellar arch has stood. If it has, my good brother^
I will give you a good price for the wines/'

" We shall start digging to-morrow," said the
sentry. " There is no more fear of snow."

" My friend," returned Casimir sententiously, ** you
had better wait till you get paid."

The Doctor winced, and began dragging his offen-
sive brother-in-law towards Tentaillon's. In the
house there would be fewer auditors, and these already
in the secret of his fall.

" Hullo," cried Casimir, " there goes the stable-boy
with his luggage; no, egad, he is taking it into the
inn."

And sure enough, Jean-Marie was seen to cross the
snowy street and enter Tentaillon's, staggering under
a large hamper.

The Doctor stopped with a sudden, wild hope*

** What can he have ? " he said. " Let us go and
see." And he hurried on.

" His luggage, to be sure," answered Casimir. " He
is on the move — thanks to the commercial imagina-
tion."

" I have not seen that hamper for — for ever so
long," remarked the Doctor.

" Nor will you see it much longer," chuckled Casi-
mir; " unless, indeed, we interfere. And by the way,
I insist on an examination."

" You will not require," said Desprez, positively
with a sob; and, casting a moist, triumphant glance
at Casimir, he began to run.

" What the devil is up with him, I wonder ? " Casi-
mir reflected; and then, curiosity taking the upper

THE WAGES OF PHILOSOPHY 303

hand, he followed the Doctor's example and took to
his heels.

The hamper was so heavy and large, and Jean-
Marie himself so little and so weary, that it had taken
him a great while to bundle it upstairs to the Desprez*
private room; and he had just set it down on the floor
in front of Anastasie, when the Doctor arrived, and
was closely followed by the man of business. Boy and
hamper were both in a most sorry plight; for the one
had passed four months underground in a certain
cave on the way to Acheres, and the other had run
about five miles, as hard as his legs would carry him^
half that distance under a staggering weight.

" Jean-Marie," cried the Doctor, in a voice that was

(Mily too seraphic to be called hysterical, " is it ?

It is ! " he cried. " O, my son, my son ! " And he
sat down upon the hamper and sobbed like a little
child.

" You will not go to Paris, now," said Jean-Marie
sheepishly.

" Casimir," said Desprez, raising his wet face, *' do
you see that boy, that angel boy ? He is the thief; he
took the treasure from a man unfit to be entrusted
with its use; he brings it back to me when I am
sobered and humbled. These, Casimir, are the Fruits
of my Teaching, and this moment is the Reward of
my Life."

" TiensJ' said Casimir.

/

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

30s

TO

KATHARINE DE MATTOS

It's ill to loose the bands that God decreed to bind;
Still will we be the children of the heather and the wind
Far away from home, O it's still for you and me
That die broom is blowing bonnie in the north countrie.

306

STRANGE CASE OF DR. JEKYLL AND
MR. HYDE

STORY OF THE DOOR

MR. UTTERSON the lawyer was a man of a
rugged countenance, that was never lighted
by a smile; cold, scanty and embarrassed
in discourse; backward in sentiment; lean, long,
dusty, dreary and yet somehow lovable. At friendly
meetings, and when the wine was to his taste,
something eminently human beaconed from his
eye; something indeed which never found its way
into his talk, but which spoke not only in these
silent symbols of the after-dinner face, but more
often and loudly in the acts of his life. He was
austere with himself; drank gin when he was alone, to
mortify a taste for vintages; and though he enjoyed
the theatre, had not crossed the doors of one for
twenty years. But he had an approved tolerance for
others; sometimes wondering, almost with envy, at
the high pressure of spirits involved in their misdeeds ;
and in any extremity inclined to help rather than to
reprove. " I incline to Cain's heresy,** he used to say
quaintly : " I let my brother go to the devil in his own
way." In this character, it was frequently his fortune

307

308 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

to be the last reputable acquaintance and the last
good influence in the lives of down-going men. And
to such as these, so long as they came about his cham-
bers, he never marked a shade of change in his
demeanour.

No doubt the feat was easy to Mr. Utterson; for he
was undemonstrative at the best, and even his friend-
ship seemed to be founded in a similar catholicity of
good-nature. It is the mark of a modest man to accept
his friendly circle ready-made from the hands of
opportunity; and that was the lav^yer's way. His
friends were those of his own blood or those whom he
had known the longest; his affections, like ivy, were
the growth of time, they implied no aptness in the
object. Hence, no doubt, the bond that united him
to Mr. Richard Enfield, his distant kinsman, the well-
known man about town. It was a nut to crack for
many, what these two could see in each other, or what
subject they could find in common. It was reported
by those who encountered them in their Sunday walks,
that they said nothing, looked singularly dull, and
would hail with obvious relief the appearance of a
friend. For all that, the two men put the greatest
store by these excursions, counted them the chief
jewel of each week, and not only set aside occasions of
pleasure, but even resisted the calls of business, that
they might enjoy them uninterrupted.

It chanced on one of these rambles that their way
led them down a by-street in a busy quarter of London.
The street was small and what is called quiet, but it
drove a thriving trade on the week-days. The inhabit-
ants were all doing well it seemed, and all emulously

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 309

hoping to do better still, and laying out the surplus of
their gains in coquetry; so that the shop fronts stood
along that thoroughfare with an air of invitation, like
rows of smiling saleswomen. Even on Sunday, when
it veiled its more florid charms and lay comparatively
empty of passage, the street shone out in contrast to its
dingy neighbourhood, like a fire in a forest; and with
its freshly painted shutters, well-polished brasses, and
general cleanliness and gaiety of note, instantly caught
and pleased the eye of the passenger.

Two doors from one corner, on the left hand going
east, the line was broken by the entry of a court; and
just at that point, a certain sinister block of building
thrust forward its gable on the street. It was two
storeys high ; showed no window, nothing but a door
on the lower storey and a blind forehead of discol-
oured wall on the upper; and bore in every feature,
the marks of prolonged and sordid negligence. The
door, which was equipped with neither bell nor
knocker, was blistered and distained. Tramps
slouched into the recess and struck matches on the
panels ; children kept shop upon the steps ; the school-
boy had tried his knife on the mouldings; and for
close on a generation, no one had appeared to drive
away these random visitors or to repair their ravages.

Mr. Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of
the by-street; but when they came abreast of the
entry, the former lifted up his cane and pointed.

" Did you ever remark that door ? " he asked; and
when his companion had replied in the affirmative,
*' It is connected in my mind," added he, " with a very
odd story."

3IO DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

" Indeed ? '' said Mr. Utterson, with a slight change
of voice, " and what was that ? "

" Well, it was this way," returned Mr. Enfield : " I
was coming home from some place at the end of the
world, about three o'clock of a black winter mornings
and my way lay through a part of town where there
was literally nothing to be seen but lamps. Street
after street, and all the folks asleep — street after
street, all lighted up as if for a procession and all as
empty as a church — till at last I got into that state
of mind when a man listens and listens and begins to
long for the sight of a policeman. All at once, I saw
two figures : one a little man who was stumping along
eastward at a good walk, and the other a girl of maybe
eight or ten who was running as hard as she was able
down a cross street. Well, sir, the two ran into one
another naturally enough at the comer; and then
came the horrible part of the thing; for the man
trampled calmly over the child's body and left her
screaming on the ground. It sounds nothing to hear,
but it was hellish to see. It wasn't like a man ; it was
like some damned Juggernaut. I gave a view halloa^
took to my heels, collared my gentleman, and brought
him back to where there was already quite a group
about the screaming child. He was perfectly cool and
made no resistance, but gave me one look, so ugly that
it brought out the sweat on me like running. The
people who had turned out were the girl's own family;
and pretty soon, the doctor, for whom she had been
sent, put in his appearance. Well, the child was not
much the worse, more frightened, according to the
Sawbones; and there you might have supposed would

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 31 1

be an end to it. But there was one curious circum-
stance. I had taken a loathing to my gentleman at
first sight. So had the child's family, which was only
natural. But the doctor's case was what struck me.
He was the usual cut and dry apothecary, of no partic-
ular age and colour, with a strong Edinburgh accent,
and about as emotional as a bagpipe. Well, sir, he
was like the rest of us; every time he looked at my
prisoner, I saw that Sawbones turn sick and white
with the desire to kill him. I knew what was in his
mind, just as he knew what was in mine; and killing
being out of the question, we did the next best. We
told the man we could and would make such a scandal
out of this, as should make his name stink from one
end of London to the other. If he had any friends or
any credit, we undertook that he should lose them.
And all the time, as we were pitching it in red hot,
we were keeping the women off him as best we could,
for they were as wild as harpies. I never saw a circle
of such hateful faces; and there was the man in the
middle, with a kind of black, sneering coolness —
frightened too, I could see that — but carrying it off,
sir, really like Satan. * If you choose to make capital
out of this accident,' said he, * I am naturally helpless.
No gentleman but wishes to avoid a scene,' says he.
' Name your figure.' Well, we screwed him up to a
hundred pounds for the child's family; he would have
clearly liked to stick out; but there was something
about the lot of us that meant mischief, and at last he
struck. The next thing was to get the money; and
wher^ do you think he carried us biit to that place
with the door ? — whipped out a key, went in, and

(^

312 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

presently came back with the matter of ten pounds in
gold and a cheque for the balance on Coutts's, drawn
payable to bearer and signed with a name that I can't
mention, though it's one of the points of my story, but
it was a name at least very well known and often
printed. The figure was stiff; but the signature was
good for more than that, if it was only genuine. I took
the liberty of pointing' out to my gentleman that the
whole business looked apocryphal, and that a man
does not, in real life, walk into a cellar door at four in
the morning and come out of it with another man's
cheque for close upon a hundred pounds. But he was
quite easy and sneering. * Set your mind at rest,' says
he, * I will stay with you till the banks open and cash
the cheque myself.' So we all set off, the doctor, and
the child's father, and our friend and myself, and
passed the rest of the night in my chambers; and next
day, when we had breakfasted, went in a body to the
bank. I gave in the checque myself, and said I had
every reason to believe it was a forgery. Not a bit
of it. The cheque was genuine."

" Tut — tut," said Mr. Utterson.

" I see you feel as I do," said Mr. Enfield. " Yes,
it's a bad story. For my man was a fellow that nobody
could have to do with, a really damnable man; and
the person that drew the cheque is the very pink of the
proprieties, celebrated too, and (what makes it worse)
one of your fellows who do what they call good. Black
mail, I suppose; an honest man paying through the
nose for some of the capers of his youth. Black Mail
House is what I call that place with the doorman con-
sequence. Though even that, you know, is far from

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 313

explaining all/' he added, and with the words fell
into a vein of musing.

From this he was recalled by Mr. Utterson asking
rather suddenly : " And you don't know if the drawer
of the cheque lives there ? "

" A likely place, isn't it ? " returned Mr. Enfield.
*' iSut I happen to have noticed his address; he lives
in some square or other."

" And you never asked about the — place with the
door ? " said Mr. Utterson.

" No, sir : I had a delicacy," was the reply. " I
feel very strongly about putting questions ; it partakes
too much of the style of the day of judgment. You
start a question, and it's like starting a stone. You
sit quietly on the top of a hill ; and away the stone goes,
starting others; and presently some bland old bird
(the last you would have thought of) is knocked on the
head in his own back garden and the family have to
change their name. No, sir, I make it a rule of mine :
the more it looks like Queer Street, the less I ask."

" A veiy good rule, too," said the lawyer.

" But I have studied the place for myself," continued
Mr. Enfield. " It seems scarcely a house. There is no
other door, and nobody goes in or out of that one but,
once in a great while, the gentleman of my adventure.
There are three windows looking on the court on the
first floor; none below; the windows are always shut
but they're clean. And then there is a chimney which
is generally smoking; so somebody must live there.
And yet it's not so sure ; for the buildings are so packed
together about that court, that it's hard to say where
one ends and another begins."

314 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

The pair walked on again for a while in silence ; and
then " Enfield," said Mr. Utterson, " that's a good
rule of yours."

" Yes, I think it is," returned Enfield.

" But for all that," continued the lawyer, " tlii^je's
one point Lwant to ask : I want to ask the name of
thaT^man who walked over the child." ^

" Well," said Mr. Enfield, " I can't see what harm
it would do. It was a man of the Q^^nje of Hyde."

" Hm," said Mr. Utterson. " What sort of a man is
he to see ? "

" He is not easy to describe. There is something
wrong with his appearance; something displeasing,
something downright detestable. I never saw a man I
so disliked, and yet I scarce know why. He must be
deformed somewhere; he gives a strong feeling of
deformity, although I couldn't specify the point. He's
an extraordinary looking man, and yet I really can
name nothing out of the way. No, sir; I can make no
hand of it ; I can't describe him. And it's not want of
memory; for I declare I can see him this moment."

Mr. Utterson again walked some way in silence and
obviously under a weight of consideration. " You are
sure he used a key ? " he inquired at last.

" My dear sir ..." began Enfield, surprised out of
himself.

" Yes, I know," said Utterson; " I know it must
seem strange. The fact is, if I do not ask you the
name of the other party, it is because I know it already.
You see, Richard, your tale has gone home. If you
have been inexact in any point, you had better correct
it."

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 315

" I think you might have warned me," returned the
other with a touch of suUenness. " But I have been
pedantically exact, as you call it. The fellow had a
key; and what's more, he has it still. I saw him use
it, not a week ago."

Mr. Utterson sighed deeply but said never a word;
and the young man presently resumed. " Here is
another lesson to say nothing," said he. " I am
ashamed of my long tongue. Let us make a bargain
never to refer to this again."

" With all my heart," said the lawyer. " I shake
hands on that, Richard."

SEARCH FOR MR. HYDE

That evening Mr. Utterson came home to his
bachelor house in sombre spirits and sat down to
dinner without relish. It was his custom of a
Sunday, when this meal was over, to sit close
by the fire, a volume of some dry divinity on his
reading desk, until the clock of the neighbouring
church rang out the hour of twelve, when he would go
soberly and gratefully to bed. On this night, however,
as soon as the cloth was taken away, he took up a
candle and went into his business room. There he
opened his safe, took from the most private part of it
a document endorsed on the envelope as Dr. Jekyll's
Will, and sat down with a clouded brow to study its
contents. The will was holograph, for Mr. Utterson,
though he took charge of it now that it was made, had
refused to lend the least assistance in the making of
it; it provided not only that, in case of the decease

3i6 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

of Henry Jekyll, M. D., D. C. L., LL. D., F. R. S.,
etc., all his possessions were to pass into the hands of
his " friend and benefactor Edward Hyde," but that
in case of Dr. Jekyll's " disappearance or unexplained
absence for any period exceeding three calendar
months," the said Edward Hyde should step into the
said Henry Jekyll's shoes without furthei%4elay and
free from any burthen or obligation, beyond the pay-
ment of a few small sums to the members of the doctor's
household. This document had long been the lawyer's
eyesore. It oiFended him both as a lawyer and as a
lover of the sane and customary sides of life, to whom
the fanciful was the immodest. And hitherto it was
his ignorance of Mr. Hyde that had swelled his indig-
nation ; now, by a sudden turn, it was his knowledge.
It was already bad enough when the name was but a
name of which he could learn no more. It was worse
when it began to be clothed upon with detestable
attributes ; and out of the shifting, insubstantial mists
that had so long baffled his eye, there leaped up the
sudden, definite presentment of a fiend.

*' I thought it was madness," he said, as he replaced
the obnoxious paper in the safe, ** and now I begin to
fear it is disgrace."

