II
THE SURGEON OF GASTER FELL
I: HOW THE WOMAN CAME TO KIRKBY-MALHOUSE
Bleak and wind-swept is the little town of Kirkby-Malhouse, harsh andforbidding are the fells upon which it stands. It stretches in a singleline of grey-stone, slate-roofed houses, dotted down the furze-cladslope of the rolling moor.
In this lonely and secluded village, I, James Upperton, found myself inthe summer of '85. Little as the hamlet had to offer, it contained thatfor which I yearned above all things--seclusion and freedom from allwhich might distract my mind from the high and weighty subjects whichengaged it. But the inquisitiveness of my landlady made my lodgingsundesirable and I determined to seek new quarters.
As it chanced, I had in one of my rambles come upon an isolated dwellingin the very heart of these lonely moors, which I at once determinedshould be my own. It was a two-roomed cottage, which had once belongedto some shepherd, but had long been deserted, and was crumbling rapidlyto ruin. In the winter floods, the Gaster Beck, which runs down GasterFell, where the little dwelling stood, had overswept its banks and tornaway a part of the wall. The roof was in ill case, and the scatteredslates lay thick amongst the grass. Yet the main shell of the housestood firm and true; and it was no great task for me to have all thatwas amiss set right.
The two rooms I laid out in a widely different manner--my own tastes areof a Spartan turn, and the outer chamber was so planned as to accordwith them. An oil-stove by Rippingille of Birmingham furnished me withthe means of cooking; while two great bags, the one of flour, and theother of potatoes, made me independent of all supplies from without. Indiet I had long been a Pythagorean, so that the scraggy, long-limbedsheep which browsed upon the wiry grass by the Gaster Beck had little tofear from their new companion. A nine-gallon cask of oil served me as asideboard; while a square table, a deal chair and a truckle-bedcompleted the list of my domestic fittings. At the head of my couch hungtwo unpainted shelves--the lower for my dishes and cooking utensils, theupper for the few portraits which took me back to the little that waspleasant in the long, wearisome toiling for wealth and for pleasurewhich had marked the life I had left behind.
If this dwelling-room of mine were plain even to squalor, its povertywas more than atoned for by the luxury of the chamber which was destinedto serve me as my study. I had ever held that it was best for my mind tobe surrounded by such objects as would be in harmony with the studieswhich occupied it, and that the loftiest and most ethereal conditions ofthought are only possible amid surroundings which please the eye andgratify the senses. The room which I had set apart for my mystic studieswas set forth in a style as gloomy and majestic as the thoughts andaspirations with which it was to harmonise. Both walls and ceilings werecovered with a paper of the richest and glossiest black, on which wastraced a lurid and arabesque pattern of dead gold. A black velvetcurtain covered the single diamond-paned window; while a thick, yieldingcarpet of the same material prevented the sound of my own footfalls, asI paced backward and forward, from breaking the current of my thought.Along the cornices ran gold rods, from which depended six pictures, allof the sombre and imaginative caste, which chimed best with my fancy.
And yet it was destined that ere ever I reached this quiet harbour Ishould learn that I was still one of humankind, and that it is an illthing to strive to break the bond which binds us to our fellows. It wasbut two nights before the date I had fixed upon for my change ofdwelling, when I was conscious of a bustle in the house beneath, withthe bearing of heavy burdens up the creaking stair, and the harsh voiceof my landlady, loud in welcome and protestations of joy. From time totime, amid the whirl of words, I could hear a gentle and softlymodulated voice, which struck pleasantly upon my ear after the longweeks during which I had listened only to the rude dialect of thedalesmen. For an hour I could hear the dialogue beneath--the high voiceand the low, with clatter of cup and clink of spoon, until at last alight, quick step passed my study door, and I knew that my newfellow-lodger had sought her room.
On the morning after this incident I was up be-times, as is my wont; butI was surprised, on glancing from my window, to see that our new inmatewas earlier still. She was walking down the narrow pathway, whichzigzags over the fell--a tall woman, slender, her head sunk upon herbreast, her arms filled with a bristle of wild flowers, which she hadgathered in her morning rambles. The white and pink of her dress, andthe touch of deep red ribbon in her broad drooping hat, formed apleasant dash of colour against the dun-tinted landscape. She was somedistance off when I first set eyes upon her, yet I knew that thiswandering woman could be none other than our arrival of last night, forthere was a grace and refinement in her bearing which marked her fromthe dwellers of the fells. Even as I watched she passed swiftly andlightly down the pathway, and turning through the wicket gate, at thefurther end of our cottage garden, she seated herself upon the greenbank which faced my window, and strewing her flowers in front of her,set herself to arrange them.
