Chapter Five
The Old Watchtower
THE doctor woke the next morning to find the rain coming down in torrents. The canvas of the tent was soaked, and the whole place felt damp and chilly. He opened his tent door to get a little fresh air, but the rain came driving in and he had to close it again.
It was hard work preparing his lonely breakfast. The paraffin stove was giving out a horrible smell which filled the tent long before the kettle had boiled. Then he found he had forgotten to bring any milk from the farm the night before, and he thought with longing of the steaming, fragrant coffee which Mary Norris would be pouring out in the comfortable castle kitchen.
However, he made the best meal he could under the circumstances, did his washing-up with as few groans as possible, and prepared to face his second day of solitude.
He looked out once more from the tent door, but thick mists prevented his seeing anything. No sound was to be heard except that of the pouring rain. Even the sheep had moved away and crept for shelter under the wall of a ruined cottage which stood in the midst of the headland.
Forester sighed to himself as he thought what a long day it would be, for he saw no prospect of the weather improving. He had filled one of the new portmanteaus with books to wile away the long hours of solitude, and he took one out and began to read. But the story was not exciting, and he found little in it to interest him. He repeatedly looked at his watch, but this only seemed to make the time pass more slowly.
At length when it was about eleven o'clock, and when he felt as if he had lived a lifetime since he got up that morning, he suddenly jumped up from his chair saying to himself that he could stand it no longer. He made up his mind to put on his mackintosh and walk down to the village. It would kill a little time at any rate.
Forester turned in at the castle gate in order to leave his water can in the courtyard, so that he could fill it on his return. He crept quietly in, shutting the gate softly behind him, for he felt sure that if the Norrises saw him they would press him to go into the house --and he was afraid that the thought of a seat on the settle in that warm chimney-corner might be too great a temptation to resist. He knew that the Norrises would be busy with their new lodgers the Sinclairs, and he did not like to intrude.
Norman Forester was well aware of just how sensitive he was where the feelings of others were concerned, and he had a dread of being a burden on anyone. So he went past the kitchen window without so much as glancing at the bright firelight within, and hurriedly returned to the gate. Then he made his way in driving rain and through plenty of mud to the road which led down the hill. What he was going to do in the village he had no idea. He had enough food to last him until the next day, so there was no shopping to be done, and beyond the bare necessaries of life there was nothing whatever to be bought in the tiny Hildick shop.
But the yearning to hear a human voice was so strong that he determined to turn into the post office and buy some stamps. He did not want any; there was no one to whom he wished to write; but stamps would always keep until they were wanted.
He stayed in the shelter of the little shop as long as possible, but the postmistress was not of a talkative disposition, and beyond a certain point he found it impossible to prolong the conversation. A few remarks on the weather and on the number of visitors in Hildick were all that he could extract from her, and after these topics were exhausted he had no excuse for remaining any longer.
When Forester came out into the rain again, he thought he would walk up the village street in the opposite direction to that in which he had gone the day before. He found that the houses were few in number, but they all had small gardens in front of them glorious with sunflowers, dahlias and fuchsias, enclosed by low walls covered with white lime-wash which gave the whole village an exceedingly clean appearance.
He had not walked far before he met a man in a long white mackintosh and gray cap, who was fighting his way against the wind and rain, and coming towards the post office. Before he came up to him, Forester recognized him. It was his old schoolfellow and friend, Jack Mainwaring. He would have known him anywhere by his tall upright figure, his curly brown hair, his handsome features, and the merry twinkle in his clear blue eyes.
Jack Mainwaring had been the life and the soul of all the fun and merriment and sport at Repton; the captain at cricket and football, and the best athlete in the school. Norman Forester had been more successful in examinations than his friend, but Jack was the hero of the sports, and carried off a perfect armful of prizes at the end of them.
And now Jack was a parson! It was almost more than Norman Forester could believe. But there was nothing clerical in Jack's appearance or manner as he came forward with glad words of greeting.
"Well, old chap, I was just going in search of you. Isn't it good our meeting here after all these years? I was coming with a message from my mother, to insist on your spending the day with us at the Bank."
Forester, in his shrinking from being a nuisance to anyone, started to make excuses, but Jack Mainwaring stopped him.
"Now come, we shall take no refusal. Just think what we've got to talk about. Now you really must take pity on us. The girls are in the blues because it's a wet day, but if you come we'll have a real good old time. Doris and Uncle Richard are coming to tea, and we want you to help us to draw up a program of games and music, to keep us all in a good temper this wet day."