With that he blew out his candle, put on a great coat,
and set forth in the direction of Cavendish Square,
that citadel of medicine, where his friend, the great
Dr. Lanyon, had his house and received his crowding
patients. " If anyone knows, it will be Lanyon," he
had thought.

The solemn butler knew and welcomed him; he
was subjected to no stage of delay, but ushered direct

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 317

from the door to the dining-room where Dr. Lanyon
sat alone over his wine. This was a hearty, healthy,
dapper, red-faced gentleman, with a shock of hair
prematurely white, and a boisterous and decided
manner. At sight of Mr. Utterson, he sprang up from
his chair and welcomed him with both hands. The
geniality, as was the way of the man, was somewhat
theatrical to the eye ; but it reposed on genuine feeling.
For these two were old friends, old mates both at
school and college, both thorough respecters of them-
selves and of each other, and, what does not always
follow, men who thoroughly enjoyed each other's
company.

After a little rambling talk, the lawyer led up
to the subject which so disagreeably preoccupied his
mind.

" I suppose," Lanyon, said he, " you and I
must be the two oldest friends that Henry Jekyll
has?"

" I wish the friends were younger," chuckled Dr.
Lanyon. " But I suppose we are. And what of that ?
I see little of him now."

" Indeed ? " said Utterson. " I thought you had a
bond of common interest."

" We had," was the reply. " But it is more than ten
years since Henry Jekyll became too fanciful for me.
He began to go wrong, wrong in mind ; and though of
course I continue to take an interest in him for old
sake's sake, as they say, I see and I have seen devilish
little of the man. Such unscientific balderdash,"
added the doctor, flushing suddenly purple, ** would
have estranged Damon and Pythias."

3i8 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

This little spirit of temper was somewhat of a relief
to Mr. Utterson. " They have only differed on some
point of science/* he thought ; and being a man of no
scientific passions (except in the matter of convey-
ancing), he even added : " It is nothing worse than
that ! " He gave his friend a few seconds to recover
his composure, and then approached the question he
he had come to put. " Did you ever come across a
protege of his — one Hyde ? " he asked.

" Hyde ? " repeated Lanyon. " No. Never heard
of him. Since my time."

That was the amount of information that the lawyer
carried back with him to the great, dark bed on which
he tossed to and fro, until the small hours of the morn-
ing began to grow large. It was a night of little ease to
his toiling mind, toiling in mere darkness and besieged
by questions.

Six o'clock struck on the bells of the church that was
so conveniently near to Mr. Utterson's dwelling, and
still he was digging at the problem. Hitherto it had
touched him on the intellectual side alone; but now
his imagination also was engaged, or rather enslaved ;
and as he lay and tossed in the gross darkness of the
night and the curtained room, Mr. Enfield's tale went
by before his mind in a scroll of lighted pictures. He
would be aware of the great field of lamps of a noc-
turnal city; then of the figure of a man walking
swiftly; then of a child running from the doctor's; and
then these met, and that human Juggernaut trod the
child down and passed on regardless of her screams.
Or else he would see a room in a rich house, where his
friend lay asleep, dreaming and smiling at his dreams;

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 319

and then the door of that room would be opened, the
curtains of the bed plucked apart, the sleeper recalled,
and lo 1 there would stand by his side a figure to whom
power was given, and even at that dead hour, he must
rise and do its bidding. The figure in these two phases
haunted the lawyer all night; and if at any time he
dozed over, it was but to see it glide more stealthily
through sleeping houses, or move the more swiftly and
still the more swiftly, even to dizziness, through wider
labyrinths of lamplighted city, and at every street
comer crush a child and leave her screaming. And
still the figure had no face by which he might know it;
even in his dreams, it had no face, or one that baffled
him and melted before his eyes ; and thus it was that
there sprang up and grew apace in the lawyer's mind a
singularly strong, almost an inordinate, curiosity to
behold the features of the real Mr. Hyde. If he could
but once set eyes on him, he thought the mystery would
lighten and perhaps roll altogether away, as was the
habit of mysterious things when well examined. He
might see a reason for his friend's strange preference or
bondage (call it which you please) and even for the
startling clause of the will. At least it would be a face
worth seeing: the face of a man who was without
bowels of mercy : a face which had but to show itself
to raise up, in the mind of the unimpressionable
Enfield, a spirit of enduring hatred.

From that time forward, Mr. Utterson began to
haunt the door in the by-street of shops. In the morn-
ing before office hours, at noon when business was
plenty, and time scarce, at night under the face of the
fogged city moon, by all lights and at all hours of

320 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

solitude or concourse, the lawyer was to be found on
his chosen post.

" If he be Mr. Hyde," he had thought, " I shall be
Mr. Seek."

And at last his patience was rewarded. It was a fine
dry night; frost in the air; the streets as clean as a
ballroom floor; the lamps, unshaken by any wind,
drawing a regular pattern of light and shadow. By
ten o'clock, when the shops were closed, the by-street
was very solitary and, in spite of the low growl of
London from all round, very silent. Small sounds
carried far ; domestic sounds out of the houses were
clearly audible on either side of the roadway; and the
rumour of the approach of any passenger preceded
him by a long time. Mr. Utterson had been some
minutes at his post, when he was aware of an odd,
light footstep drawing near. In the course of his
nightly patrols, he had long grown accustomed to the
quaint effect with which the footfalls of a single person,
while he is still a great way off, suddenly spring out
distinct from the vast hum and clatter of the city.
Yet his attention had never before been so sharply and
decisively arrested; and it was with a strong, super-
stitious prevision of success that he withdrew into the
entry of the court.

TThe steps drew swiftly nearer, and swelled out
suddenly louder as they turned the end of the street.
The la¥7yer, looking forth from the entry, could soon
see what manner of man he had to deal with. He was
small and very plainly dressed, and the look of him,
even at that distance, went somehow strongly against
the watcher's inclination. But he made straight for

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 321

the door, crossing the roadway to save time; and as he
came, he drew a key from his pocket like one approach-
ing home.

Mr. Utterson stepped out and touched him on the
shoulder as he passed. " Mr. Hyde, I think ? "

Mr. Hyde shrank back with a hissing intake of the
breath. But his fear was only momentary ; and though
he did not look the lawyer in the face, he answered
coolly enough : " That is my name. What do you
want ? "

" I see you are going in," returned the lawyer. " I
am an old friend of Dr. Jekyll's — Mr. Utterson of
Gaunt Street — you must have heard my name; and
meeting you so conveniently, I thought you might
admit me."

" You will not find Dr. Jekyll ; he is from home,"
replied Mr. Hyde, blowing in the key. And then
suddenly, but still without looking up, '* How did
you know me ? " he asked.

" On your side," said Mr. Utterson^ " will you do
me a favour ? "

" With pleasure," replied the other. " What shall
it be?"

" Will you let me see your face ? " asked the lawyer.

Mr. Hyde appeared to hesitate, and then, as if upon
some sudden reflection, fronted about with an air of
defiance; and the pair stared at each other pretty
fixedly for a few seconds. " Now I shall know you
again," said Mr. Utterson. " It may be useful."

" Yes," returned Mr. Hyde, " it is as well we have
met; and a proposy you should have my address."
And he gave a number of a street in Soho.

322 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

" Good God ! " thought Mr. Utterson, " can he^
too, have been thinking of the will ? " But he kept
his feelings to himself and only grunted in acknowl-
edgment of the address.

" And now," said the other, " how did you know
me ? "

" By description," was the reply.

'* Whose description ? "

" We have common friends," said Mr. Utterson.

" Common friends ? " echoed Mr. Hyde, a little
hoarsely. " Who are they ? "

" Jekyll, for instance," said the lawyer.

" He never told you," cried Mr. Hyde, with a flush
of anger. " I did not think you would have lied."

" Come," said Mr. Utterson, " that is not fitting;
language."

The other snarled aloud into a savage laugh; and
the next moment, with extraordinary quickness, he
had unlocked the door and disappeared into the
house.

The lawyer stood awhile when Mr. Hyde had left
him, the picture of disquietude. Then he began
slowly to mount the street, pausing every step or two-
and putting his hand to his brow like a man in mental
perplexity. The problem he was thus debating as he
walked, was one of a class that is rarely solved. Mr.
Hyde was pale and dwarfish, he gave an impression of
deformity without any nameable malformation, he had
a displeasing smile, he had borne himself to the lawyer
with a sort of murderous mixture of timidity and bold-
ness, and he spoke with a husky, whispering and some-
what broken voice ; all these were points against him»

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 323

but not all of these together could explain the hitherto
unknown disgust, loathing and fear with which Mr.
Utterson regarded him. " There must be something
else," said the perplexed gentleman. " There is some-
thing more, if I could find a name for it. God bless
me, the man seems hardly human I Something troglo-
dytic, shall we say ? or can it be the old story of Dr.
Fell ? or is it the mere radiance of a foul soul that thus
transpires through, and transfigures, its clay continent ?
The last, I think ; for, O my poor old Harry Jekyll, if
ever I read Satan's signature upon a face, it is on that
of your new friend."

Round the comer from the by-street, there was a
square of ancient, handsome houses, now for the most
part decayed from their high estate and let in fiats
and chambers to all sorts and conditions of men ; map-
engravers, architects, shady lawyers and the agents of
obscure enterprises. One house, however, second
from the comer, was still occupied entire; and at the
door of this, which wore a great air of wealth and
comfort, though it was now plunged in darkness
except for the fanlight, Mr. Utterson stopped and
knocked. A well-dressed, elderly servant opened
the door.

" Is Dr. Jekyll at home, Poole ? " asked the lawyer.

" I will see, Mr. Utterson," said Poole, admitting
the visitor, as he spoke, into a large, low-roofed, com-
fortable hall, paved with fiags, warmed (after the
fashion of a country house) by a bright, open fire, and
furnished with costly cabinets of oak. " Will you
wait here by the fire, sir i or shall I give you a light
in the dining-room ? "

324 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

" Here, thank you," said the lawyer, and he drew
near and leaned on the tall fender. This hall, in which
he was now left alone, was a pet fancy of his friend
the doctor's; and Utterson himself was wont to
speak of it as the pleasantest room in London. But
to-night there was a shudder in his blood; the face of
Hyde sat heavy on his memory; he felt (what was
rare with him) a nausea and distaste of life; and in
the gloom of his spirits, he seemed to read a menace
in the flickering of the firelight on the polished cab-
inets and the uneasy starting of the shadow on the
roof. He was ashamed of his relief, when Poole pres-
ently returned to announce that Dr. Jekyll was gone
out.

" I saw Mr. Hyde go in by the old dissecting-room
door, Poole," he said. " Is that right, when Dr. Jekyll
is from home ? "

" Quite right, Mr. Utterson, sir," replied the servant.
" Mr. Hyde has a key."

" Your master seems to repose a great deal of trust
in that young man, Poole," resumed the other mus-
ingly.

" Yes, sir, he do indeed," said Poole. " We have
all orders to obey him."

" I do not think I ever met Mr. Hyde ? " asked
Utterson.

" O, dear no, sir. He never Jines here," replied
the butler. " Indeed we see very little of him on this
side of the house; he mostly comes and goes by the
laboratory."

" Well, good-night, Poole."

" Good-night, Mr. Utterson "

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 325

And the lawyer set out homeward with a very heavy
heart. " Poor Harry Jekyll," he thought, " my mind
misgives me he is in deep waters ! He was wild when
he was young; a long while ago to be sure; but in the
law of Gody there is no statute of limitations. Ay, it
must he that; the ghost of some old sin, the cancer of
some concealed disgrace: punishment coming, pede
claudoy years after memory has forgotten and self-love
condoned the fault." And the lawyer, scared by the
thought, brooded awhile on his own past, groping in
all the comers of memory, lest by chance some Jack-
in-the-Box of an old iniquity should leap to light there.
His past was fairly blameless ; few men could read the
rolls of their life ynth less apprehension ; yet he was
humbled to the dust by the many ill things he had done,
and raised up again into a sober and fearful gratitude
by the many that he had come so near to doing, yet
avoided. And then by a return on his former subject,
he conceived a spark of hope. " This Master Hyde,
if he were studied," thought he, " must have secrets of
his own; black secrets, by the look of him; secrets
compared to which poor Jekyll's worst would be like
sunshine. Things cannot continue as they are. It
turns me cold to think of this creature stealing like a
thief to Harry's bedside; poor Harry, what a waken-
ing ! And the danger of it; for if this Hyde suspects
the existence of the will, he may grow impatient to
inherit. Ay, I must put my shoulder to the wheel —
if Jekyll will but let me," he added, " if Jekyll will
only let me." For once more he saw before his mind's
eye, as clear as a transparency, the strange clauses of
the will.

326 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

/

i DR. JEKYLL WAS QUITE AT EASE

A fortnight later, by excellent good fortune, the
doctor gave one of his pleasant dinners to some
five or six old cronies, all intelligent, reputable
men and all judges of good wine; and Mr. Utter-
son so contrived that he remained behind after
the others had departed. This was no new arrange-
ment, but a thing that had befallen many scores of
times. Where Utterson was liked, he was liked well.
Hosts loved to detain the dry lawyer, when the light-
hearted and the loose-tongued had already their foot
on the threshold ; they liked to sit awhile in his unob-
trusive company, practising for solitude, sobering their
minds in the man's rich silence after the expense and
strain of gaiety. To this rule. Dr. Jekyll was no ex-
ception ; and as he now sat on the opposite side of the
fire — a large, well-made, smooth-faced man of fifty,
with something of a slyish cast perhaps, but every
mark of capacity and kindness — you could see by his
looks that he cherished for Mr. Utterson a sincere and
warm affection.

" I have been wanting to speak to you, Jekyll,"
began the latter. " You know that will of yours ? '*

A close observer might have gathered that the topic
was distasteful; but the doctor carried it off gaily.
" My poor Utterson," said he, " you are unfortunate in
such a client. I never saw a man so distressed as you
were by my will; unless it were that hide-bound
pedant, Lanyon, at what he called my scientific
heresies* O, I know he's a good fellow — you needn't
frown — an excellent fellow, and I always mean to see

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 327

more of him; but a hide-bound pedant for all that;
an ignorant, blatant pedant. I was never more
disappointed in any man than Lanyon."

" You know I never approved of it," pursued Utter-
son, ruthlessly disregarding the fresh topic.

" My will ? Yes, certainly, I know that," said the
doctor, a trifle sharply. " You have told me so."

" Well, I tell you so again," continued the lawyer.
** I have been learning something of young Hyde."

The large handsome face of Dr. Jekyll grew pale to
the very lips, and there came a blackness about his
€yes. " I do not care to hear more," said he. " This
is a matter I thought we had agreed to drop."

" What I heard was abominable," said Utterson.

** It can make no change. You do not understand
my position," returned the doctor, with a certain in-
coherency of ' manner. " I am painfully situated,
Utterson; my position is a very strange — a very
strange one. It is one of those affairs that cannot be
mended by talking."

" Jekyll," said Utterson, " you know me : lama
man to be trusted. Make a clean breast of this in con-
fidence; and I make no doubt I can get you out of

" My good Utterson," said the doctor, " this is very
good of you, this is downright good of you, and I can-
not find words to thank you in. I believe you fully ; I
would trust you before any man alive, ay, before my-
self, if I could make the choice; but indeed it isn't
what you fancy; it is not so bad as that; and just to
put your good heart at rest, I will tell you one thing :
the moment I choose, I can be rid of Mr. Hyde. I give

328 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

you my hand upon that; and I thank you again and
again; and I will just add one little word, Utterson^
that I'm sure you'll take in good part : this is a private
matter, and I beg of you to let it sleep."