As she sat there, with the rising sun at her back, and the glow of themorning spreading like an aureole around her stately and well-poisedhead, I could see that she was a woman of extraordinary personal beauty.Her face was Spanish rather than English in its type--oval, olive, withblack, sparkling eyes, and a sweetly sensitive mouth. From under thebroad straw hat two thick coils of blue-black hair curved down on eitherside of her graceful queenly neck. I was surprised, as I watched her, tosee that her shoes and skirt bore witness to a journey rather than to amere morning ramble. Her light dress was stained, wet and bedraggled;while her boots were thick with the yellow soil of the fells. Her face,too, wore a weary expression, and her young beauty seemed to be cloudedover by the shadow of inward trouble. Even as I watched her, she burstsuddenly into wild weeping, and throwing down her bundle of flowers ranswiftly into the house.
Distrait as I was and weary of the ways of the world, I was conscious ofa sudden pang of sympathy and grief as I looked upon the spasm ofdespair which seemed to convulse this strange and beautiful woman. Ibent to my books, and yet my thoughts would ever turn to her proudclear-cut face, her weather-stained dress, her drooping head, and thesorrow which lay in each line and feature of her pensive face.
Mrs. Adams, my landlady, was wont to carry up my frugal breakfast; yetit was very rarely that I allowed her to break the current of mythoughts, or to draw my mind by her idle chatter from weightier things.This morning, however, for once, she found me in a listening mood, andwith little prompting, proceeded to pour into my ears all that she knewof our beautiful visitor.
"Miss Eva Cameron be her name, sir," she said: "but who she be, or whereshe came fra, I know little more than yoursel'. Maybe it was the samereason that brought her to Kirkby-Malhouse as fetched you thereyoursel', sir."
"Possibly," said I, ignoring the covert question; "but I should hardlyhave thought that Kirkby-Malhouse was a place which offered any greatattractions to a young lady."
"Heh, sir!" she cried, "there's the wonder of it. The leddy has justcome fra France; and how her folk come to learn of me is just a wonder.A week ago, up comes a man to my door--a fine man, sir, and a gentleman,as one could see with half an eye. 'You are Mrs. Adams,' says he. 'Iengage your rooms for Miss Cameron,' says he. 'She will be here in aweek,' says he; and then off without a word of terms. Last night therecomes the young leddy hersel'--soft-spoken and downcast, with a touch ofthe French in her speech. But my sakes, sir! I must away and mak' hersome tea, for she'll feel lonesome-like, poor lamb, when she wakes undera strange roof."
II: HOW I WENT FORTH TO GASTER FELL
I was still engaged upon my breakfast when I heard the clatter of dishesand the landlady's footfall as she passed toward her new lodger's room.An instant afterward she had rushed down the passage and burst in uponme with uplifted hand and startled eyes. "Lord 'a mercy, sir!" shecried, "and asking your pardon for troubling you, but I'm feared o' theyoung leddy, sir; she is not in her room."
"Why, there she is," said I, standing up and glancing through thecasemen
t. "She has gone back for the flowers she left upon the bank."
"Oh, sir, see her boots and her dress!" cried the landlady wildly. "Iwish her mother was here, sir--I do. Where she has been is more than Iken, but her bed has not been lain on this night."
"She has felt restless, doubtless, and went for a walk, though the hourwas certainly a strange one."
Mrs. Adams pursed her lip and shook her head. But then as she stood atthe casement, the girl beneath looked smilingly up at her and beckonedto her with a merry gesture to open the window.
"Have you my tea there?" she asked in a rich, clear voice, with a touchof the mincing French accent.
"It is in your room, miss."
"Look at my boots, Mrs. Adams!" she cried, thrusting them out from underher skirt. "These fells of yours are dreadful places--_effroyable_--oneinch, two inch; never have I seen such mud! My dress, too--_voila_!"
"Eh, miss, but you are in a pickle," cried the landlady, as she gazeddown at the bedraggled gown. "But you must be main weary and heavy forsleep."
"No, no," she answered laughingly, "I care not for sleep. What is sleep?it is a little death--_voila tout_. But for me to walk, to run, tobreathe the air--that is to live. I was not tired, and so all night Ihave explored these fells of Yorkshire."
"Lord 'a mercy, miss, and where did you go?" asked Mrs. Adams.
She waved her hand round in a sweeping gesture which included the wholewestern horizon. "There," she cried. "O comme elles sont tristes etsauvages, ces collines! But I have flowers here. You will give me water,will you not? They will wither else." She gathered her treasures in herlap, and a moment later we heard her light, springy footfall upon thestair.