Forester felt he could not refuse this hearty invitation, and the two friends walked on to the house called the Bank, thoroughly happy in each other's society.
The day, which had begun so dismally, ended in being one of the most pleasant days he had ever spent. Mrs. Mainwaring was kindness itself, and made him feel at his ease at once. The young men found that the lapse of years had by no means cooled their friendship, and Mab and Dolly were as lively as their brothers, and prepared to join in all the fun. There was nothing stiff or formal about any of them, and Forester soon forgot his depression, thoroughly enjoying the merry, friendly talk going on around him.
In the afternoon Mr. Richard Somerville and his daughter Doris came in, and after tea the entertainment program, which they had prepared in the morning, was carried out.
As the doctor took part in the various games he felt years younger, and his laugh was soon as hearty and frequent as that of his light-hearted companions. Then, when they had come to the end of the games, they finished the evening with music.
There was a piano in the room, small in size but sweet in tone, and as all the Mainwarings and their cousin Doris Somerville were musical, they gave a varied selection of instrumental music, songs, duets and trios.
Norman Forester could not sing or play, but he thoroughly enjoyed music, and the evening seemed to fly on the wings of the wind. Doris Somerville had a lovely voice. It was not so powerful as Mab's, but it was clear as a bell, and had a sweetness in it which went straight to his heart as he listened to it. Her last song, by A. A. Proctor, haunted him for days afterwards. It began:
"Where are the swallows fled?
Frozen and dead,
Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore."
As Forester climbed the hill that evening, the charming face of the singer, her clear, trustful eyes, the soft tones of her voice, and, not least, the touching words of her song -- seemed to follow him all the way, for the song went on to admonish the doubting heart for not knowing that the swallows were safe in a sunny clime, ready to return when the time was right. Again, and yet again, he heard Doris Somerville singing the notes of comfort in the refrain of the last verse, and he felt as if she was bringing him a message of hope:
O doubting heart!
Thy sky is overcast,
Yet stars shall rise at last,
And angels' silver voices stir the air.
The literal stars were shining brightly as he neared the castle. The rain had stopped, and the moon was rising behind the hill. He went by the short cut across the fields, which he had taken with Rupert Norris o
n the night of his arrival. On the side of the hill were the ruins of the old watchtower of the castle, standing some hundred yards away from it. Here, in olden time, the men on guard could obtain a view of all the country round, and were thus able to raise the alarm in case of danger.
As Forester came up the field, climbing slowly, for the ascent was a steep one, he thought he saw two figures standing on the lonely watchtower, leaning over the low broken wall which ran round the top of it. It was getting late, about eleven o'clock, and he wondered who could be about at that time. The tower lay a little to the left of the path.
As he drew nearer he could distinguish the figures more distinctly, and he was disposed to cross the field and see whom they were. On second thoughts he concluded that they were probably two of the Sinclairs who had arrived at the castle the day before, and he felt that they might not care for him to go out of his way to speak to them.
Presently, however, as Forester looked behind him, he noticed that the two figures were following him, or at any rate, whether they had seen him or not, they were coming in the same direction and climbing up the hill towards the castle. When he came to the stile near the keep he waited for them to come up, but he waited in vain. They were evidently not making for the castle, so after some minutes he crossed the stile and went into the courtyard. His can was standing there by the tap, just where he had put it in the morning. He filled it and was going out, when Rupert Norris, who had heard the sound of footsteps, came to the door to see who was there.
"All right," shouted Norman Forester cheerily, "I'm only getting water. I hope I haven't disturbed anybody."
"Not a bit, sir. We haven't gone to bed. Come in and warm yourself. It's chilly after the rain."
"Not tonight, thank you. It's too late. I'll come in another time, if I may. Goodnight."
Forester went out the same way he had come in, leaving the courtyard by the stile, for he wished to discover if the two figures he had seen were still in the field, but they seemed to have completely disappeared. He went inside the keep, which looked weird and ghostly in the pale moonlight. The ferrets on the wall stirred in their cages; the bats flew around him; an owl came out from the ivy growing over an ancient fireplace far overhead, but he could see nothing else. So he went in the direction of his tent, carrying with him his heavy can of water.
He felt rather an outcast when he came to the lonely headland. All his ambition to be a hermit and a recluse had died. He decided that he was not intended by nature to lead a solitary life, and he comforted himself with the recollection that in the morning he would once more be in the midst of the people whom he had just left, and would be enjoying again their companionship and cheerful society.