Utterson reflected a little, looking in the fire.

" I have no doubt you are perfectly right," he said at
last, getting to his feet.

''Well, but since we have touched upon this business,
and for the last time I hope," continued the doctor,
" there is one point I should like you to understand. I
have really a very great interest in poor Hyde. I know
you have seen him; he told me so; and I fear he was
rude. But I do sincerely take a great, a very great
interest in that young man; and if I am taken away,
Utterson, I wish you to promise me that you will bear
with him and get his rights for him. I think you
would, if you knew all; and it would be a weight off
my mind if you would promise."

** I can't pretend that I shall ever like him," said the
lawyer.

" I don't ask that," pleaded Jekyll, laying his hand
upon the other's arm; " I only ask for justice; I only
ask you to help him for my sake, when I am no longer
here."

Utterson heaved an irrepressible sigh. " Well," said
he, " I promise."

THE CAREW MURDER CASE

Nearly a year later, in the month of October, i8 — ,
London was startled by a crime of singular ferocity
and rendered all the more notable by the high position

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 329

of the victim. The details were few and startling.
A maid servant living alone in a house not far from
the river, had gone up stairs to bed about eleven.
Although a fog rolled over the city in the small hours,
the early part of the night was cloudless, and the lane,
which the maid's window overlooked, was brilliantly
lit by the full moon. It seems she was romantically
given, for she sat down upon her box, which stood
immediately under the window, and fell into a dream
of musing. Never (she used to say, with streaming
tears, when she narrated that experience), never had
she felt more at peace with all men or thought more
kindly of the world. And as she so sat she became
aware of an aged and beautiful gentleman with white
hair, drawing near along the lane; and advancing
to meet him, another and very small gentleman, to
whom at first she paid less attention. When they
had come vrithin speech (which was just under the
maid's eyes) the older man bowed and accosted the
other with a very pretty manner of politeness. It
did not seem as if the subject of his address were of
great importance; indeed, from his pointing, it some-
times appeared as if he were only inquiring his way;
but the moon shone on his face as he spoke, and the
girl was pleased to watch it, it seemed to breathe
such an innocent and old-world kindness of disposition,
yet with something high too, as of a well-founded self-
content. Presently her eye wandered to the other,
and she was surprised to recognise in him a certain
Mr. Hyde, who had once visited her master and for
whom she had conceived a dislike. He had in his
hand a heavy cane, with which he was trifling; but he

330 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

answered never a word, and seemed to listen with an
ill-contained impatience. And then all of a sudden he
broke out in a great flame of anger, stamping with his
foot, brandishing the cane, and carrying on (as the
maid described it) like a madman. The old gentleman
took a step back, with the air of one very much sur-
prised and a trifle hurt; and at that Mr. Hyde broke
out of all bounds and clubbed him to the earth. And
next moment, with ape-like fury, he was trampling his
victim under foot and hailing down a storm of blows,
under which the bones were audibly shattered and the
body jumped upon the roadway. At the horror of
these sights, and sounds the maid fainted.

It was two o'clock when she came to herself and
called for the police. The murderer was gone long
ago; but there lay his victim in the middle of the lane,
incredibly mangled. The stick with which the deed
had been done, although it was of some rare and very
tough and heavy wood, had broken in the middle under
the stress of this insensate cruelty; and one splintered
half had rolled in the neighbouring gutter — the other,
without doubt, had been carried away by the murderer.
A purse and a gold watch were found upon the victim :
but no cards or papers, except a sealed and stamped
envelope, which he had been probably carrying to the
post, and which bore the name and address of Mr.
Utterson.

This was brought to the lawyer the next morning,
before he was out of bed ; and he had no sooner seen it,
and been told the circumstances, than he shot out a
solemn lip. *' I shall say nothing till I have seen the
body," said he; " this may be very serious. Have the

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 331

kindness to wait while I dress." And with the same
grave countenance he hurried through his breakfast
and drove to the police station, whither the body had
been carried. As soon as he came into the cell, he
nodded.

" Yes," said he, " I recognise him. I am sorry to
say that this is Sir Danvers Carew."

" Good God, sir," exclaimed the officer, " is it
possible ? " And the next moment his eye lighted up
with professional ambition. " This will make a deal
of noise," he said. " And perhaps you can help us to
the man." And he briefly narrated what the maid
had seen, and showed the broken stick.

Mr. Utterson had already quailed at the name of
Hyde; but when the stick was laid before him, he
could doubt no longer; broken and battered as it was,
he recognised it for one that he had himself presented
many years before to Henry Jekyll.

" Is this Mr. Hyde a person of small stature ? " he
inquired.

" Particularly small and particularly wicked-look-
ing, is what the maid calls him," said the officer.

Mr. Utterson reflected; and then, raising his head,
" If you will come with me in my cab," he said, " I
think I can take you to his house."

It was by this time about nine in the morning, and
the first fog of the season. A great chocolate-coloured
pall lowered over heaven, but the wind was continually
charging and routing these embattled vapours; so
that as the cab crawled from street to street, Mr.
Utterson beheld a marvellous number of degrees and
hues of twilight; for here it would be dark like the

332 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

back-end of evening; and there would be a glow of a
rich, lurid brown, like the light of some strange con*
flagration; and here, for a moment, the fog would be
quite broken up, and a haggard shaft of daylight
would glance in between the swirling wreaths. The
dismal quarter of Soho seen under these changing
glimpses, with its muddy ways, and slatternly passen-
gers, and its lamps, which had never been extinguished
or had been kindled afresh to combat this mournful
reinvasion of darkness, seemed, in the lawyer's eyes,
like a district of some city in a nightmare. The
thoughts of his mind, besides, were of the gloomiest
dye; and when he glanced at the companion of his
drive, he was conscious of some touch of that terror
of the law and the law's ofiicers, which may at times
assail the most honest.

As the cab drew up before the address indicated,
the fog lifted a little and showed him a dingy street, a
gin palace, a low French eating house, a shop for the
retail of penny numbers and twopenny salads, many
ragged children huddled in the doorways, and many
women of many different nationalities passing out,
key in hand, to have a morning glass; and the next
moment the fog settled down again upon that part, as
brown as umber, and cut him off from his black-
guardly surroundings. This was the home of Henry
Jekyll's favourite; of a man who was heir to quarter
of a million sterling.

An ivory-faced and silvery-haired old woman
opened the door. She had an evil face, smoothed
by hypocrisy; but her manners were excellent. Yes,
she said, this was Mr. Hyde's, but he was not at home;

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 333

he had been in that night very late, but had gone away
again in less than an hour; there was nothing strange
in that; his habits were very irregular, and he was
often absent; for instance, it was nearly two months
since she had seen him till yesterday.

** Very well, then, we wish to see his rooms," said the
lawyer; and when the woman began to declare it was
impossible, " I had better tell you who this person is,'*
he added. " This is Inspector Newconr a of Scotland
Yard."

A flash of odious joy appeared upon the woman's
face. " Ah ! " said she, " he is in trouble ! What has
he done ? "

Mr. Utterson and the inspector exchanged glances.
" He don't seem a very popular character," observed
the latter. " And now, my good woman, just let me
and this gentleman have a look about us."

In the whole extent of the house, which but for the
old woman remained otherwise empty, Mr. Hyde had
only used a couple of rooms; but these were furnished
with luxury and good taste. A closet was filled with
wine; the plate was of silver, the napery elegant; a
good picture hung upon the walls, a gift (as Utterson
supposed) from Henry Jekyll, who was much of a
connoisseur; and the carpets were of many plies and
agreeable in colour. At this moment, however, the
rooms bore every mark of having been recently and
hurriedly ransacked ; clothes lay about the floor, with
their pockets inside out; lock-fast drawers stood open;
and on the hearth there lay a pile of grey ashes, as
though many papers had been burned. From these
embers the inspector disinterred the butt end of a green

334 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

cheque book, which had resisted the action of the fire;
the other half of the stick was found behind the door;
and as this clinched his suspicions, the officer declared
himself delighted. A visit to the bank, where several
thousand pounds were found to be lying to the mur-
derer's credit, completed his gratification.

" You may depend upon it, sir," he told Mr. Utter-
son : " I have him in my hand. He must have lost his
head, or he never would have left the stick or, above
all, burned the cheque book. Why, money's life to the
man. We have nothing to do but wait for him at the
bank, and get out the handbills."

This last, however, was not so easy of accomplish-
ment; for Mr. Hyde had numbered few familiars —
even the master of the servant maid had only seen him
twice; his family could nowhere be traced; he had
never been photographed; and the few who could de-
scribe him diiFered widely, as common observers will.
Only on one point, were they agreed; and that was the
haunting sense of unexpressed deformity with which
the fugitive impressed his beholders.

INCIDENT OF THE LETTER

It was late in the afternoon, when Mr. Utterson
found his way to Dr. Jekyll's door, where he was
at once admitted by Poole, and carried down by
the kitchen offices and across a yard which had once
been a garden, to the building which was indifferently
known as the laboratory or the dissecting rooms. The
doctor had bought the house from the heirs of a cele-
brated surgeon ; and his own tastes being rather chem-

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 33f

ical than anatomical, had changed the destination of the
block at the bottom of the garden. It was the first
time that the lawyer had been received in that part of
his friend's quarters; and he eyed the dingy, window-
less structure with curiosity, and gazed round with a
distasteful sense of strangeness as he crossed the
theatre, once crowded with eager students and now
lying gaunt and silent, the tables laden with chemical
apparatus, the floor strewn with crates and littered
with packing straw, and the light falling dimly through
the foggy cupola. At the further end, a flight of stairs
mounted to a door covered with red baize; and
through this, Mr. Utterson was at last received into the
doctor's cabinet. It was a large room, fitted round
with glass presses, furnished, among other things, with
a cheval-glass and a business table, and looking out
upon the court by three dusty windows barred with
iron. The fire burned in the grate; a lamp was set
lighted on the chimney shelf, for even in the houses the
fog began to lie thickly; and there, close up to the
warmth, sat Dr. Jekyll, looking deadly sick. He did
not rise to meet his visitor, but held out a cold hand
and bade him welcome in a changed voice.

" And now," said Mr. Utterson, as soon as Poole had
left them, " you have heard the news ? "

The doctor shuddered. " They were crying it in the
square," he said. " I heard them in my dining-
room."

" One word," said the lawyer. " Carew was my
client, but so are you, and I want to know what I am
doing. You have not been mad enough to hide this
fellow?"

336 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

" Utterson, I swear to God/* cried the doctor, " I
swestt to God I will never set eyes on him again. I
bind my honour to you that I am done with him in this
world. It is all at an end. And indeed he does not
want my help; you do not know him as I do; he is
safe, he is quite safe; mark my words, he will never
more be heard of."

The lawyer listened gloomily; he did not like his
friend's feverish manner. " You seem pretty sure of
him," said he ; " and for your sake, I hope you may be
right. If it came to a trial, your name might appear."

" I am quite sure of him," replied Jekyll; " I have
grounds for certainty that I cannot share with anyone.
But there is one thing on which you may advise me. I
have — I have received a letter; and I am at a loss
whether I should show it to the police. I should like to
leave it in your hands, Utterson; you would judge
wisely, I am sure ; I have so great a trust in you."

"You fear, I suppose, that it might lead to his
detection ? " asked the lawyer.

" No," said the other. " I cannot say that I care
what becomes of Hyde; I am quite done with him. JL
was thinking of my own characte r, whi^h this hatef ul
biijsia eos has roth sr^exposed."

^Utterson ruminated awhile ; he was surprised at his
friend's selfishness, and yet relieved by it. " Well,"
said he, at last, " let me see the letter."

The letter was written in an odd, upright hand and
signed " Edward Hyde " : and it signified, briefly
enough, that the writer's benefactor, Dr. Jekyll, whom
he had long so unworthily repaid for a thousand gen-
erosities, need labour under no alarm for his safety.

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 337

as he had means of escape on which he placed a sure
dependence. The lawyer liked this letter well enough ;
It put a better colour on the intimacy than he had
looked for; and he blamed himself for some of his
past suspicions.

" Have you the envelope ? *' he asked.

" I burned it," replied Jekyll, " before I thought
what I was about. But it bore no postmark. The
note was handed in."

** Shall I keep this and sleep upon it ? " asked
Utterson.

" I wish you to judge for me entirely," was the
reply. " I have lost confidence in myself."

" Well, I shall consider," returned the lawyer.
" And now one word more : it was' Hyde who dictated
the terms in your will about that disappearance ? "

The doctor seemed seized with a qualm of faintness ;
he shut his mouth tight and nodded.

" I knew it," said Utterson. " He meant to murder
you. You have had a fine escape."

" I have had what is far more to the purpose,"
returned the doctor solemnly : " I have had a lesson
— O God, Utterson, what a lesson I have had ! "
And he covered his face for a moment with his
hands.

On his way out, the lawyer stopped and had a word
or two with Poole. " By the bye," said he^ " there was
a letter handed in to-day: what was the messenger
like ? " But Poole was positive nothing had come
except by post; "and only circulars by that," he
added.

This news sent off* the visitor with his fears renewed*

338 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

Plainly the letter had come by the laboratoiy door;
possibly, indeed, it had been written in tlie cabinet;
and if that were so, it must be differently judged, and
handled with the more caution. The newsboys, as he
went, were crying themselves hoarse along the foot-
ways : " Special edition. Shocking murder of an
M. P." That was the funeral oration of one friend
and client; and he could not help a certain appre-
hension lest the good name of another should be sucked
down in the eddy of the scandal. It was, at least, a
ticklish decision that he had to make; and self-reliant
as he was by habit, he began to cherish a longing for
advice. It was not to be had directly; but perhaps^
he thought, it .might be fished for.

Presently after, he sat on one side of his own hearth^
with Mr. Guest, his head clerk, upon the other, and
midway between, at a nicely calculated distance from
the fire, a bottle of a particular old wine that had long
dwelt unsunned in the foundations of his house. The
fog still slept on the wing above the drowned city,
where the lamps glimmered like carbuncles; and
through the muffle and smother of these fallen clouds,
the procession of the town's life was stilL rolling in
through the great arteries with a sound as of a mighty
wind. But the room was gay with firelight. In the
bottle the acids were long ago resolved; the imperial
dye had softened with time, as the colour grows richer
in stained windows; and the glow of hot autumn
afternoons on hillside vineyards, was ready to be set
free and to disperse the fogs of London. Insensibly
the lawyer melted. There was no man from whom he
kept fewer secrets than Mr. Guest; and he was not

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 339

always sure that he kept as many as he meant. Guest
had often been on business to the doctor's; he knew
Poole; he could scarce have failed to hear of Mr. •
Hyde's familiarity about the house; he might draw
conclusions : was it not as well, then, that he should
see a letter which put that mystery to rights ? and
above all since Guest, being a great student and critic
of handwriting, would consider the step natural and
obliging ? The clerk, besides, was a man of counsel ;
he would scarce read so strange a document without
dropping a remark; and by that remark Mr. Utterson
might shape his future course.

" This is a sad business about Sir Danvers," he
'^aid.

" Yes, sir, indeed. It has elicited a great deal of
public feeling," returned Guest. " The man, of
course, was mad."