So she had been out all night, this strange woman. What motive couldhave taken her from her snug room on to the bleak, wind-swept hills?Could it be merely the restlessness, the love of adventure of a younggirl? Or was there, possibly, some deeper meaning in this nocturnaljourney?
Deep as were the mysteries which my studies had taught me to solve, herewas a human problem which for the moment at least was beyond mycomprehension. I had walked out on the moor in the forenoon, and on myreturn, as I topped the brow that overlooks the little town, I saw myfellow-lodger some little distance off amongst the gorse. She had raiseda light easel in front of her, and, with papered board laid across it,was preparing to paint the magnificent landscape of rock and moor whichstretched away in front of her. As I watched her I saw that she waslooking anxiously to right and left. Close by me a pool of water hadformed in a hollow. Dipping the cup of my pocket-flask into it, Icarried it across to her.
"Miss Cameron, I believe," said I. "I am your fellow-lodger. Upperton ismy name. We must introduce ourselves in these wilds if we are not to befor ever strangers."
"Oh, then, you live also with Mrs. Adams!" she cried. "I had thoughtthat there were none but peasants in this strange place."
"I am a visitor, like yourself," I answered. "I am a student, and havecome for quiet and repose, which my studies demand."
"Quiet, indeed!" said she, glancing round at the vast circle of silentmoors, with the one tiny line of grey cottages which sloped down beneathus.
"And yet not quiet enough," I answered, laughing, "for I have beenforced to move further into the fells for the absolute peace which Irequire."
"Have you, then, built a house upon the fells?" she asked, arching hereyebrows.
"I have, and hope within a few days to occupy it."
"Ah, but that is _triste_," she cried. "And where is it, then, thishouse which you have built?"
"It is over yonder," I answered. "See that stream which lies like asilver band upon the distant moor? It is the Gaster Beck, and it runsthrough Gaster Fell."
She started, and turned upon me her great dark, questioning eyes with alook in which surprise, incredulity, and something akin to horror seemedto be struggling for mastery.
"And you will live on the Gaster Fell?" she cried.
"So I have planned. But what do you know of Gaster Fell, Miss Cameron?"I asked. "I had thought that you were a stranger in these parts."
"Indeed, I have never been here before," she answered. "But I have heardmy brother talk of these Yorkshire moors; and, if I mistake not, I haveheard him name this very one as the wildest and most savage of themall."
"Very likely," said I carelessly. "It is indeed a dreary place."
"Then why live there?" she cried eagerly. "Consider the loneliness, thebarrenness, the want of all comfort and of all aid, should aid beneeded."
"Aid! What aid should be needed on Gaster Fell?"
She looked down and shrugged her shoulders. "Sickness may come in allplaces," said she. "If I were a man I do not think I would live alone onGaster Fell."
"I have braved worse dangers than that," said I, laughing; "but I fearthat your picture will be spoiled, for the clouds are banking up, andalready I feel a few raindrops."
Indeed, it was high time we were on our way to shelter, for even as Ispoke there came the sudden, steady swish of the shower. Laughingmerrily, my companion threw her light shawl over her head, and, seizingpicture and easel, ran with the lithe grace of a young fawn down thefurze-clad slope, while I followed after with camp-stool and paint-box.
* * * * *
It was the eve of my departure from Kirkby-Malhouse that we sat upon thegreen bank in the garden, she with dark, dreamy eyes looking sadly outover the sombre fells; while I, with a book upon my knee, glancedcovertly at her lovely profile and marvelled to myself how twenty yearsof life could have stamped so sad and wistful an expression upon it.
"You have read much," I remarked at last. "Women have opportunities nowsuch as their mothers never knew. Have you ever thought of goingfurther--of seeking a course of college or even a learned profession?"
She smiled wearily at the thought.
"I have no aim, no ambition," she said. "My future is black--confused--achaos. My life is like to one of these paths upon the fells. You haveseen them, Monsieur Upperton. They are smooth and straight and clearwhere they begin; but soon they wind to left and wind to right, and somid rocks and crags until they lose themselves in some quagmire. AtBrussels my path was straight; but now, _mon Dieu!_ who is there cantell me where it leads?"
"It might take no prophet to do that, Miss Cameron," quoth I, with thefatherly manner which two-score years may show toward one. "If I mayread your life, I would venture to say that you were destined to fulfilthe lot of women--to make some good man happy, and to shed around, insome wider circle, the pleasure which your society has given me sincefirst I knew you."
"I will never marry," said she, with a sharp decision, which surprisedand somewhat amused me.
"Not marry--and why?"
A strange look passed over her sensitive features, and she pluckednervously at the grass on the bank beside her.
"I dare not," said she in a voice that quivered with emotion.
"Dare not?"
