_XXVII_
CONCLUSION
I put down the Manuscript, and glanced across at Tonnison: he wassitting, staring out into the dark. I waited a minute; then I spoke.
"Well?" I said.
He turned, slowly, and looked at me. His thoughts seemed to have goneout of him into a great distance.
"Was he mad?" I asked, and indicated the MS., with a half nod.
Tonnison stared at me, unseeingly, a moment; then, his wits came back tohim, and, suddenly, he comprehended my question.
"No!" he said.
I opened my lips, to offer a contradictory opinion; for my sense of thesaneness of things, would not allow me to take the story literally; thenI shut them again, without saying anything. Somehow, the certainty inTonnison's voice affected my doubts. I felt, all at once, less assured;though I was by no means convinced as yet.
After a few moments' silence, Tonnison rose, stiffly, and began toundress. He seemed disinclined to talk; so I said nothing; but followedhis example. I was weary; though still full of the story I hadjust read.
Somehow, as I rolled into my blankets, there crept into my mind a memoryof the old gardens, as we had seen them. I remembered the odd fear thatthe place had conjured up in our hearts; and it grew upon me, withconviction, that Tonnison was right.
It was very late when we rose--nearly midday; for the greater part ofthe night had been spent in reading the MS.
Tonnison was grumpy, and I felt out of sorts. It was a somewhat dismalday, and there was a touch of chilliness in the air. There was nomention of going out fishing on either of our parts. We got dinner, and,after that, just sat and smoked in silence.
Presently, Tonnison asked for the Manuscript: I handed it to him, and hespent most of the afternoon in reading it through by himself.
It was while he was thus employed, that a thought came to me:--
"What do you say to having another look at--?" I nodded my head downstream.
Tonnison looked up. "Nothing!" he said, abruptly; and, somehow, I wasless annoyed, than relieved, at his answer.
After that, I left him alone.
A little before teatime, he looked up at me, curiously.
"Sorry, old chap, if I was a bit short with you just now;" (just now,indeed! he had not spoken for the last three hours) "but I would not gothere again," and he indicated with his head, "for anything that youcould offer me. Ugh!" and he put down that history of a man's terror andhope and despair.
The next morning, we rose early, and went for our accustomed swim: wehad partly shaken off the depression of the previous day; and so, tookour rods when we had finished breakfast, and spent the day at ourfavorite sport.
After that day, we enjoyed our holiday to the utmost; though both of uslooked forward to the time when our driver should come; for we weretremendously anxious to inquire of him, and through him among the peopleof the tiny hamlet, whether any of them could give us information aboutthat strange garden, lying away by itself in the heart of an almostunknown tract of country.
At last, the day came, on which we expected the driver to come acrossfor us. He arrived early, while we were still abed; and, the first thingwe knew, he was at the opening of the tent, inquiring whether we had hadgood sport. We replied in the affirmative; and then, both together,almost in the same breath, we asked the question that was uppermost inour minds:--Did he know anything about an old garden, and a great pit,and a lake, situated some miles away, down the river; also, had he everheard of a great house thereabouts?
No, he did not, and had not; yet, stay, he had heard a rumor, once upona time, of a great, old house standing alone out in the wilderness; but,if he remembered rightly it was a place given over to the fairies; or,if that had not been so, he was certain that there had been something"quare" about it; and, anyway, he had heard nothing of it for a verylong while--not since he was quite a gossoon. No, he could not rememberanything particular about it; indeed, he did not know he rememberedanything "at all, at all" until we questioned him.
"Look here," said Tonnison, finding that this was about all that hecould tell us, "just take a walk 'round the village, while we dress, andfind out something, if you can."
With a nondescript salute, the man departed on his errand; while we madehaste to get into our clothes; after which, we began to preparebreakfast.
We were just sitting down to it, when he returned.
"It's all in bed the lazy divvils is, sor," he said, with a repetitionof the salute, and an appreciative eye to the good things spread out onour provision chest, which we utilized as a table.
"Oh, well, sit down," replied my friend, "and have something to eat withus." Which the man did without delay.
After breakfast, Tonnison sent him off again on the same errand, whilewe sat and smoked. He was away some three-quarters of an hour, and, whenhe returned, it was evident that he had found out something. It appearedthat he had got into conversation with an ancient man of the village,who, probably, knew more--though it was little enough--of the strangehouse, than any other person living.
The substance of this knowledge was, that, in the "ancient man's"youth--and goodness knows how long back that was--there had stood agreat house in the center of the gardens, where now was left only thatfragment of ruin. This house had been empty for a great while; yearsbefore his--the ancient man's--birth. It was a place shunned by thepeople of the village, as it had been shunned by their fathers beforethem. There were many things said about it, and all were of evil. No oneever went near it, either by day or night. In the village it was asynonym of all that is unholy and dreadful.
And then, one day, a man, a stranger, had ridden through the village,and turned off down the river, in the direction of the House, as it wasalways termed by the villagers. Some hours afterward, he had riddenback, taking the track by which he had come, toward Ardrahan. Then, forthree months or so, nothing was heard. At the end of that time, hereappeared; but now, he was accompanied by an elderly woman, and a largenumber of donkeys, laden with various articles. They had passed throughthe village without stopping, and gone straight down the bank of theriver, in the direction of the House.
Since that time, no one, save the man whom they had chartered to bringover monthly supplies of necessaries from Ardrahan, had ever seen eitherof them: and him, none had ever induced to talk; evidently, he had beenwell paid for his trouble.
The years had moved onward, uneventfully enough, in that little hamlet;the man making his monthly journeys, regularly.
One day, he had appeared as usual on his customary errand. He had passedthrough the village without exchanging more than a surly nod with theinhabitants and gone on toward the House. Usually, it was evening beforehe made the return journey. On this occasion, however, he had reappearedin the village, a few hours later, in an extraordinary state ofexcitement, and with the astounding information, that the House haddisappeared bodily, and that a stupendous pit now yawned in the placewhere it had stood.
This news, it appears, so excited the curiosity of the villagers, thatthey overcame their fears, and marched _en masse_ to the place. There,they found everything, just as described by the carrier.
This was all that we could learn. Of the author of the MS., who he was,and whence he came, we shall never know.
His identity is, as he seems to have desired, buried forever.
That same day, we left the lonely village of Kraighten. We have neverbeen there since.
Sometimes, in my dreams, I see that enormous pit, surrounded, as it is,on all sides by wild trees and bushes. And the noise of the water risesupward, and blends--in my sleep--with other and lower noises; while,over all, hangs the eternal shroud of spray.