" I should like to hear your views on that," replied
Utterson. " I have a document here in his handwrit-
ing*, it is between ourselves, for I scarce know what to
-do about it; it is an ugly business at the best. But
there it is; quite in your way: a murderer's auto-
graph."

Guest's eyes brightened, and he sat down at once
and studied it with passion. " No, sir," he said : " not
mad ; but it is an odd hand."

" And by all accounts a very odd writer," added the
lawyer.

Just then the servant entered with a note.

" Is that from Dr. Jekyll, sir ? " inquired the clerk.
*' I thought I knew the writing. Anything private,
Mr. Utterson ? "

340 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

" Only an invitation to dinner. Why ? Do you
want to see it ? "

" One moment. I thank you, sir; " and the clerk
laid the two sheets of paper alongside and sedulously
compared their contents. " Thank you, sir," he said
at last, returning both; ** it's a very interesting auto-
graph."

There was a pause, during which Mr. Utterson
struggled with himself. ** Why did you compare them,
Guest ? " he inquired suddenly.

" Well, sir," returned the clerk, " there's a rather
singular resemblance; the two hands are in many
points identical: only differently sloped."

" father quaint," said Utterson.

" It is, as you say, rather quaint," returned Guest.

" I wouldn't speak of this note, you know," said the
master.

" No, sir," said the clerk. " I understand."

But no sooner was Mr. Utterson alone that night,
than he locked the note into his safe, where it reposed
from that time forward. " What ! " he thought,
" Henry Jekyll forge for a murderer ! " And his
blood ran cold in his veins.

REMARKABLE INCIDENT OF DR. LANYON

Time ran on; thousands of pounds were offered
in reward, for the death of Sir Danvers was
resented as a public injury; but Mr. Hyde had
disappeared out of the ken of the police as though
he had never existed. Much of his past was unearthed,
indeed, and all disreputable : tales came out of the

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 34 1

man's cruelty, at once so callous and violent; of his
vile life, of his strange associates, of the hatred that
seemed to have surrounded his career; but of his
present whereabouts, not a whisper. From the time
he had left the house in Soho on the morning of the
murder, he was simply blotted out; and gradually,
as time drew on, Mr. Utterson began to recover from
the hotness of his alarm, and to grow more at quiet
with himself. The death of Sir Danvers was, to his
way of thinking, more than paid for by the disappear-
ance of Mr. Hyde. Now that that evil influence had
been withdrawn, a new life began for Dr. Jekyll.
He came out of his seclusion, renewed relations with
his friends, became once more their familiar guest
and entertainer; and whilst he had always* been
known for charities, he was now no less distinguished
for religion. He was busy, he was much in the open
air, he did good ; his face seemed to open and brighten,
as if with an inward consciousness of service;
and for more than two months, the doctor was at
peace.

On the 8th of January Utterson had dined at the
doctor's with a small party; Lanyon had been there;
and the face of the host had looked from one to the
other as in the old days when the trio were inseparable
friends. On the I2th, and again on the 14th, the door
was shut against the lawyer. " The doctor was con-
fined to the house," Poole said, " and saw no one."
On the 15th, he tried again, and was again refused;
and having now been used for the last two months to
see his friend almost daily, he found this return of
solitude to weigh upon his spirits. The fifth night he

34^ DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

had in Guest to dine with him; and the sixth he
betook himself to Dr. Lanyon's.

There at least he was not denied admittance; but
when he came in, he was shocked at the change uriiich
had taken place in the doctor's appearance. He had
his death-warrant written legibly upon his face. The
rosy man had grown pale; his flesh had fallen away;
he was visibly balder and <dder; and yet it was not so
much these tokens of a swift physical decay that
arrested the lawyer's notice, as a look in the eye and
quality of manner that seemed to testify to some deep-
seated terror of the mind. It was unlikely that the
doctor should fear death; and yet that was what
Utterson was tempted to suspect. " Yes," he thought;
** he is a doctor, he must know his own state and that
his days are counted ; and the knowledge is more than
he can bear." And yet when Utterson remarked on
his ill-looks, it was with an air of great firmness that:
Lanyon declared himself a doomed man.

" I have had a shock," he said, " and I shall never
recover. It is a question of weeks. Well, life has been,
pleasant; I liked it; yes, sir, I used to like it. I
sometimes think if we knew all, we should be more
glad to get away."

" Jekyll is ill, too," observed Utterson. " Have you
seen him ? "

But Lanyon's face changed, and he held up a trem-
bling hand. " I wish to see or hear no more of Dr.
Jekyll," he said in a loud, unsteady voice. " I am
quite done with that person ; and I beg that you will
spare me any allusion to one whom I regard as dead."

"Tut-tut," said Mr. Utterson; and then after a_

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 343

considerable pause, " Can't I do anjrthing ? " he
inquired. "We are three very old friends, Lanyon;
we shall not live to make others."

" Nothing can be done/' returned Lanyon; " ask
himself."

" He will not see me," said the lawyer.

" I am not surprised at that," was the reply. " Some
day, Utterson, after I am dead, you may perhaps come
to learn the right and wrong of this. I cannot tell you.
And in the meantime, if you can sit and talk with me
of other things, for God's sake, stay and do so; but if
you cannot keep clear of this accursed topic, then, in
God's name, go, for I cannot bear it."

As soon as he got home, Utterson sat down and
wrote to Jekyll, complaining of his exclusion from the
house, and asking the cause of this unhappy break
with Lanyon; and the next day brought him a long
answer, often very pathetically worded, and some-
times darkly mysterious in drift. The quarrel with
Lanyon was incurable. " I do not 4>lame our old
friend," Jekyll wrote, " but I share his view that we
must never meet. I mean from henceforth to lead a
life of extreme seclusion ; you must not be surprised,
nor must you doubt my friendship, if my door is often
shut even to you. You must suffer me to go my own
dark way. I have brought on myself a punishment
and a danger that I cannot name. If I am the chief
of sinners, I am the chief of sufferers also. I could not
think that this earth contained a place for sufferings
and terrors so unmanning; and you can do but one
thing, Utterson, to lighten this destiny,- and that is to
respect my silence." Utterson was amazed; the dark

344 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

influence of Hyde had been withdrawn, the doctor had
returned to his old tasks and amities; a.week ago, the
prospect had smiled with every promise of a cheerful
and an honoured age; and now in a moment, friend-
ship, and peace of mind, and the whole tenor of his
life were wrecked. So great and unprepared a change
pointed to madness ; but in view of Lanyon's manner
and words, there must lie for it some deeper ground.
A week afterwards Dr. Lanyon took to his bed, and
in something less than a fortnight he was dead. The
night after the funeral, at which he had been sadly
affected, Utterson locked the door of his business
room, and sitting there by the light of a melancholy
candle, drew out and set before him an envelope
addressed by the hand and sealed with the seal of his
dead friend. " Private : for the hands of J. G.
Utterson alone, and in case of his predecease to be
destroyed unread," so it was emphatically superscribed ;
and the lawyer dreaded to behold the contents. " I
have buried one friend to-day," he thought : " what
if this should cost me another ? '* And then he con-
demned the fear as a disloyalty, and broke the seal.
Within there was another enclosure, likewise sealed,
and marked upon the cover as " not to be opened till
the death or disappearance of Dr. Henry Jekyll."
Utterson could not trust his eyes. Yes, it was dis-
appearance; here again, as in the mad will which he
had long ago restored to its author, here again were the
idea of a disappearance and the name of Henry
Jekyll bracketted. But in the will, that idea had
sprung from the sinister suggestion of the. man Hyde;
it was set there with a purpose all too plain and

f
I

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 345

horrible. Written by the hand of Lanyon, what should
it mean ? A great curiosity 'came on the trustee, to
disregard the prohibidon and dive at once to the
bottom of these mysteries; but professional honour
and faith to his dead friend were stringent obligations;
and the packet slept in the inmost comer of his private
safe.

It is one thing to mortify curiosity, another to con-
quer it ; and it may be doubted if, from that day forth,
Utterson desired the society of his surviving friend
with the same eagerness. He thought of him kindly;
but his thoughts were disquieted and fearful. He went
to call indeed; but he was perhaps relieved to be
denied admittance; perhaps, in his heart, he preferred
to speak with Poole upon the doorstep and surrounded
by the air and sounds of the open city, rather than to be
admitted into that house of voluntary bondage, and to
sit and speak with its inscrutable recluse. Poole had,
indeed, no very pleasant news to communicate. The
doctor, it appeared, now more than ever confined
himself to the cabinet over the laboratory, where he
would sometimes even sleep; he was out of spirits,
he had ^rown very silent, he did not read; it seemed
as if he had something on his mind. Utterson became
so used to the unvarying character of these reports,
that he fell off little by little in the frequency of his
visits.

INCIDENT AT THE WINDOW

It chanced on Sunday, when Mr. Utterson was on
his usual walk with Mr. Enfield, that their way
lay once again through the by-street; and that

346 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

when they came in front of the door, both stopped to
gaze on it.

" Well," said Enfield, " that story^s at an end at
least. We shall never see more of Mr. Hyde."

" I hope not," said Utterson. " Did I ever tell you
that I once saw him, and shared your feeling of repul-
sion ? "

" It was impossible to do the one without the other,"
returned Enfield. "And by the way, what an ass
you must have thought me, not to know that
this was a back way to Dr. JekylKs ! It was partly
your own fault that I found it out, even when I
did."

" So you' found it out, did you ? " said Utterson.
" But if that be so, we may step into the court and take
a look at the windows. To tell you the truth, I am
uneasy about poor Jekyll; and even outside, I
feel as if the presence of a friend might do him
good."

The court was very cool and a little damp, and full
of premature twilight, although the sky, high up over-
head, was still bright with sunset. The middle one of
the three windows was halfway open ; and sitting close
beside it, taking the air with an infinite sadness of mien,
like some disconsolate prisoner, Utterson saw Dr.
Jekyll.

"What! Jekyll!" he cried. "I trust you are
better."

" I am very low, Utterson," replied the doctor
drearily, " very low. It will not last long, thank
God."

" You stay too much indoors," said the lawyer.

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 347

" You should be out, whipping up the circulation like
Mr. Enfield and me. (This is my cousin — Mr.
Enfield — Dr. Jekyll.) Come now; get your hat and
take a quick turn with us."

" You are very good," sighed the other. " I should
like to very much ; but no, no, no, it is quite impos-
sible; I dare not. But indeed, Utterson, I am very
glad to see you ; this is really a great pleasure ; I would
ask you and Mr. Enfield up, but the place is really not
fit."

" Why then," said the lawyer, good-naturedly,
" the best thing we can do is to stay down here and
speak with you from where we are."

" That is just what I was about to venture to pro-
pose," returned the doctor with a smile. But the
words were hardly uttered, before the smile was struck
out of his face and succeeded by an expression of such
abject terror and despair, as froze the very blood of the
two gentlemen below. They saw it but for a glimpse^
for the window was instantly thrust down; but that
glimpse had been sufiicient, and they turned and left
the court without a word. In silence, too, they
traversed the by-street ; and it was not until they had
come into a neighbouring thoroughfare, where even
upon a Sunday there were still some stirrings of life,
that Mr. Utterson at last turned and looked at his com-
panion. They were both pale; and there was an
answering horror in their eyes.

" God forgive us, God forgive us," said Mr. Utter-
son.

But Mr. Enfield only nodded his head very seriously,
and walked on once more in silence.

348 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

THE LAST NIGHT

Mr. Utterson was sitting by his fireside one evening
after dinner, when he was surprised to receive a visit
from Poole.

" Bless me, Poole, what brings you here ? " he cried;
and then taking a second look at him. ^^ What ails
you ? " he added; " is the doctor ill ? "

" Mr. Utterson," said the man, " there is something
wrong."

" Take a seat, and here is a glass of wine for you,"
said the lawyer. " Now, take your time, and tell me
plainly what you want."

" You know the doctor's ways, sir," repled Poole,
" and how he shuts himself up. Well, he's shut up
again in the cabinet; and I don't like it, sir — I wish I
may die if I like it. Mr. Utterson, sir, I'm afraid."

" Now, my good man," said the lawyer, " be explicit.
What are you afraid of ? "

" I've been afraid for about a week," returned Poole,
doggedly disregarding the question, '' and I can bear it
no more."

The man's appearance amply bore out his words;
his manner was altered for the worse; and except for
the moment when he had first announced his terror,
he had not once looked the lawyer in the face. Even
now, he sat with the glass of wine untasted on his knee,
and his eyes directed to a comer of the floor. " I can
bear it no more," he repeated.

" Come," said the lawyer, " I sec you have some
good reason, Poole; I see there is something seriously
amiss. Try to tell me what it is."

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 349

" I think there's been foul play/* said Poole,
hoarsely.

" Foul play I " cried the lawyer, a good deal fright-
ened and rather inclined to be irritated in consequence.
" What foul play ? What does the man mean ? "

" I daren't say, sir," was the answer; " but will you
come along with me and see for yourself? '*

Mr. Utterson's only answer was to rise and get his
hat and great coat; but he observed with wonder the
greatness of the relief that appeared upon the butler's
face, and perhaps with no less, that the wine was still
untasted when he set it down to follow.

It was a wild, cold, seasonable night of March, with
a pale moon, lying on her back as though the wind had
tilted her, and a flying wrack of the most diaphanous
and lawny texture. The wind made talking difficult,
and flecked the blood into the face. It seemed to have
swept the streets unusually bare of passengers, besides ;
for Mr. Utterson thought he had never seen that part of
London so deserted. He could have wished it other-
wise ; never in his life had he been conscious of so sharp
a wish to see and touch his fellow-creatures; for strug-
gle as he might, there was borne in upon his mind a
crushing anticipation of calamity. The square, when
they got there, was all full of wind and dust, and the
thin trees in the garden were lashing themselves along
the railing. Poole, who had kept all the way a pace or
two ahead, now pulled up in the middle of the pave-
ment, and in spite of the biting weather, took off his
hat and mopped his brow with a red pocket-handker-
chief. But for all the hurry of his coming, these were
not the dews of exertion that he wiped away, but the

350 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

moisture of some strangling anguish ; for his face was
white and his voice, when he spoke, harsh and
broken.

" Well, sir," he said, " here we are, and God grant
there be nothing wrong."

" Amen, Poole," said the lawyer.

Thereupon the servant knocked in a very guarded
manner; the door was opened on the chain; and a
voice asked from within, " Is that you, Poole ? "

" It's all right," said Poole. " Open the door."

The hall, when they entered it, was brightly lighted
up ; the fire was built high ; and about the hearth the
whole of the servants, men and women, stood huddled
together like a flock of sheep. At the sight of Mr.
Utterson, the housemaid broke into hysterical whim-
pering; and the cook, crying out " Bless God! it's
Mr. Utterson," ran forward as if to take him in her
arms.

" What, what ? Are you all here ? " said the lawyer
peevishly. " Very irregular, very unseemly; your
master would be far from pleased."

" They're all afraid," said Poole.

Blank silence followed, no one protesting; only the
maid lifted up her voice and now wept loudly.

" Hold your tongue ! " Poole said to her, with a
ferocity of accent that testified to his own jangled
nerves; and indeed, when the girl had so suddenly
raised the note of her lamentation, they had all started
and turned towards the inner door with faces of dread-
ful expectation. " And now," continued the butler,
addressing the knife-boy, " reach me a candle, and
we'll get this through hands at once." And then he

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 35 1

begged Mr. Utterson to follow him, and led the way
to the back garden.