"It is not for me. I have other things to do. That path of which I spokeis one which I must tread alone."
"But this is morbid," said I. "Why should your lot, Miss Cameron, beseparated from that of my own sisters, or the thousand other youngladies whom every season brings out into the world? But perhaps it isthat you have a fear and distrust of mankind. Marriage brings a risk aswell as a happiness."
"The risk would be with the man who married me," she cried. And then inan instant, as though she had said too much, she sprang to her feet anddrew her mantle round her. "The night air is chill, Mr. Upperton," saidshe, and so swept swiftly away, leaving me to muse over the strangewords which had fallen from her lips.
Clearly, it was time that I should go. I set my teeth and vowed thatanother day should not have passed before I should have snapped thisnewly formed tie and sought the lonely retreat which awaited me upon themoors. Breakfast was hardly over in the morning before a peasant draggedup to the door the rude hand-cart which was to convey my few personalbelongings to my new dwelling. M
y fellow-lodger had kept her room; and,steeled as my mind was against her influence, I was yet conscious of alittle throb of disappointment that she should allow me to departwithout a word of farewell. My hand-cart with its load of books hadalready started, and I, having shaken hands with Mrs. Adams, was aboutto follow it, when there was a quick scurry of feet on the stair, andthere she was beside me all panting with her own haste.
"Then you go--you really go?" said she.
"My studies call me."
"And to Gaster Fell?" she asked.
"Yes; to the cottage which I have built there."
"And you will live alone there?"
"With my hundred companions who lie in that cart."
"Ah, books!" she cried, with a pretty shrug of her graceful shoulders."But you will make me a promise?"
"What is it?" I asked, in surprise.
"It is a small thing. You will not refuse me?"
"You have but to ask it."
She bent forward her beautiful face with an expression of the mostintense earnestness. "You will bolt your door at night?" said she; andwas gone ere I could say a word in answer to her extraordinary request.
It was a strange thing for me to find myself at last duly installed inmy lonely dwelling. For me, now, the horizon was bounded by the barrencircle of wiry, unprofitable grass, patched over with furze bushes andscarred by the profusion of Nature's gaunt and granite ribs. A duller,wearier waste I have never seen; but its dulness was its very charm.
And yet the very first night which I spent at Gaster Fell there came astrange incident to lead my thoughts back once more to the world which Ihad left behind me.
It had been a sullen and sultry evening, with great livid cloud-banksmustering in the west. As the night wore on, the air within my littlecabin became closer and more oppressive. A weight seemed to rest upon mybrow and my chest. From far away the low rumble of thunder came moaningover the moor. Unable to sleep, I dressed, and standing at my cottagedoor, looked on the black solitude which surrounded me.
Taking the narrow sheep path which ran by this stream, I strolled alongit for some hundred yards, and had turned to retrace my steps, when themoon was finally buried beneath an ink-black cloud, and the darknessdeepened so suddenly that I could see neither the path at my feet, thestream upon my right, nor the rocks upon my left. I was standing gropingabout in the thick gloom, when there came a crash of thunder with aflash of lightning which lighted up the whole vast fell, so that everybush and rock stood out clear and hard in the vivid light. It was butfor an instant, and yet that momentary view struck a thrill of fear andastonishment through me, for in my very path, not twenty yards beforeme, there stood a woman, the livid light beating upon her face andshowing up every detail of her dress and features.
There was no mistaking those dark eyes, that tall, graceful figure. Itwas she--Eva Cameron, the woman whom I thought I had for ever left. Foran instant I stood petrified, marvelling whether this could indeed beshe, or whether it was some figment conjured up by my excited brain.Then I ran swiftly forward in the direction where I had seen her,calling loudly upon her, but without reply. Again I called, and again noanswer came back, save the melancholy wail of the owl. A second flashilluminated the landscape, and the moon burst out from behind its cloud.But I could not, though I climbed upon a knoll which overlooked thewhole moor, see any sign of this strange midnight wanderer. For an houror more I traversed the fell, and at last found myself back at my littlecabin, still uncertain as to whether it had been a woman or a shadowupon which I gazed.
