CHAPTER IV.
THE BLACK BLOW.
"Oh, Ronnie, darling," Myra asked, in a pitiful voice that went to myheart. "What can it mean? I--I--I can't see--anything at all."
"It's the sun, darling; it will be all right in a minute or two.There, lie in my arms, dear, and close your poor eyes. It will be allright soon, dearest."
I tried to comfort her, to assure her that it was just the glare onthe water, that she would be able to see again in a moment, but I feltthe pitiful inadequacy of my empty words, and it seemed that the lighthad gone out of my life. I pray that I may never again witness such aharrowing sight as that of Myra, leaning her beautiful head on myshoulder, suddenly stricken blind, doing her best to pacify her dog,who was heart-broken in the instinctive knowledge of a new, swiftgrief which he could not understand.
I must ask the reader to spare me from describing in detail theterrible agony of the next few days, when the hideous tragedy ofMyra's blindness overcame us all in its naked freshness. I cannotbring myself to speak of it even yet. I would at any time give my lifeto save Myra's sight, her most priceless possession. I make this as asimple statement of fact, and in no spirit of romantic arrogance, andI think I would rather die than live again the gnawing agony of thosedays.
I took Myra in my arms, and carried her back to the house. Poor child;she realised almost immediately that I was as dumbfounded as she washerself at the terrible blow which had befallen her, and that I had nofaith in my empty assurances that it would soon be all right again,and she would be able to see as well as ever in an hour or two, atmost. So she at once began to comfort me! I marvelled at her bravery,but she made me more miserable than ever. I felt that she might have asort of premonition that she would never see again. As we crossed thestream above the fall I saw again the reflected light from Hilderman'swindow, and a pang shot through me as I remembered her words on thatvery spot--that she would rather die than be unable to see her belovedmountains.
I clutched her in my arms, and held her closer to me in dumb despair.
"Am I very heavy, Ron, dear?" she asked presently. "If you give meyour hand, dear, I could walk. I think I could even manage without it;but, of course, I should prefer to have your hand at any time." Shegave a natural little laugh, which almost deceived me, and again Imarvelled at her pluck. I had known Myra since she was four, and Imight have expected that she would meet her tragic misfortune with asmile.
"You're as light as a feather, dearest," I protested, "and, as far asthat goes, I'd rather carry you at any time."
"I'm glad you were here when it happened, dear," she whispered.
"Tell me, darling, how did it happen?" I asked. "I mean, what did itseem like? Did things gradually grow duller and duller, or what?"
"No," she answered; "that was the extraordinary part of it. Quitesuddenly I saw everything green for a second, and then everything wentout in a green flash. It was a wonderful, liquid green, like the seaover a sand-bank. It was just a long flash, very quick and sharp, andthen I found I could see nothing at all. Everything is black now, theblack of an intense green. I thought I'd been struck by lightning.Wasn't it silly of me?"
"My poor, brave little woman," I murmured. "Tell me, where were youthen?"
"Just where you found me, on the Chemist's Rock. I call it theChemist's Rock because it's shaped like a cough-lozenge. I was castingfrom there; it makes a beautiful fishing-table. I looked up, andthen--well, then it happened."
"We're just coming to the house," said Myra suddenly. "We're justgoing to turn on to the stable-path."
"Darling!" I cried, nearly dropping her in my excitement; "you can seealready?"
"Oh, Ronnie, I'm so sorry," she said penitently. "I only knew bythe smell of the peat stacks." I could not restrain a groan ofdisappointment, and Myra stroked my face, and murmured again, "I'msorry, dearest."
"Will you please put me down now?" she asked. "If daddy saw youcarrying me to the house he'd have a fit, and the servants would gointo hysterics." So I put her tenderly on her feet, and she took myarm, and we walked slowly to the house. She could see nothing, noteven in the hazy confusion of the nearly blind; yet she walked to thehouse with as firm a step and as natural an air as if she had nothingwhatever the matter with her.
"You had better leave dad to me, Ron," she suggested. "We understandeach other, and I can explain to him. You would find it difficult, andit would be painful for you both. Just tell him that I'm not feelingvery well, and he'll come straight to me. Don't tell him I want to seehim. Give me your arm to my den, dear."