" Now, sir,*' said he, " you come as gently as you
can. I want you to hear, and I don't want you to be
heard. And see here, sir, if by any chance he was to
ask you in, don't go."

Mr. Utterson's nerves, at this unlooked-for termi-
nation, gave a jerk that nearly threw him from his bal-
ance; but he recollected his courage and followed the
butler into the laboratory building and through the sur-
gical theatre, with its lumber of crates and bottles, to
the foot of the stair. Here Poole motioned him to
stand on one side and listen ; while he himself, setting
down the candle and making a great and obvious call
on his resolution, mounted the steps and knocked
with a somewhat uncertain hand on the red baize of
the cabinet door.

" Mr. Utterson, sir, asking to see you," he called ;
and even as he did so, once more violently signed to the
lawyer to give ear.

A voice answered from within : " Tell him I cannot
see anyone," it said complainingly.

" Thank you, sir," said Poole, with a note of some-
thing like triumph in his voice; and taking up his
candle, he led Mr. Utterson back across the yard and
into the great kitchen, where the fire was out and the
beetles were leaping on the floor.

" Sir," he said, looking Mr. Utterson in the eyes,
" was that my master's voice ? "

" It seems much changed," replied the lawyer, very
pale, but giving look for look.

" Changed ? Well, yes, I think so," said the butler.

352 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

*' Have I been twenty years In this man's house, to be
deceived about his voice? No, sir; master's made
away with; he was made away with, eight days ago,
when we heard him cry out upon the name of God ;
and who's in there instead of him, and why it stays
there, is a thing that cries to Heaven, Mr. Utterson ! "

" This is a very strange tale, Poole; this is rather a
wild tale, my man," said Mr. Utterson, biting his fin-
ger. " Suppose it were as you suppose, supposing Dr.
Jekyll to have been — well, murdered, what could in-
duce the murderer to stay ? That won't hold water; it
doesn't commend itself to reason."

" Well, Mr. Utterson, you are a hard man to satisfy,
but I'll do it yet," said Poole. " All this last week (you
must know) him, or it, or whatever it is that lives in
that cabinet, has been crying night and day for some
sort of medicine and cannot get it to his mind. It was
sometimes his way — the master's, that is — to write
his orders on a sheet of paper and throw it on the stair.
We've had nothing else this week back; nothing but
papers, and a closed door, and the very meals left there
to be smuggled in when nobody was looking. Well, sir,
every day, ay, and twice and thrice in the same day,
there have been orders and complaints, and I have been
sent flying to all the wholesale chemists in town.
Every time I brought the stuff back, there would be
another paper telling me to return it, because it was
not pure, and another order to a different firm. This
drug is wanted bitter bad, sir, whatever for."

" Have you any of these papers ? " asked Mr.
Utterson.

Poole felt in his pocket and handed out a crumpled

i

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 353

note, which the lawyer, bending nearer to the candle,
carefully examined. Its contents ran thus : " Dr.
Jekyll presents his compliments to Messrs. Maw. He
assures them that their last sample is impure and quite
useless for his present purpose. In the year i8 — , Dr.
J. purchased a somewhat large quantity from Messrs.
M. He now begs them to search with the most sedu-
lous care, and should any of the same quality be left,
to forward it to him at once. Expense is no considera-
tion. The importance of this to Dr. J. can hardly be
exaggerated." So far the letter had run composedly
enough, but here with a sudden splutter of the pen, the
writer's emotion had broken loose. " For God's sake,"
he had added, ** find me some of the old."

** This is a strange note," said Mr. Utterson; and
then sharply, " How do you come to have it open ? "

" The man at Maw's was main angry, sir, and he
threw it back to me like so much dirt," returned
Poole.

" This is unquestionably the doctor's hand, do you
know ? " resumed the lawyer.

" I thought it looked like it," said the servant rather
sulkily; and then, with another voice, " But what
matters hand of write ? " he said. " I've seen him ! "

" Seen him ? " repeated Mr. Utterson. " Well ? "

" That's it ! " said Poole. " It was this way. I
came suddenly into the theatre from the garden. It
seems he had slipped out to look for this drug or what-
ever it is; for the cabinet door was open, and there he
was at the far end of the room digging among the
crates. He looked up when I came in, gave a kind of
cry, and whipped upstairs into the cabinet. It was but

354 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

for one minute that I saw him, but the hair stood upon
my head like quills. Sir, if that was my master, why
had he a mask upon his face ? If it was my master,
why did he cry out like a rat, and run from me ? I
have served him long enough. And then ..." The
man paused and passed his hand over his face.

" These are all very strange circumstances," said Mr.
Utterson, " but I think I begin to see daylight. Your
master, Poole, is plainly seized with one of those mala-
dies that both torture and deform the sufferer; hence,
for aught I know, the alteration of his voice ; hence
the mask and the avoidance of his friends; hence his
eagerness to find this drug, by means of which the poor
soul retains some hope of ultimate recovery — God
grant that he be not deceived ! There is my explana-
tion; it is sad enough, Poole, ay, and appalling to
consider; but it is plain and natural, hangs well
together, and delivers us from all exorbitant
alarms."

" Sir," said the butler, turning to a sort of mottled
pallor, " that thing was not my master, and there's the
truth. My master " — here he looked round him and
began to whisper — " is a tall, fine build of a man, and
this was more of a dwarf." Utterson attempted to pro-
test. " O, sir," cried Poole, " do you think I do not
know my master after twenty years ? Do you think I
do not know where his head comes to in the cabinet
door, where I saw him every morning of my life ? No,
sir, that thing in the mask was never Dr. Jekyll —
God knows what it was, but it was never Dr. Jekyll;
and it is the belief of my heart that there was murder
done."

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 355

" Poole/' replied the lawyer, ** if you say that, it will
become my duty to make certain. Much as I desire to
spare your master's feelings, much as I am puzzled by
this note which seems to prove him to be still alive, I
shall consider it my duty to break in that door."

" Ah, Mr. Utterson, that's talking ! " cried the
butler.

" And now comes the second question," resumed
Utterson : " Who is going to do it ? "

" Why, you and me," was the undaunted reply.

" That's very well said," returned the lawyer; " and
whatever comes of it, I shall make it my business to see
you are no loser."

" There is an axe in the theatre," continued Poole ;
" and you might take the kitchen poker for yourself."

The lawyer took that rude but weighty instrument
into his hand, and balanced it. " Do you know,
Poole," he said, looking up, " that you and I are about
to place ourselves in a position of some peril ? "

" You may say so, sir, indeed," returned the butler.

" It is well, then, that we should be frank," said the
other. " We both think more than we have said; let
us make a clean breast. This masked figure that you
saw, did you recognise it ? "

" Well, sir, it went so quick, and the creature was so
doubled up, that I could hardly swear to that," was the
answer. " But if you mean, was it Mr. Hyde ? — why,
yes, I think it was ! You see, it was much of the same
bigness ; and it had the same quick, light way with it ;
and then who else could have got in by the laboratory
door? You have not forgot, sir, that at the time of
the murder he had still the key with him ? But that's

3S6 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

not all. I don't know, Mr. Utterson, if ever you met
this Mr. Hyde?'*

" Yes/' said the lawyer, " I once spoke with him."

" Then you must know as well as the rest of us that
there was something queer about that gentleman —
something that gave a man a turn — I don't know
rightly how to say it, sir, beyond this : that you felt it
in your marrow kind of cold and thin."

" I own I felt something of what you describe," said
Mr. Utterson.

" Quite so, sir," returned Poole. " Well, when that
masked thing like a monkey jumped from among the
chemicals and whipped into the cabinet, it went down
my spine like ice. O, I know it's not evidence, Mr.
Utterson; I'm book-learned enough for that; but a
man has his feelings, and I give you my bible-word it
was Mr. Hyde!"

" Ay, ay," said the lawyer. " My feelings incline to
the same point. Evil, I fear, founded — evil was sure
to come — of that connection. Ay, truly, I believe
you; I believe poor Harry is killed; and I believe his
murderer (for what purpose, God alone can tell) is
still lurking in his victim's room. Well, let our name
be vengeance. Call Bradshaw."

The footman came at the summons, very white and
nervous.

" Pull yourself together, Bradshaw," said the lawyer.
" This suspense, I know, is telling upon all of you ;
but it is now our intention to make an end of it. Poole,
here, and I are going to force our way into the cabinet.
If all is well, my shoulders are broad enough to bear
the blame. Meanwhile, lest anything should really be

DR. JEKYLL AND MR HYDE 357

amisSy or any malefactor seek to escape by the back,
you and the boy must go round the comer with a pair
of good sticks and take your post at the laboratory
door. We give you ten minutes^ to get to your
stations."

As Bradshaw left, the lawyer looked at his watch.
" And now, Poole, let us get to ours," he said; and
taking the poker under his arm, led the way into the
yard. The scud had banked over the moon, and it was
now quite dark. The wind, which only broke in puffs
and draughts into that deep well of building, tossed the
light of the candle to and fro about their steps, until
they came into the shelter of the theatre, where they sat
down silently to wait. London hummed solemnly all
around; but nearer at hand, the stillness was only
broken by the sounds of a footfall moving to and fro
along the cabinet floor.

" So it will walk all day, sir," whispered Poole; " ay,
and the better part of the night. Only when a new
sample comes from the chemist, there's a bit of a break.
Ah, it's an ill-conscience that's such an enemy to rest !
Ah, sir, there's blood foully shed in every step of it I
But hark again, a little closer — put your heart in your
ears, Mr. Utterson, and tell me, is that the doctor's
foot?"

The steps fell lightly and oddly, with a certain
swing, for all they went so slowly; it was different in-
deed from the heavy creaking tread of Henry Jekyll.
Utterson sighed. ** Is there never anything else ? " he
asked.

Poole nodded. " Once," he said. " Once I heard
it weeping 1 "

358 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

" Weeping ? how that ? " said the lawyer, conscious
of a sudden chill of horror.

" Weeping like a woman or a lost soul/' said the but-
ler. " I came away with that upon my heart, that I
could have wept too."

But now the ten minutes drew to an end. Poole dis-
interred the axe from under a stack of packing straw;
the candle was set upon the nearest table to light them
to the attack; and they drew near with bated breath to
where that patient foot was still going up and down, up
and down, in the quiet of the night.

" Jekyll," cried Utterson, with a loud voice, " I de-
mand to see you." He paused a moment, but there
came no reply. " I give you fair warning, our suspi-
cions are aroused, and I must and shall see you," he
resumed ; " if not by fair means, then by foul — if not
of your consent, then by brute force! "

" Utterson," said the voice, " for God's sake, have
mercy ! "

" Ah, that's not Jekyll's voice — it's Hyde's ! "
cried Utterson. " Down with the door, Poole ! "

Poole swung the axe over his shoulder; the blow
shook the building, and the red baize door leaped
against the lock and hinges. A dismal screech, as
of mere animal terror, rang from the cabinet. Up
went the axe again, and again the panels crashed and
the frame bounded; four times the blow fell; but
the wood was tough and the fittings were of excellent
workmanship; and it was not until the fifth, that the
lock burst in sunder and the wreck of the door fell
inwards on the carpet.

The besiegers, appalled by their own riot and the

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 359

stillness that had succeeded, stood back a little and
peered in. There lay the cabinet before their eyes in
the quiet lamplight, a good fire glowing and chattering
on the hearth, the kettle singing its thin strain, a
drawer or two open, papers neatly set forth on the
business table, and nearer the fire, the things laid out
for tea : the quietest room, you would have said, and,
but for the glazed presses full of chemicals, the most
commonplace that night in London.

Right in the midst there lay the body of a man
sorely contorted and still twitching. They drew near
on tiptoe, turned it on its back and beheld the face of
Edward Hyde. He was dressed in clothes far too
large for him, clothes of the doctor's bigness; the cords
of his face still moved with a semblance of life, but
life was quite gone : and by the crushed phial in the
hand and the strong smell of kernels that hung upon
the air, Utterson knew that he was looking on the
body of a self-destroyer.

" We have come too late," he said sternly, " whether
to save or punish. Hyde is gone to his account; and
it only remains for us to find the body of your master."

The far greater proportion of the building was
occupied by the theatre, which filled almost the whole
ground story and was lighted from above, and by the
cabinet, which formed an upper story at one end and
looked upon the court. A corridor joined the theatre
to the door on the by-street ; and with this the cabinet
communicated separately by a second flight of stairs.
There were besides a few dark closets and a spacious
cellar. All these they now thoroughly examined.
Each closet needed but a glance, for all were empty,

36o DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

and all, by the dust that fell from their doors, had
stood long unopened. The cellar, indeed, was filled
with crazy lumber, mostly dating from the times of
the surgeon who was Jekyll's predecessor; but even
as they opened the door they were advertised of the
uselessness of further search, by the fall of a perfect
mat of cobweb which had for years sealed up the
entrance. Nowhere was there any trace of Henry
Jekyll, dead or alive.

Poole stamped on the flags of the corridor. " He
must be buried here," he said, hearkening to the
sound.

" Or he may have fled," said Utterson, and he turned
to examine the door in the by-street. It was locked ;
and lying near by on the flags, they found the key,
already stained with rust.

" This does not look like use," observed the law-
yer,

" Use ! " echoed Poole. " Do you not see, sir, it is
broken ? much as if a man had stamped on it."

" Ay," continued Utterson, " and the fractures, too,
are rusty." The two men looked at each other with a
scare. " This is beyond me, Poole," said the lawyer.
" Let us go back to the cabinet."

They mounted the stair in silence, and still with an
occasional awestruck glance at the dead body, pro-
ceeded more thoroughly to examine the contents of the
cabinet. At one table, there were traces of chemical
work, various measured heaps of some white salt
being laid on glass saucers, as though for an experiment
in which the unhappy man had been prevented.

** That is the same drug that I was always bringing

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 361

him/' said Poole; and even as he spoke, the kettle
with a startling noise boiled over.

This brought them to the fireside, where the easy-
chair was drawn cosily up, and the tea things stood
ready to the sitter's elbow, the very sugar in the cup.
There were several books on a shelf; one lay beside
the tea things open, and Utterson was amazed to find
it a copy of a pious work, for which Jekyll had several
times expressed a great esteem, annotated, in his own
hand, with startling blasphemies.

Next, in the course of their review of the chamber,
the searchers came to the cheval glass, into whose
depths they looked with an involuntary horror. But
it was so turned as to show them nothing but the rosy
glow playing on the roof, the fire sparkling in a hundred
repetitions along the glazed front of the presses, and
their own pale and fearful countenances sto6ping to
look in.

" This glass has seen some strange things, sir,"
whispered Poole.

" And surely none stranger than itself," echoed the
lawyer in the same tones. " For what did Jekyll " —
he caught himself up at the word with a start, and
then conquering the weakness — " what could Jekyll
want with it ? " he said.

" You may say that ! " said Poole.

Next they turned to the business table. On the
desk, among the neat array of papers, a large envelope
was uppermost, and bore, in the doctor's hand, the
name of Mr. Utterson. The lawyer unsealed it, and
several enclosures fell to the floor. The first was a
will, drawn in the same eccentric terms as the one

362 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

which he had returned six months before, to serve as
a testament in case of death and as a deed of gift in
case of disappearance; but in place of the name of
Edward Hyde, the lawyer, with indescribable amaze*
ment, read the name of Gabriel John Utterson. He
looked at Poole, and then back at the paper^ and last
of all at the dead malefactor stretched upon the
carpet.