III: OF THE GREY COTTAGE IN THE GLEN
It was either on the fourth or the fifth day after I had takenpossession of my cottage that I was astonished to hear footsteps uponthe grass outside, quickly followed by a crack, as from a stick upon thedoor. The explosion of an infernal machine would hardly have surprisedor discomfited me more. I had hoped to have shaken off all intrusion forever, yet here was somebody beating at my door with as little ceremonyas if it had been a village ale-house. Hot with anger, I flung down mybook and withdrew the bolt just as my visitor had raised his stick torenew his rough application for admittance. He was a tall, powerful man,tawny-bearded and deep-chested, clad in a loose-fitting suit of tweed,cut for comfort rather than elegance. As he stood in the shimmeringsunlight, I took in every feature of his face. The large, fleshy nose;the steady blue eyes, with their thick thatch of overhanging brows; thebroad forehead, all knitted and lined with furrows, which were strangelyat variance with his youthful bearing. In spite of his weather-stainedfelt hat, and the coloured handkerchief slung round his muscular brownneck, I could see at a glance he was a man of breeding and education. Ihad been prepared for some wandering shepherd or uncouth tramp, but thisapparition fairly disconcerted me.
"You look astonished," said he, with a smile. "Did you think, then, thatyou were the only man in the world with a taste for solitude? You seethat there are other hermits in the wilderness besides yourself."
"Do you mean to say that you live here?" I asked in no conciliatoryvoice.
"Up yonder," he answered, tossing his head backward. "I thought as wewere neighbours, Mr. Upperton, that I could not do less than look in andsee if I could assist you in any way."
"Thank you," I said coldly, standing with my hand upon the latch of thedoor. "I am a man of simple tastes, and you can do nothing for me. Youhave the advantage of me in knowing my name."
He appeared to be chilled by my ungracious manner.
"I learned it from the masons who were at work here," he said. "As forme, I am a surgeon, the surgeon of Gaster Fell. That is the name I havegone by in these parts, and it serves as well as another."
"Not much room for practice here?" I observed.
"Not a soul except yourself for miles on either side."
"You appear to have had need of some assistance yourself," I remarked,glancing at a broad white splash, as from the recent action of somepowerful acid, upon his sunburnt cheek.
"That is nothing," he answered, curtly, turning his face half round tohide the mark. "I must get back, for I have a companion who is waitingfor me. If I can ever do anything for you, pray let me know. You haveonly to follow the beck upward for a mile or so to find my place. Haveyou a bolt on the inside of your door?"
"Yes," I answered, rather startled at this question.
"Keep it bolted, then," he said. "The fell is a strange place. You neverknow who may be about. It is as well to be on the safe side. Good-bye."He raised his hat, turned on his heel and lounged away along the bank ofthe little stream.
I was still standing with my hand upon the latch, gazing after myunexpected visitor, when I became aware of yet another dweller in thewilderness. Some distance along the path which the stranger was takingthere lay a great grey boulder, and leaning against this was a small,wizened man, who stood erect as the other approached, and advanced tomeet him. The two talked for a minute or more, the taller man noddinghis head frequently in my direction, as though describing what hadpassed between us. Then they walked on together, and disappeared in adip of the fell. Presently I saw them ascending once more some risingground farther on. My acquaintance had thrown his arm round his elderlyfriend, either from affection or from a desire to aid him up the steepincline. The square burly figure and its shrivelled, meagre companionstood out against the sky-line, and turning their faces, they lookedback at me. At the sight, I slammed the door, lest they should beencouraged to return. But when I peeped from the window some minutesafterward, I perceived that they were gone.
All day I bent over the Egyptian papyrus upon which I was engaged; butneither the subtle reasonings of the ancient philosopher of Memphis, northe mystic meaning which lay in his pages, could raise my mind from thethings of earth. Evening was drawing in before I threw my work aside indespair. My heart was bitter against this man for his intrusion.Standing by the beck which purled past the door of my cabin, I cooled myheated brow, and thought the matter over. Clearly it was the smallmystery hanging over these neighbours of mine which
had caused my mindto run so persistently on them. That cleared up, they would no longercause an obstacle to my studies. What was to hinder me, then, fromwalking in the direction of their dwelling, and observing for myself,without permitting them to suspect my presence, what manner of men theymight be? Doubtless, their mode of life would be found to admit of somesimple and prosaic explanation. In any case, the evening was fine, and awalk would be bracing for mind and body. Lighting my pipe, I set offover the moors in the direction which they had taken.
About half-way down a wild glen there stood a small clump of gnarled andstunted oak trees. From behind these, a thin dark column of smoke roseinto the still evening air. Clearly this marked the position of myneighbour's house. Trending away to the left, I was able to gain theshelter of a line of rocks, and so reach a spot from which I couldcommand a view of the building without exposing myself to any risk ofbeing observed. It was a small, slate-covered cottage, hardly largerthan the boulders among which it lay. Like my own cabin, it showed signsof having been constructed for the use of some shepherd; but, unlikemine, no pains had been taken by the tenants to improve and enlarge it.Two little peeping windows, a cracked and weather-beaten door, and adiscoloured barrel for catching the rain water, were the only externalobjects from which I might draw deductions as to the dwellers within.Yet even in these there was food for thought, for as I drew nearer,still concealing myself behind the ridge, I saw that thick bars of ironcovered the windows, while the old door was slashed and plated with thesame metal. These strange precautions, together with the wildsurroundings and unbroken solitude, gave an indescribably ill omen andfearsome character to the solitary building. Thrusting my pipe into mypocket, I crawled upon my hands and knees through the gorse and fernsuntil I was within a hundred yards of my neighbour's door. There,finding that I could not approach nearer without fear of detection, Icrouched down, and set myself to watch.
I had hardly settled into my hiding place, when the door of the cottageswung open, and the man who had introduced himself to me as the surgeonof Gaster Fell came out, bareheaded, with a spade in his hands. In frontof the door there was a small cultivated patch containing potatoes, peasand other forms of green stuff, and here he proceeded to busy himself,trimming, weeding and arranging, singing the while in a powerful thoughnot very musical voice. He was all engrossed in his work, with his backto the cottage, when there emerged from the half-open door the sameattenuated creature whom I had seen in the morning. I could perceive nowthat he was a man of sixty, wrinkled, bent, and feeble, with sparse,grizzled hair, and long, colourless face. With a cringing, sidelonggait, he shuffled toward his companion, who was unconscious of hisapproach until he was close upon him. His light footfall or hisbreathing may have finally given notice of his proximity, for the workersprang round and faced him. Each made a quick step toward the other, asthough in greeting, and then--even now I feel the horror of theinstant--the tall man rushed upon and knocked his companion to theearth, then whipping up his body, ran with great speed over theintervening ground and disappeared with his burden into the house.
Case hardened as I was by my varied life, the suddenness and violence ofthe thing made me shudder. The man's age, his feeble frame, his humbleand deprecating manner, all cried shame against the deed. So hot was myanger, that I was on the point of striding up to the cabin, unarmed as Iwas, when the sound of voices from within showed me that the victim hadrecovered. The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and all was grey, savea red feather in the cap of Pennigent. Secure in the failing light, Iapproached near and strained my ears to catch what was passing. I couldhear the high, querulous voice of the elder man and the deep, roughmonotone of his assailant, mixed with a strange metallic jangling andclanking. Presently the surgeon came out, locked the door behind him andstamped up and down in the twilight, pulling at his hair and brandishinghis arms, like a man demented. Then he set off, walking rapidly up thevalley, and I soon lost sight of him among the rocks.
When his footsteps had died away in the distance, I drew nearer to thecottage. The prisoner within was still pouring forth a stream of words,and moaning from time to time like a man in pain. These words resolvedthemselves, as I approached, into prayers--shrill, voluble prayers,pattered forth with the intense earnestness of one who sees impendingand imminent danger. There was to me something inexpressibly awesome inthis gush of solemn entreaty from the lonely sufferer, meant for nohuman ear, and jarring upon the silence of the night. I was stillpondering whether I should mix myself in the affair or not, when I heardin the distance the sound of the surgeon's returning footfall. At that Idrew myself up quickly by the iron bars and glanced in through thediamond-paned window. The interior of the cottage was lighted up by alurid glow, coming from what I afterward discovered to be a chemicalfurnace. By its rich light I could distinguish a great litter ofretorts, test tubes and condensers, which sparkled over the table, andthrew strange, grotesque shadows on the wall. On the further side of theroom was a wooden framework resembling a hencoop, and in this, stillabsorbed in prayer, knelt the man whose voice I heard. The red glowbeating upon his upturned face made it stand out from the shadow like apainting from Rembrandt, showing up every wrinkle upon theparchment-like skin. I had but time for a fleeting glance; then,dropping from the window, I made off through the rocks and the heather,nor slackened my pace until I found myself back in my cabin once more.There I threw myself upon my couch, more disturbed and shaken than I hadever thought to feel again.
Such doubts as I might have had as to whether I had indeed seen myformer fellow-lodger upon the night of the thunderstorm were resolvedthe next morning. Strolling along down the path which led to the fell, Isaw in one spot where the ground was soft the impressions of a foot--thesmall, dainty foot of a well-booted woman. That tiny heel and highin-step could have belonged to none other than my companion ofKirkby-Malhouse. I followed her trail for some distance, till it stillpointed, so far as I could discern it, to the lonely and ill-omenedcottage. What power could there be to draw this tender girl, throughwind and rain and darkness, across the fearsome moors to that strangerendezvous?
I have said that a little beck flowed down the valley and past my verydoor. A week or so after the doings which I have described, I was seatedby my window when I perceived something white drifting slowly down thestream. My first thought was that it was a drowning sheep; but pickingup my stick, I strolled to the bank and hooked it ashore. On examinationit prove to be a large sheet, torn and tattered, with the initials J. C.in the corner. What gave it its sinister significance, however, was thatfrom hem to hem it was all dabbled and discoloured.