" My head goes round," he said. " He has been all
these days in possession; he had no cause to like me;
he must have raged to see himself displaced; and he
has not destroyed this document."

He caught up the next paper; it was a brief note in
the doctor's hand and dated at the top. " O Poole ! "
the lawyer cried, " he was alive and here this day. He
cannot have been disposed of in so short a space; he
must be still alive, he must have fled I And then, why
fled ? and how ? and in that case, can we venture to
declare this suicide ? O, we must be careful. I fore-
see that we may yet involve your master in some dire
catastrophe."

" Why don't you read it, sir ? " asked Poole.

" Because I fear," replied the lawyer solemnly.
** God grant I have no cause for it I " And with that
he brought the paper to his eyes and read as follows :

" My dear Utterson, — When this shall fall into
your hands, I shall have disappeared, under what
circumstances I have not the penetration to foresee,
but my instinct and all the circumstances of my name-
less situation tell me that the end is sure and must be
early. Go then, and first read the narrative which

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 363

Lanyon warned me he was to place in your hands;
and if you care to hear more, turn to the confession of
" Your unworthy and unhappy friend,

" Henry Jekyll."

" There was a third enclosure ? " asked Utterson.

" Here, sir," said Poole, and gave into his hands a
considerable packet sealed in several places.

The lawyer put it in his pocket. " I would say
nothing of this paper. If your master has fled or is
dead, we may at least save his credit. It is now ten;
I must go home and read these documents in quiet;
but I shall be back before midnight, when we shall
send for the police."

They went out, locking the door of the theatre
behind them; and Utterson, once more leaving the
servants gathered about the fire in the hall, trudged
back to his office to read the two narratives in which
this mystery was now to be explained.

DR. LANYOn's narrative

On the ninth of January, now four days ago, I re-
ceived by the evening delivery a registered envelope
addressed in the hand of my colleague and old school-
companion, Henry Jekyll. I was a good deal sur-
prised by this; for we were by no means in the habit
of correspondence; I had seen the man, dined with
him, indeed, the night before; and I could imagine
nothing in our intercourse that should justify formality
of registration. The contents increased my wonder;
for this is how the letter ran :

364 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

" loth December, 18 — .

" Dear Lanyon, — You are one of my oldest friends;
and although we may have differed at times on scien-
tific questions, I cannot remember, at least on my side^
any break in our affection. There was never a day
when, if you had said to me, * Jekyll, my life, my
honour, my reason, depend upon you,' I would not
have sacrificed my left hand to help you. Lanyon,
my life, my honour, my reason, are all at your mercy;
if you fail me to-night, I am lost. You might suppose,
after this preface, that I am going to ask you for
something dishonourable to grant. Judge for yourself.

" I want you to postpone all other engagements for
to-night — ay, even if you were summoned to the bed-
side of an emperor; to take a cab, unless your carriage
should be actually at the door; and with this letter in
your hand for consultation, to drive straight to my
house. Poole, my butler, has his orders ; you will find
him waiting your arrival with a locksmith. The door
of my cabinet is then to be forced : and you are to go
in alone; to open the glazed press (letter E) on the left
hand, breaking the lock if it be shut ; and to draw out,
^ith all its contents as they standy the fourth drawer
from the top or (which is the same thing) the third
from the bottom. In my extreme distress of mind, I
have a morbid fear of misdirecting you ; but even if I
am in error, you may know the right drawer by its
contents: some powders, a phial and a paper book.
This drawer I beg of you to carry back with you to
Cavendish Square exactly as it stands.

" That is the first part of the service : now for the
second. You should be back, if you set out at once on

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 365

the receipt of this, long before midnight; but I will
leave you that amount of margin, not only in the fear
of one of those obstacles that can neither be prevented
nor foreseen, but because an hour when your servants
are in bed is to be preferred for what will then remain
to do. At midnight, then, I have to ask you to be
alone in your consulting room, to admit with your own
hand into the house a man who will present himself
in my name, and to place in his hands the drawer that
you will have brought with you from my cabinet.
Then you will have played your part and earned my
gratitude completely. Five minutes afterwards, if you
insist upon an explanation, you will have understood
that these arrangements are of capital importance;
and that by the neglect of one of them, fantastic as
they must appear, you might have charged your
conscience with my death or the shipwreck of my
reason.

" Confident as I am that you will not trifle with this
appeal, my heart sinks and my hand trembles at the
bare thought of such a possibility. Think of me at
this hour, in a strange place, labouring under a black-
ness of distress that no fancy can exaggerate, and yet
well aware that, if you will but punctually serve me>
my troubles will roll away like a story that is told
Serve me, my dear Lanyon, and save

" Your friend,

" H. J.

" P. S. — I had already sealed this up when a
fresh terror struck upon my soul. It is possible that
the post-office may fail me, and this letter not come

366 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

into your hands until to-morrow morning. In that
case, dear Lanyon, do my errand when it shall be most
convenient for you in the course of the day; and once
more expect my messenger at midnight. It may then
already be too late; and if that night passes without
event, you will know that you have seen the last of
Henry Jekyll."

Upon the reading of this letter, I made sure my
colleague was insane; but till that was proved beyond
the possibility of doubt, I felt bound to do as he
requested. The less I understood of this farrago, the
less I was in a position to judge of its importance ; and
an appeal so worded could not be set aside without a
grave responsibility. I rose accordingly from table,
got into a hansom, and drove straight to Jekyll's house.
The butler was awaiting my arrival ; he had received
by the same post as mine a registered letter of instruc-
tion, and had sent at once for a locksmith and a car-
penter. The tradesmen came while we were yet
speaking; and we moved in a body to old Dr. Den-
man's surgical theatre, from which (as you are doubt-
less aware) Jekyll's private cabinet is most conven-
iently entered. The door was very strong, the lock
excellent; the carpenter avowed he would have great
trouble and have to do much damage, if force were to
be used; and the locksmith was near despair. But
this last was a handy fellow, and after two hours'
work, the door stood open. The press marked E was
unlocked; and I took out the drawer, had it filled up
with straw and tied in a sheet, and returned with it
to Cavendish Square.

\

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 367

Here I proceeded to examine its contents. The
powders were neatly enough made up, but not with
the nicety of the dispensing chemist; so that it was
plain they were of Jekyll's private manufacture : and
when I opened one of the wrappers I found what
seemed to me a simple crystalline salt of a white
colour. The phial, to which I next turned my atten-
tion, might have been about half full of a blood-red
liquor, which was highly pungent to the sense of smell
and seemed to me to contain phosphorus and some
volatile ether. At the other ingredients I could make
no guess. The book was an ordinary version book and
contained little but a series of dates. These covered
a period of many years, but I observed that the
entries ceased nearly a year ago and quite abruptly.
Here and there a brief remark was appended to a date,
usually no more than a single word : " double "
occurring perhaps six times in a total of several hun-
dred entries; and once very early in the list and
followed by several marks of exclamation, " total
failure ! ! ! " All this, though it whetted my curiosity,
told me little that was definite. Here were a phial of
some tincture, a paper of some salt, and the record of a
series of experiments that had led (like too many of
JekylFs investigations) to no end of practical useful-
ness. How could the presence of these articles in my
house affect either the honour, the sanity, or the life
of my flighty colleague ? If his messenger could go to
one place, why could he not go to another ? And even
granting some impediment, why was this gentleman
to be received by me in secret ? The more I reflected
the more convinced I grew that I was dealing with a

368 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

case of cerebral disease; and though I dismissed my
servants to bed, I loaded an old revolver, that I might
be found in some posture of self-defence.

Twelve o'clock had scarce rung out over London,
ere the knocker sounded very gently on the door. I
went myself at the summons, and found a small man
crouching against the pillars of the portico.

" Are you come from Dr. Jekyll ? '* I asked.

He told me " yes ** by a constrained gesture; and
when I had bidden him enter, he did not obey me
without a searching backward glance into the darkness
of the square. There was a policeman not far off,
advancing with his bull's eye open; and at the sight,
I thought my visitor started and made greater haste.

These particulars struck me, I confess, disagreeably;
and as I followed him into the bright light of the
consulting room, I kept my hand ready on my weapon.
Here, at last, I had a chance of clearly seeing him. I
had never set eyes on him before, so much was certain.
He was small, as I have said; I was struck besides
with the shocking expression of his face, with his
remarkable combination of great muscular activity
and great apparent debility of constitution, and —
last but not least — with the odd, subjective disturb-
ance caused by his neighbourhood. This bore some
resemblance to incipient rigor, and was accompanied
by a marked sinking of the pulse. At the time, I set
it down to some idiosyncratic, personal distaste, and
merely wondered at the acuteness of the symptoms;
but I have since had reason to believe the cause to lie
much deeper in the nature of man, and to turn on
some nobler hinge than the principle of hatred.

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 369

This person (who had thus, from the first moment
of his entrance, struck in me what I can only describe
as a disgustful curiosity) was dressed in a fashion that
would have made an ordinary person laughable; his
clothes, that is to say, although they were of rich and
sober fabric, were enormously too large for him in
every measurement — the trousers hanging on his
legs and rolled up to keep them from the ground, the
waist of the coat below his haunches, and the collar
sprawling wide upon his shoulders. Strange to relate,
this ludicrous accoutrement was far from moving me
to laughter. Rather, as there was something abnormal
and misbegotten in the very essence of the creature
that now faced me — something seizing, surprising
and revolting — this fresh disparity seemed but to
fit in with and to reinforce it; so that to my interest in
the man's nature and character, there was added a
curiosity as to his origin, his life, his fortune and
status in the world.

These observations, though they have taken so
great a space to be set down in, were yet the work of a
few seconds. My visitor was, indeed, on fire with
sombre excitement.

" Have you got it ? " he cried. " Have you got it ? "
And so lively was his impatience that he even laid his
hand upon my arm and sought to shake me.

I put him back, conscious at his touch of a certain
icy pang along my blood. " Come, sir," said I. " You
forget that I have not yet the pleasure of your acquaint-
ance. Be seated, if you please." And I showed him
an example, and sat down myself in my customary seat
and with as fair an imitation of my ordinary manner

370 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

to a patient, as the lateness of the hour, the nature of
my preoccupations, and the horror I had of my visitor,
would suffer me to muster.

" I beg your pardon. Dr. Lanyon," he replied civilly
enough. " What you say is very well founded; and
my impatience has shown its heels to my politeness,
I come here at the instance of your colleague, Dr.
Henry Jekyll, on a piece of business of some moment;
and I understood ..." He paused and put his hand
to his throat, and I could see, in spite of his collected
manner, that he was wrestling against the approaches
of the hysteria — "I understood, a drawer . . ."

But here I took pity on my visitor's suspense, and
some perhaps on my own growing curiosity.

" There it is, sir," said I, pointing to the drawer^
where it lay on the floor behind a table and still
covered with the sheet.

He sprang to it, and then paused, and laid his hand
upon his heart : I could hear his teeth grate with the
convulsive action of his jaws; and his face was so
ghastly to see that I grew alarmed both for his life and
reason.

" Compose yourself," said I.

He turned a dreadful smile to me, and as if with the
decision of despair, plucked away the sheet. At sight
of the contents, he uttered one loud sob of such
immense relief that I sat petrified. And the next
moment, in a voice that was already fairly well under
control, " Have you a graduated glass ? " he asked.

I rose from my place with something of an eff'ort and
gave him what he asked.

He thanked me with a smiling nod, measured out a

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 371

few minims of the red tincture and added one of the
powders. The mixture, which was at first of a reddish
hue, began, in proportion as the crystals melted, to
brighten in colour, to effervesce audibly, and to throw
off small fumes of vapour. Suddenly and at the same
moment, the ebullition ceased and the compound
changed to a dark purple, which faded again more
islowly to a watery green. My visitor, who had watched
these metamorphoses with a keen eye, smiled, set down
the glass upon the table, and then turned and looked
upon me with an air of scrutiny.

" And now," said he, " to settle what remains. Will
you be wise ? will you be guided ? will you suffer me to
take this glass in my hand and to go forth from your
house without further parley? or has the greed of
curiosity too much command of you ? Think before
you answer, for it shall be done as you decide. As you
decide, you shall be left as you were before, and
neither richer nor wiser, unless the sense of service
rendered to a man in mortal distress may be counted
as a kind of riches of the soul. Or, if you shall so pre-
fer to choose, a new province of knowledge and new
avenues to fame and power shall be laid open to you,
here, in this room, upon the instant; and your sight
shall be blasted by a prodigy to stagger the unbelief
of Satan."

" Sir," said I, affecting a coolness that I was far
from truly possessing, " you speak enigmas, and you
will perhaps not wonder that I hear you with no very
strong impression of belief. But I have gone too far
in the way of inexplicable services to pause before I
see the end."

372 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

" It Is well/' replied my visitor. " Lanyon, you
remember your vows : what follows is under the seal
of our profession. And now, you who have so long
been bound to the most narrow and material views, you
who have denied the virtue of transcendental medicine^
you who have derided your superiors — behold ! "

He put the glass to his lips and drank at one gulp.
A cry followed; he reeled, staggered, clutched at the
table and held on, staring with injected eyes, gasping
with open mouth; and as I looked there came, I
thought, a change — he seemed to swell — ^his face
became suddenly black and the features seemed to
melt and alter — and the next moment, I had sprung
to my feet and leaped back against the wall, my arm
raised to shield me from that prodigy, my mind sub-
merged in terror.

" O God ! " I screamed, and " O God ! " again and
again; for there before my eyes — pale and shaken^
and half fainting, and groping before him with his
hands, like a man restored from death — there stood
Henry Jekyll !

What he told me in the next hour, I cannot bring my
mind to set on paper. I saw what I saw, I heard what
I heard, and my soul sickened at it; and yet now when
that sight has faded from my eyes, I ask myself if I
believe it, and I cannot answer. My life is shaken to
its roots; sleep has left me; the deadliest terror sits
by me at all hours of the day and night; I feel that my
days are numbered, and that I must die; and yet I
shall die incredulous. As for the moral turpitude that
man unveiled to me, even with tears of penitence, I
cannot, even in memory, dwell on it without a start of

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 373

horror. I vnll say but one thing, Utterson, and that
(if you can bring your mind to credit it) will be more
than enough. The creature who crept into my house
that night was, on Jekyll's own confession, known by
the name of Hyde and hunted for in every corner of
the land as the murderer of Carew.

Hastie Lanyon.

HENRY JEKYLL S FULL STATEMENT OF THE CASE

I was born in the year i8 — to a large fortune, en-
dowed besides with excellent parts, inclined by nature
to industry, fond of the respect of the wise and good
among my fellow-men, and thus, as might have been
supposed, with every guarantee of an honourable and
distinguished future. And indeed the worst of my
faults was a certain impatient gaiety of disposition,
such as has made the happiness of many, but such
as I found it hard to reconcile with my imperious
desire to carry my head high, and wear a more than
commonly grave countenance before the public.
Hence it came about that I concealed my pleasures;
and that when I reached years of reflection, and
began to look round me and take stock of my progress
and position in the world, I stood already com-
mitted to a profound duplicity of life. Many a man
would have even blazon ed, such irregularities as I
was guilty of; but From the high views that I had set
before me, I regarded and hid them with an almost
morbid sense of shame. It was thus rather the exact-
ing nature of my aspirations than any particular
degradation in my faults, that made me what I was.