Shutting the door of my cabin, I set off up the glen in the direction ofthe surgeon's cabin. I had not gone far before I perceived the very manhimself. He was walking rapidly along the hillside, beating the furzebushes with a cudgel and bellowing like a madman. Indeed, at the sightof him, the doubts as to his sanity which had risen in my mind werestrengthened and confirmed.
As he approached I noticed that his left arm was suspended in a sling.On perceiving me he stood irresolute, as though uncertain whether tocome over to me or not. I had no desire for an interview with him,however, so I hurried past him, on which he continued on his way, stillshouting and striking about with his club. When he had disappeared overthe fells, I made my way down to his cottage, determined to find someclue to what occurred. I was surprised, on reaching it, to find theiron-plated door flung wide open. The ground immediately outside it wasmarked with the signs of a struggle. The chemical apparatus within andthe furniture were all dashed about and shattered. Most suggestive ofall, the sinister wooden cage was stained with blood-marks, and itsunfortunate occupant had disappeared. My heart was heavy for the littleman, for I was assured I should never see him in this world more.
There was nothing in the cabin to throw any light upon the identity ofmy neighbours. The room was stuffed with chemical instruments. In onecorner a small bookcase contained a choice selection of works ofscience. In another was a pile of geological specimens
collected fromthe limestone.
I caught no glimpse of the surgeon upon my homeward journey; but when Ireached my cottage I was astonished and indignant to find that somebodyhad entered it in my absence. Boxes had been pulled out from under thebed, the curtains disarranged, the chairs drawn out from the wall. Evenmy study had not been safe from this rough intruder, for the prints of aheavy boot were plainly visible on the ebony-black carpet.
IV: OF THE MAN WHO CAME IN THE NIGHT
The night set in gusty and tempestuous, and the moon was all girt withragged clouds. The wind blew in melancholy gusts, sobbing and sighingover the moor, and setting all the gorse bushes agroaning. From time totime a little sputter of rain pattered up against the window-pane. I satuntil near midnight, glancing over the fragment on immortality byIamblichus, the Alexandrian platonist, of whom the Emperor Julian saidthat he was posterior to Plato in time but not in genius. At last,shutting up my book, I opened my door and took a last look at the drearyfell and still more dreary sky. As I protruded my head, a swoop of windcaught me and sent the red ashes of my pipe sparkling and dancingthrough the darkness. At the same moment the moon shone brilliantly outfrom between two clouds and I saw, sitting on the hillside, not twohundred yards from my door, the man who called himself the surgeon ofGaster Fell. He was squatted among the heather, his elbows upon hisknees, and his chin resting upon his hands, as motionless as a stone,with his gaze fixed steadily upon the door of my dwelling.
At the sight of this ill-omened sentinel, a chill of horror and of fearshot through me, for his gloomy and mysterious associations had cast aglamour round the man, and the hour and place were in keeping with hissinister presence. In a moment, however, a manly glow of resentment andself-confidence drove this petty emotion from my mind, and I strodefearlessly in his direction. He rose as I approached and faced me, withthe moon shining on his grave, bearded face and glittering on hiseyeballs. "What is the meaning of this?" I cried, as I came upon him."What right have you to play the spy on me?"
I could see the flush of anger rise on his face. "Your stay in thecountry has made you forget your manners," he said. "The moor is free toall."
"You will say next that my house is free to all," I said, hotly. "Youhave had the impertinence to ransack it in my absence this afternoon."
He started, and his features showed the most intense excitement. "Iswear to you that I had no hand in it!" he cried. "I have never set footin your house in my life. Oh, sir, sir, if you will but believe me,there is a danger hanging over you, and you would do well to becareful."
"I have had enough of you," I said. "I saw that cowardly blow you struckwhen you thought no human eye rested upon you. I have been to yourcottage, too, and know all that it has to tell. If there is a law inEngland, you shall hang for what you have done. As to me, I am an oldsoldier, sir, and I am armed. I shall not fasten my door. But if you orany other villain attempt to cross my threshold it shall be at your ownrisk." With these words, I swung round upon my heel and strode into mycabin.