374 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

and, with even a deeper trench than in the majority of
men, severed in me those provinces of good and ill
which divide and compound man's dual nature. In
this case, I was driven to reflect deeply and inveter-
ately on that hard law of life, which lies at the root of
religion and is one of the most plentiful springs of
distress. Though so profound a double-dealer, I was
in no sense a hypocrite ; both sides of me were in dead
earnest; I was no more myself when I laid aside
restraint and plunged in shame, than when I laboured,
in the eye of day, at the furtherance of knowledge or
the relief of sorrow and suflFering. And it chanced
that the direction of my scientific studies, which led
wholly towards the mystic and the transcendental,
reacted and shed a strong light on this consciousness
of the perennial war among my members. With
every day, and from both sides of my intelligence, the
moral and the intellectual, I thus drew steadily nearer
to that truth, by whose partial discovery I have been
doomed to such a dreadful shipwreck: that man is
not truly one, but truly two. I say two, because the
state of my own knowledge does not pass beyond that
point. Others will follow, others will outstrip me
on the same lines; and I hazard the guess that man
will be ultimately known for a mere polity of multi^
farious, incongruous and independent denizens. I
for my part, from the nature of my life, advanced
infallibly in one direction and in one direction only.
It was on the moral side, and in my own person, that
I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive
duality of man ; I saw that, of the two natures that
contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I

DR. JEJ^YLL AND MR. HYDE 375

could rightly be said to be either, it was only because
I was radically both; and from an early date, even
before the course of my scientific discoveries had
begun to suggest the most naked possibility of such a
miracle, I had learned to dwell with pleasure, as a
beloved daydream, on the thought of the separation

I. of these elements. If each, I told myself, could but be

housed in separate identities, life would be relieved of

' all that was unbearable; the unjust might go his way,

I delivered from the aspirations and remorse of his more

upright twin; and the just could walk steadfastly and

Pr securely on his upward path, doing the good things

I in which he found his pleasure, and no longer exposed

to disgrace and penitence by the hands of this extra-
neous evil. It was the curse of mankind that these

•'" incongruous faggots were thus bound together — that

in the agonised womb of consciousness, these polar
twins should be continuously struggling. How, then,

i were they dissociated ?

I was so far in my reflections when, as I have said, a
side light began to shine upon the subject from the
laboratory table. I began to perceive more deeply
than it has ever yet been stated, the trembling imma-
teriality, the mist-like transience, of this seemingly so
solid body in which we walk attired. Certain agents
I found to have the power to shake and to pluck back
that fleshly vestment, even as a wind might toss the
curtains of a pavilion. For two good reasons, I will
not enter deeply into this scientific branch of my
confession. First, because I have been made to learn
that the doom and burthen of our life is bound forever
on man's shoulders, and when the attempt is made to

mm

376 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

cast it off, it but returns upon us with more unfamiliar
and more awful pressure. Second, because, as my
narrative will make, alas ! too evident, my discoveries
were incomplete. Enough, then, that I not only
recognised my natural body for the mere aura and
effulgence of certain of the powers that made up my
spirit, but managed to compound a drug by which
these powers should be dethroned from their suprem-
acy, and a second form and countenance substituted,
none the less natural to me because they were the
expression, and bore the stamp, of lower elements in
my soul.

I hesitated long before I put this theory to the test
of practice. I knew well that I risked death; for any
drug that so potently controlled and shook the very
fortress of identity, might by the least scruple of an
overdose or at the least inopportunity in the moment
of exhibition, utterly blot out that immaterial taber-
nacle which I looked to it to change. But the tempta-
tion of a discovery so singular and profound, at last
overcame the suggestions of alarm. I had long since
prepared my tincture; I purchased at once, from a
firm of wholesale chemists, a large quantity of a
particular salt which I knew, from my experiments,
to be the last ingredient required; and late one
accursed night, I compounded the elements, watched
them boil and smoke together in the glass, and when
the ebullition had subsided, with a strong glow of
courage, drank off the potion.

The most racking pangs succeeded: a grinding in
the*bones, deadly nausea, and a horror of the spirit
that cannot be exceeded at the hour of birth or death.

I

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 377

Then these agonies began swiftly to subside, and I
came to myself as if out of a great sickness. There
was something strange in my sensations, something
indescribably new and, from its very novelty, incred-
ibly sweet. I felt younger, lighter, happier in body;
within I was conscious of a heady recklessness, a
current of disordered sensual images running like a
mill race in my fancy, a solution of the bonds of
obligation, an unknown but not an innocent freedom
of the soul. I knew myself, at the first breath of this
new life, to be more wicked, tenfold more wicked, sold
a slave to my original evil; and the thought, in that
moment, braced and delighted me like wine. I
stretched out my hands, exulting in the freshness of
these sensations ; and in the act, I was suddenly aware
that I had lost in stature.

There was no mirror, at that date, in my room ; that
which stands beside me as I write, was brought there
later on and for the very purpose of these transforma-
tions. The night, however, was far gone into the
fllbrning — the morning, black as it was, was nearly
ripe for the conception of the day — the inmates of
my house were locked In the most rigorous hours of
slumber ; and I determined, flushed as I was with hope
and triumph, to venture in my new shape as far as to
my bedroom. I crossed the yard, wherein the con-
stellations looked down upon me, I could have thought,
with wonder, the first creature of that sort that their
unsleeping vigilance had yet disclosed to them; I
stole through the corridors, a stranger in my own
house; and coming to my room, I saw for the first
time the appearance of Edward Hyde.

378 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

I must here speak by theory alone, saying not that
which I know, but that which I suppose to be most
probable. The evil side of my nature, to which I had
now transferred the stamping efficacy, was less robust
and less developed than the good which I had just
deposed. Again, in the course of my life, which had
been, after all, nine-tenths a life of effort, virtue and
control, it had been much less exercised and much
less exhausted. And hence, as I think, it came about
that Edward Hyde was so much smaller, slighter and
younger than Henry Jekyll. Even as good shone upon
the countenance of the one, evil was written broadly
and plainly on the face of the other. Evil besides
(which I must still believe to be the lethal side of riian)
had left on that body an imprint of deformity and
decay. And yet when I looked upon that ugly idol in
the glass, I was conscious of no repugnance, rather of
a leap of welcome. This, too, was myself. It seemed
natural and human. In my eyes it bore a livelier
image of the spirit, it seemed more express and single,
than the imperfect and divided countenance I had
been hitherto accustomed to call mine. And in so far
I was doubtless right. I have observed that when
I wore the semblance of Edward Hyde, none could
come near to me at first without a visible misgiving of
the flesh. This, as I take it, was because all human
beings, as we meet them, are commingled out of good
and evil: and Edward Hyde, alone in the ranks of
mankind, was pure evil.

I lingered but a moment at the mirror : the second
and conclusive experiment had yet to be attempted ; it
yet remained to be seen if I had lost my identity beyond

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 379

redemption and must flee before daylight from a house
that was no longer mine; and hurrying back to my
cabinet, I once more prepared and drank the cup, once
more suffered the pangs of dissolution, and came to
myself once more with the character, the stature and
the face of Henry Jekyll.

That night I had come to the fatal cross roads. Had
I approached my discovery in a more noble spirit, had
I risked the experiment while under the empire of
generous or pious aspirations, all must have been
otherwise, and from these agonies of death and birth,
I had come forth an angel instead of a fiend. The
drug had no discriminating action; it was neither
diabolical nor divine; it but shook the doors of the
prisonhouse of my disposition ; and like the captives
of Philippi, that which stood within ran forth. At
that time my virtue slumbered; my evil, kept awake
by ambition, was alert and swift to seize the occasion ;
and the thing that was projected was Edward Hyde.
Hence, although I had now two characters as well as
two appearances, one was wholly evil, and the other
was still the old Henry Jekyll, that incongruous com-
pound of whose reformation and improvement I had
already learned to despair. The movement was thus
wholly toward the worse.

Even at that time, I had not yet conquered my
aversion to the dryness of a life of study. I would still
be merrily disposed at times; and as my pleasures
were (to say the least) undignified, and I was not only
well known and highly considered, but growing towards
the elderly man, this incoherency of my life was daily
growing more unwelcome. It was on this side that my

38o DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

new power tempted me until I fell in slavery. I had
but to drink the cup, to doff at once the body of the
noted professor, and to assume, like a thick cloak, that
of Edward Hyde. I smiled at the notion ; it seemed
to me at the time to be humourous ; and I made my
preparations with the most studious care. I took and
furnished that house in Soho, to which Hyde was
tracked by the police; and engaged as housekeeper
a creature whom I well knew to be silent and unscru-
pulous. On the other side, I announced to my servants
that a Mr. Hyde (whom I described) was to have full
liberty and power about my house in the square ; and
to parry mishaps, I even called and made myself a
familiar object, in my second character. I next drew
up that will to which you so much objected ; so that if
anything befell me in the person of Dr. Jekyll, I could
enter on that of Edward Hyde without pecuniary loss.
And thus fortified, as I supposed, on every side, I
began to profit by the strange immunities of my
position.

Men have before hired bravos to transact their
crimes, while their own person and reputation sat
under shelter. I was the first that ever did so for his
pleasures. I was the first that could thus plod in the
public eye with a load of genial respectability, and in
a moment, like a schoolboy, strip off these lendings
and spring headlong into the sea of liberty. But for
me, in my impenetrable mantle, the safety was com-
plete. Think of it — I did not even exist ! Let me
but escape into my laboratory door, give me but a
second or two to mix and swallow the draught that I
had always standing ready; and whatever he had

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 381

done, Edward Hyde would pass away like the stain of
breath upon a mirror; and there in his stead, quietly at
home, trimming the midnight lamp in his study, a maa
who could afford to laugh at suspicion, would be
Henry Jekyll.

The pleasures which I made haste to seek in my
disguise were, as I have said, undignified; I would
scarce use a harder term. But in the hands of Edward
Hyde, they soon began to turn towards the monstrous.
When I would come back from these excursions, I was
often plunged into a kind of wonder at my vicarious
depravity. This familiar that I called out of my own
soul, and sent forth alone to do his good pleasure, was
a being inherently malign and villainous; his every
act and thought centered on self; drinking pleasure
with bestial avidity from any degree of torture to
another; relentless like a man of stone. Henry Jekyll
stood at times aghast before the acts of Edward Hyde;
but the situation was apart from ordinary laws, and
insidiously relaxed the grasp of conscience. It was
Hyde, after all, and Hyde alone, that was guilty.
Jekyll was no worse; he woke again to his good
qualities seemingly unimpaired; he would even make
haste, where it was possible, to undo the evil done by
Hyde. And thus his conscience slumbered.

Into the details of the infamy at which I thus con-
nived (for even now I can scarce grant that I committed
it) I have no design of entering; I mean but to point
out the warnings and the successive steps with which
my chastisement approached. I met with one accident
which, as it brought on no consequence, I shall no more
than mention. An act of cruelty to a child aroused

382 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

against me the anger of a passer-by, whom I recog-
nised the other day in the person of your kinsman;
the doctor and the child's family joined him; there
\fere moments when I feared for my life; and at last,
in order to pacify their too just resentment, Edward
Hyde had to bring them to the door, and pay them in
a cheque drawn in the name of Henry Jekyll. But
this danger was easily eliminated from the future, by
opening an account at another bank in the name of
Edward Hyde himself; and when, by sloping my own
hand backward, I had supplied my double with a
signature, I thought I sat beyond the reach of fate.
Some two months before the murder of Sir Danvers,
I had been out for one of my adventures, had returned
at a late hour, and woke the next day in bed with
somewhat odd sensations. It was in vain I looked
about me ; in vain I saw the decent furniture and tall
proportions of my room in the square; in vain that I
recognised the pattern of the bed curtains and the
design of the mahogany frame ; something still kept
insisting that I was not where I was, that I had not
wakened where I seemed to be, but in the little room
in Soho where I was accustomed to sleep in the body
of Edward Hyde. I smiled to myself, and, in my
psychological way, began lazily to inquire into the
elements of this illusion, occasionally, even as I did so,
dropping back into a comfortable morning doze. I
was still so engaged when, in one of my more wakeful
moments, my eyes fell upon my hand. Now the hand
of Henry Jekyll (as you have often remarked) was
professional in shape and size: it was large, firm,
white and comely. But the hand which I now saw.

DR. JEKYLL AKD MR. HYDE 383

clearly enough^ in the yellow light of a mid-London
morning, lying half shut on the bed clothes, was lean,
corded, knuckly, of a dusky pallor and thickly shaded
with a swart growth of hair. It was the hand of
Edward Hyde.

I must have stared upon it for near half a minute,
sunk as I was in the mere stupidity of wonder, before
terror woke up in my breast as sudden and startling as
the crash of cymbals; and bounding from my bed, I
rushed to the mirror. At the sight that met my eyes,
my blood was changed into something exquisitely
thin and icy. Yes, I had gone to bed Henry Jekyll, I
had awakened Edward Hyde. How was this to be
explained ? I asked myself; and then, with another
bound of terror — how was it to be remedied ? It was
well on in the morning; the servants were up; all my
drugs were in the cabinet — a long journey down two
pair of stairs, through the back passage, across the open
court and through the anatomical theatre, from where
I was then standing horror-struck. It might indeed be
possible to cover my face; but of what use was that,
when I was unable to conceal the alteration in my
stature? And then with an overpowering sweetness
of relief, it came back upon my mind that the servants
were already used to the coming and going of my
second self. I had soon dressed, as well as I was able,
in clothes of my own size : had soon passed through
the house, where Bradshaw stared and drew back
at seeing Mr. Hyde at such an hour and in such a
strange array; and ten minutes later. Dr. Jekyll had
returned to his own shape and was sitting down,
with a darkened brow, to make a feint of breakfasting.

9

384 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

Small indeed was my appetite. This inexplicable
incident, this reversal of my previous experience,
seemed, like the Babylonian finger on the wall, to be
spelling out the letters of my judgment; and I began
to reflect more seriously than ever before on the issues
and possibilities of my double existence. That part of
me which I had the power of projecting, had lately
been much exercised and nourished ; it had seemed to
me of late as though the body of Edward Hyde had
grown in stature, as though (when I wore that form) I
were conscious of a more generous tide of blood ; and
I began to spy a danger that, if this were much pro-
longed, the balance of my nature might be perma-
nently overthrown, the power of voluntary change be
forfeited, and the character of Edward Hyde become
irrevocably mine. The power of the drug had not
been always equally displayed. Once, very early in my
career, it had totally failed me; since then I had been
obliged on more than one occasion to double, and once,
with infinite risk of death, to treble the amount; and
these rare uncertainties had cast hitherto the sole
shadow on my contentment. Now, however, and in
the light of that morning's accident, I was led to
remark that whereas, in the beginning, the difficulty
had been to throw off the body of Jekyll, it had of
late gradually but decidedly transferred itself to the
other side. All things therefore seemed to point to
this : that I was slowly losing hold of my original and
better self, and becoming slowly incorporated with my
second and worse.

Between these two, I now felt I had to choose. My
two natures had memory in common, but all other

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDF 385

faculties were most unequally shared between them.
Jekyll (who was composite) now with the most sen-
sitive apprehensions, now with a greedy gusto, pro-
jected and shared in the pleasures and adventures of
Hyde; but Hyde wag indifferent to Jekyll, or but
remembered him as the mountain bandit remembers
the cavern in which he conceals himself from pursuit.
Jekyll had more than a father*s interest; Hyde had
more than a son's indifference. To cast in my lot with
Jekyll, was to die to those appetites which I had long
secretly indulged and had of late begun to pamper.
To cast it in with Hyde, was to die to a thousand
interests and aspirations, and to become, at a blow and
forever, despised and friendless. The bargain might
appear unequal; but there was still another con-
sideration fti the scales ; for while Jekyll would suffer
smartingly in the fires of abstinence, Hyde would be
not even conscious of all that he had lost. Strange as
my circumstances were, the terms of this debate are
as old and commonplace as man; much the same
inducements and alarms cast the die for any tempted
and trembling sinner; and it fell out with me, as it
falls with so vast a majority of my fellows, that I
chose the better part and was found wanting in the
strength to keep to it.

Yes, I preferred the elderly and discontented doctor,
surrounded by friends and cherishing honest hopes;
and bade a resolute farewell to the liberty, the com-
parative youth, the light step, leaping impulses and
secret pleasures, that I had enjoyed in the disguise of
Hyde. I made this choice perhaps with some uncon-
scious reservation, for I neither gave up the house in

.386 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

Soho, nor destroyed the clothes of Edward Hyde,
which still lay ready in my cabinet. For two months,
however, I was true to my determination; for two
months, I led a life of such severity as I had never
before attained to, and enjoyed the compensations of
an approving conscience. But time began at last to
obliterate the freshness of my alarm; the praises of
conscience began to grow into a thing of course; I
began to be tortured with throes and longings, as of
Hyde struggling after freedom; and at last, in an
hour of moral weakness, I once again compounded
and swallowed the transforming draught.

I do not suppose that, when a drunkard reasons
with himself upon his vice, he is once out of five
hundred times affected by the dangers that he runs
through his brutish, physical insensibility; neither
had I, long as I had considered my position, made
enough allowance for the complete moral insensibility
and insensate readiness to evil, which were the leading
characters of Edward Hyde. Yet it was by these that
I was punished. My devil had been long caged, he
came out roaring. I was conscious, even when I took
the draught, of a more unbridled, a more furious
propensity to ill. It must have been this, I suppose,
that stirred in my soul that tempest of impatience with
which I listened to the civilities of my unhappy victim ;
I declare, at least, before God, no man morally sane
could have been guilty of that crime upon so pitiful
a provocation; and that I struck in no more reason-
able spirit than that in which a sick child may break
a plaything. But I had voluntarily stripped myself
of all those balancing instincts by which even the worst

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 387

of us continues to walk with some degree of steadiness
among temptations; and in my case, to be tempted,
however slightly, was to fall.

Instantly the spirit of hell awoke in me and raged.
With a transport of glee, I mauled the unresisting
body, tasting delight from every blow; and it was not
till weariness had begun to succeed, that I was sud-
denly, in the top fit of my delirium, struck through
the heart by a cold thrill of terror. A mist dispersed;
I saw my life to be forfeit ; and fled from the scene of
these excesses, at once glorifying and trembling, my
lust of evil gratified and stimulated, my love of life
screwed to the topmost peg. I ran to the house in
Soho, and (to make assurance doubly sure) destroyed
my papers; thence I set out through the lamplit
streets, in the same divided ecstasy of mind, gloating
on my crime, light-headedly devising others in the
future, and yet still hastening and still hearkening
in my wake for the steps of the avenger. Hyde had
a song upon his lips as he compounded the draught,
and as he drank it, pledged the dead man. The pangs
of transformation had not done tearing him, before
Henry Jekyll, with streaming tears of gratitude and
remorse, had fallen upon his knees and lifted his
clasped hands to God. The veil of self-indulgence
was rent from head to foot. I saw my life as a whole :
I followed it up from the days of childhood, when I
had walked with my father's hand, and through the
self-denying toils of my professional life, to arrive
again and again, with the same sense of unreality, at
the damned horrors of the evening. I could have
screamed aloud; I sought with tears and prayers to

388 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

smother down the crowd of hideous images and
sounds with which my memory swarmed against me;
and still, between the petitions, the ugly face of my
iniquity stared into my soul. As the acuteness of this
remorse began to die away, it was succeeded by a
sense of joy. The problem of my conduct was solved.
Hyde was thenceforth impossible; whether I would
or not, I was now confined to the better part of my
existence; and O, how I rejoiced to think it! with
what willing humility, I embraced anew the restric-
tions of natural life ! with what sincere renunciation,
I locked the door by which I had so often gone and
come, and ground the key under my heel !

The next day, came the news that the murder had
been overlooked, that the guilt of Hyde was patent to
the world, and that the victim was a man high in
public estimation. It was not only a crime, it had been
a tragic folly. I think I was glad to know it; I think
I was glad to have my better impulses thus buttressed
and guarded by the terrors of the scaffold. Jekyll
was now my city of refuge ; let but Hyde peep out an
instant, and the hands of all men would be raised to
take and slay him.

I resolved in my future conduct to redeem the past ;
and I can say with honesty that my resolve was fruit-
ful of some good. You know yourself how earnestly
in the last months of last year, I laboured to relieve
suffering; you know that much was done for others,
and that the days passed quietly, almost happily for
myself. Nor can I truly say that I wearied of this
beneficent and innocent life; I think instead that I
daily enjoyed it more completely; but I was still

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 389

cursed with my duality of purpose; and as the first
edge of my penitence wore off, the lower side of me,
so long indulged, so recently chained down, began to
growl for license. Not that I dreamed of resuscitating
Hyde; the bare idea of that would startle me to
frenzy! no, it was in my own person, that I was once
more tempted to trifle with my conscience; and it
was as an ordinary secret sinner, that I at last fell
before the assaults of temptation.

There comes an end to all things; the most capa-
cious measure is filled at last; and this brief conde-
scension to my evil finally destroyed the balance of my
soul. And yet I was not alarmed; the fall seemed
natural, like a return to the old days before I had
made my discovery. It was a fine, clear, January
day, wet under foot where the frost had melted, but
cloudless overhead; and the Regent's Park was full
of winter chirrupings and sweet with spring odours.
I sat in the sun on a bench; the animal within me
licking the chops of memory; the spiritual side a
little drowsed, promising subsequent penitence, but
not yet moved to begin. After all, I reflected, I was
like my neighbours; and then I smiled, comparing
myself with other men, comparing my active good-
will with the lazy cruelty of their neglect. And at
the very moment of that vain-glorious thought, a
qualm came over me, a horrid nausea and the most
deadly shuddering. These passed away, and left me
faint; and then as in its turn the faintness subsided,
I began to be aware of a change in the temper of my
thoughts, a greater boldness, a contempt of danger,
a solution of the bonds of obligation. I looked down;

390 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

my clothes hung formlessly on my shrunken limbs;
the hand that lay on my knee was corded and hairy. I
was once more Edward Hyde. A moment before I
had been safe of all men's respect, wealthy, beloved —
the cloth laying for me in the dining-room at home;
and now I was the common quarry of mankind,
hunted, houseless, a known murderer, thrall to the
gallows.

My reason wavered, but it did not fail me utterly.
I have more than once observed that, in my second
character, my faculties seemed sharpened to a point
and my spirits more tensely elastic; thus it came about
that, where Jekyll perhaps might have succumbed,
Hyde rose to the importance of the moment. My
drugs were in one of the presses of my cabinet ; how
was I to reach them ? That was the problem that
(crushing my temples in my hands) I set myself to
solve. The laboratory door I had closed. If I sought
to enter by the house, my own servants would consign
me to the gallows. I saw I must employ another hand^
and thought of Lanyon. How was he to be reached ?
how persuaded ? Supposing that I escaped capture
in the streets, how was I to make my way into his
presence? and how should I, an unknown and dis-
pleasing visitor, prevail on the famous physician to
rifle the study of his colleague, Dr. Jekyll ? Then
I remembered that of my original character, one part
remained to me: I could write my own hand; and
once I had conceived that kindling spark, the way
that I must follow became lighted up from end to end.

Thereupon, I arranged my clothes as best I could,
and summoning a passing hansom, drove to an hotel

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 391

in Portland Street, the name of which I chanced to
remember. At my appearance (which was indeed
comical enough, however tragic a fate these garments
covered) the driver could not conceal his mirth. I
gnashed my teeth upon him with a gust of devilish
fury; and the smile withered from his face — happily
for him — yet more happily for myself, for in another
instant I had certainly dragged him from his perch.
At the inn, as I entered, I looked about me with so
black a countenance as made the attendants tremble ;
not a look did they exchange in my presence; but
obsequiously took my orders, led me to a private
room, and brought me wherewithal to write. Hyde
in danger of his life was a creature new to me; shaken
with inordinate anger, strung to the pitch of murder,
lusting to inflict pain. Yet the creature was astute;
mastered his fury with a great effort of the will; com-
posed his two important letters, one to Lanyon and
one to Poole; and that he might receive actual evi-
dence of their being posted, sent them out with
directions that they should be registered.

Thenceforward, he sat all day over the fire in the
private room, gnawing his nails; there he dined,
sitting alone with his fears, the waiter visibly quailing
before his eye ; and thence, when the night was fully
come, he set forth in the corner of a closed cab, and
was driven to and fro about the streets of the city.
He, I say — I cannot say, I. That child of Hell had
nothing human; nothing lived in him but fear and
hatred. And when at last, thinking the driver had
begun to grow suspicious, he discharged the cab and
ventured on foot, attired in his misfitting clothes, an

392 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

object marked out for observation, into the midst of
the nocturnal passengers, these two base passions
raged within him like a tempest. He walked fast,
hunted by his fears, chattering to himself, skulking
through the less frequented thoroughfares, counting
the minutes that still divided him from midnight.
Once a woman spoke to him, offering, I think, a box
of lights. He smote her in the face, and she fled.

When I came to myself at Lanyon's, the horror of
my old friend perhaps affected me somewhat! I do
not know; it was at least but a drop in the sea to the
abhorrence with which I looked back upon these hours.
A change had come over me. It was no longer the
fear of the gallows, it was the horror of being Hyde
that racked me. I received Lanyon's condemnation
partly in a dream; it was partly in a dream that I
came home to my own house and got into bed. I
slept after the prostration of the day, with a stringent
and profound slumber which not even the nightmares
that wrung me could avail to break. I awoke in the
morning shaken, weakened, but refreshed. I still
hated and feared the thought of the brute that slept
within me, and I had not of course forgotten the
appalling dangers of the day before ; but I was once
more at home, in my own house and close to my
drugs; and gratitude for my escape shone so strong
in my soul that it almost rivalled the brightness of
hope.

I was stepping leisurely across the court after break-
fast, drinking the chill of the air with pleasure, when
I was seized again with those indescribable sensations
that heralded the change; and I had but the time to

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 393

gain the shelter of my cabinet, before I was once again
raging and freezing with the passions of Hyde. It
took on this occasion a double dose to recall me to
myself; and alas! six hours after, as I sat looking
sadly in the fire, the pangs returned, and the drug had
to be re-administered. In short, from that day forth
it seemed only by a great eflFort as of gymnastics, and
only under the immediate stimulation of the drug, that
I was able to wear the countenance of Jekyll. At all
hours of the day and night, I would be taken with the
premonitory shudder; above all, if I slept, or even
dozed for a moment in my chair, it was always as
Hyde that I awakened. Under the strain of this
continually impending doom and by the sleeplessness
to which I now condemned myself, ay, even beyond
what I had thought possible to man, I became, in my
own person, a creature eaten up and emptied by fever,
languidly weak both in body and mind, and solely
occupied by one thought: the horror of my other self.
But when I slept, or when the virtue of the medicine
wore off, I would leap almost without transition (for
the pangs of transformation grew daily less marked)
into the possession of a fancy brimming with images
of terror, a soul boiling with causeless hatreds, and a
body that seemed not strong enough to contain the
raging energies of life. The powers of Hyde seemed
to have grown with the sickliness of Jekyll. And
certainly the hate that now divided them was equal on
each side. With Jekyll, it was a thing of vital instinct.
He had now seen the full deformity of that creature
that shared with him some of the phenomena of
consciousness, and was co-heir with him to death:

394 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

and beyond these links of community, which in them-
selves made the most poignant part of his distress, he
thought of Hyde, for all his energy of life, as of some-
thing not only hellish but inorganic. This was the
shocking thing; that the slime of the pit seemed to
utter cries and voices; that the amorphous dust
gesticulated and sinned; that what was dead, and had
no shape, should usurp the offices of life. And this
again, that that insurgent horror was knit to him
closer than a wife, closer than an eye; lay caged in
his flesh, where he heard it mutter and felt it struggle
to be bom; and at every hour of weakness, and in the
confidence of slumber, prevailed against him, and
deposed him out of life. The hatred of Hyde for
Jekyll, was of a diflFerent order. His terror of the
gallows drove him continually to commit temporary
suicide and return to his subordinate station of a
part instead of a person; but he loathed the necessity,
he loathed the despondency into which Jekyll was
now fallen, and he resented the dislike with which
he was himself regarded. Hence the apelike tricks
that he would play me, scrawling in my own hand
blasphemies on the pages of my books, burning the
letters and destroying the portrait of my father; and
indeed, had it not been for his fear of death, he would
long ago have ruined himself in order to involve me
in the ruin. But his love of life is wonderful; I go
further : I, who sicken and freeze at the mere thought
of him, when I recall the abjection and passion of this
attachment, and when I know how he fears my power
to cut him off by suicide, I find it in my heart to pity
him.

DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE 395

i

It is useless, and the time awfully fails me, to pro-
long this description; no one has ever suffered such
torments, let that suffice; and yet even to these, habit
brought — no, not alleviation — but a certain callous-
ness of soul, a certain acquiescence of despair; and
my punishment might have gone on for years, but
for the last calamity which has now fallen, and which
has finally severed me from my own face and nature.
My provision of the salt, which had never been re-
newed since the date of the first experiment, began to
run low. I sent out for a fresh supply, and mixed the
draught; the ebullition followed, and the first change
of colour, not the second; I drank it and it was with-
out efficiency. You will learn from Poole how I have
had London ransacked; it was in vain; and I am
now persuaded that my first supply was impure, and
that it was that unknown impurity which lent efficacy
to the draught.

About a week has passed, and I am now finishing
this statement under the influence of the last of the
old powders. This, then, is the last time, short of a
miracle, that Henry Jekyll can think his own thoughts
or see his own face (now how sadly altered !) in the
glass. Nor must I delay too long to bring my writing
to an end; for if my narrative has hitherto escaped
destruction, it has been by a combination of great
prudence and great good luck. Should the throes of
change take me in the act of writing it, Hyde will tear
it in pieces ; but if some time shall have elapsed after
I have laid it by, his wonderful selfishness and circum-
scription to the moment will probably save it once
again from the action of his apelike spite. And indeed

396 DR. JEKYLL AND MR. HYDE

the doom that is closing on us both, has already
changed and crushed him. Half an hour from now,
when I shall again and forever reindue that hated
personality, I know how I shall sit shuddering and
weeping in my chair, or continue, with the most
strained and fearstruck ecstasy of listening, to pace
up and down this room (my last earthly refuge) and
give ear to every sound of menace. Will Hyde die
upon the scaffold ? or will he find courage to release
himself at the last moment? God knows; I am
careless; this is my true hour of death, and what is to
follow concerns another than myself. Here then, as
I lay down the pen and proceed to seal up my con-
fession, I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll
to an end.

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UNIVERSITY OF MICHIQAN

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