For two days the wind freshened and increased, with constant squalls ofrain until on the third night the most furious storm was raging which Ican ever recollect in England. I felt that it was positively useless togo to bed, nor could I concentrate my mind sufficiently to read a book.I turned my lamp half down to moderate the glare, and leaning back in mychair, I gave myself up to reverie. I must have lost all perception oftime, for I have no recollection how long I sat there on the borderlandbetwixt thought and slumber. At last, about 3 or possibly 4 o'clock, Icame to myself with a start--not only came to myself, but with everysense and nerve upon the strain. Looking round my chamber in the dimlight, I could not see anything to justify my sudden trepidation. Thehomely room, the rain-blurred window and the rude wooden door were allas they had been. I had begun to persuade myself that some half-formeddream had sent that vague thrill through my nerves, when in a moment Ibecame conscious of what it was. It was a sound--the sound of a humanstep outside my solitary cottage.
Amid the thunder and the rain and the wind I could hear it--a dull,stealthy footfall, now on the grass, now on the stones--occasionallystopping entirely, then resumed, and ever drawing nearer. I satbreathlessly, listening to the eerie sound. It had stopped now at myvery door, and was replaced by a panting and gasping, as of one who hastravelled fast and far.
By the flickering light of the expiring lamp I could see that the latchof my door was twitching, as though a gentle pressure was exerted on itfrom without. Slowly, slowly, it rose, until it was free of the catch,and then there was a pause of a quarter minute or more, while I stillsat silent with dilated eyes and drawn sabre. Then, very slowly, thedoor began to revolve upon its hinges, and the keen air of the nightcame whistling through the slit. Very cautiously it was pushed open, sothat never a sound came from the rusty hinges. As the aperture enlarged,I became aware of a dark, shadowy figure upon my threshold, and of apale face that looked in at me. The features were human, but the eyeswere not. They seemed to burn through the darkness with a greenishbrilliancy of their own; and in their baleful, shifty glare I wasconscious of the very spirit of murder. Springing from my chair, I hadraised my naked sword, when, with a wild shouting, a second figuredashed up to my door. At its approach my shadowy visitant uttered ashrill cry, and fled away across the fells, yelping like a beaten hound.
Tingling with my recent fear, I stood at my door, peering through thenight with the discordant cry of the fugitives still ringing in my ears.At that moment a vivid flash of lightning illuminated the wholelandscape and made it as clear as day. By its light I saw far away uponthe hillside two dark figures pursuing each other with extreme rapidityacross the fells. Even at that distance the contrast between them forbidall doubt as to their identity. The first was the small, elderly man,whom I had supposed to be dead; the second was my neighbour, thesurgeon. For an instant they stood out clear and hard in the unearthlylight; in the next, the darkness had closed over them, and they weregone. As I turned to re-enter my chamber, my foot rattled againstsomething on my threshold. Stooping, I found it was a straight knife,fashioned entirely of lead, and so soft and brittle that it was astrange choice for a weapon. To render it more harmless, the top hadbeen cut square off. The edge, however, had been assiduously sharpenedagainst a stone, as was evident from the markings upon it, so that itwas still a dangerous implement in the grasp of a determined man.
And what was the meaning of it all? you ask. Many a drama which I havecome across in my wandering life, some as strange and as striking asthis one, has lacked the ultimate explanation which you demand. Fate isa grand weaver of tales; but she ends them, as a rule, in defiance ofall artistic laws, and with an unbecoming want of regard for literarypropriety. As it happens, however, I have a letter before me as I writewhich I may add without comment, and which will clear all that mayremain dark.
"KIRKBY LUNATIC ASYLUM,
"_September 4th_, 1885.
"SIR,--I am deeply conscious that some apology and explanation is due to you for the very startling and, in your eyes, mysterious events which have recently occurred, and which have so seriously interfered with the retired existence which you desire to lead. I should have called upon you on the morning after the recapture of my father, but my knowledge of your dislike to visitors and also of--you will excuse my saying it--your very violent temper, led me to think that it was better to communicate with you by letter.
"My poor father was a hard-working general practitioner in Birmingham, where his name is still remembered and respected. About ten years ago he began to show signs of mental aberration, which we were inclined to put down to overwork and the effects of a sunstroke. Feeling my own incompetence to pronounce upon a case of such importance, I at once sought the highest advice in Birmingham and London. Among others we consulted the eminent alienist, Mr. Fraser Brown, who pronounced my father's case to be intermittent in its nature, but dangerous during the paroxysms. 'It may take a
homicidal, or it may take a religious turn,' he said; 'or it may prove to be a mixture of both. For months he may be as well as you or I, and then in a moment he may break out. You will incur a great responsibility if you leave him without supervision.'
"I need say no more, sir. You will understand the terrible task which has fallen upon my poor sister and me in endeavoring to save my father from the asylum which in his sane moments filled him with horror. I can only regret that your peace has been disturbed by our misfortunes, and I offer you in my sister's name and my own our apologies.
"Yours truly,
"J. CAMERON."