I led her to her "den," a little room opening on to the verandah.There was a writing-table in the window covered with correspondencein neat little piles, for Myra was on all the charity committees inthe county, and the rest of the room was given up to a profusion offishing tackle, shooting gear, and books. Sholto followed us, everynow and then rubbing his great head against her skirt. I left herthere, and turned into the hall, where I met the General. He hadheard us return.
"You're back early, my boy," he remarked.
"Yes," I said, taking out my cigarette-case to give myself an air ofassurance which was utterly unknown to me. "Myra is not feeling verywell. She's resting for a bit."
"Not well?" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Very unusual, very unusualindeed." And he turned straight into Myra's room without waiting foran answer to his quiet tap on the door. With a heavy heart I wentupstairs to the old schoolroom, now given over to Mary McNiven, Myra'sold nurse.
"Master Ronald! I _am_ glad," she cried, when I accepted herinvitation to "come in." Mary had boxed my ears many times in myboyhood, and the fact that we were old friends made it difficult forme to tell her my terrible news. I broke it as gently as I could, andwarned her not to alarm the servants, and very soon she wiped away hertears and went downstairs to see what she could do. I went out intothe fresh air for a moment to pull myself together, marvelling at theunreasoning cruelty of fate. I turned into the hall, and met theGeneral coming out of Myra's room. He was talking to Mary and one ofthe housemaids.
"These things often occur," he was explaining in a very matter-of-factvoice. "They are unusual, though not unheard-of, and very distressingat the time. But I am confident that Miss Myra will be quite herselfagain in a day or two. Meanwhile, she had better go to bed and rest,and take care of herself while Angus fetches Doctor Whitehouse. Nodoubt he will give her some lotion to wash her eyes with, and it willbe only a day or two before we see Miss Myra about again as usual. Youmust see that she has no light near her, and that she rests her eyesin every possible way. There is nothing whatever for you girls to getanxious or frightened about. I have seen this sort of thing before,though usually in the East."
The old man dismissed the maids, and went into the drawing-room, whileI spent a few moments with Myra. I was delighted to see the Generaltaking it so well, as I had even been afraid of his total collapse, soI took what comfort I could from his ready assurance that he was quiteaccustomed to that sort of thing. But when, some twenty minutes later,I went to look for him in the drawing-room, and found him prostrate onthe sofa, his head buried in his arms, I realised whence Myra hadderived her pluck. He looked up as he heard the door open, and tearswere streaming down his rugged old face.
"Never mind me, Ronald," he said brokenly. "Never mind me. I shall beall right in a minute. I--I didn't expect this, but I shall be allright in a minute." I closed the door softly and left him alone.
I found Angus had harnessed the pony, and was just about to start forGlenelg to fetch Doctor Whitehouse. So I told him to tell the Generalthat I should be better able to explain to the doctor what hadhappened, and, glad of the diversion, I drove in for him myself. Butwhen he arrived he made a long and searching examination, pattedMyra's head, and told her the nerve had been strained by the glare onthe water, and rest was all that was needed; and, as soon as he gotoutside her door, he sighed and shook his head. In the library he madeno bones about it, and her father and I were both grateful to him.
"It
's not a bit of use my saying I know when I don't," the doctordeclared emphatically. "I'm puzzled--indeed, I'm absolutely beaten.This is a thing I've not only never come across before, but I've nevereven read about it. This green flash, the suddenness of it, theabsence of pain--she says she feels perfectly well. She could seewonderfully well up to the second it happened; no warning headaches,and nothing whatever to account for it. I have known a sudden shock tothe system produce instantaneous blindness, such as a man in a veryheated state diving into ice-cold water. But in this case there isnothing to go by. I can only do her harm by pretending to know what Idon't know, and you know as much as I do. She must see a specialist,and the sooner the better. I would recommend Sir Gaire Olvery; thatwould mean taking her up to London. Mr. Herbert Garnesk is the secondgreatest oculist in the country; but undoubtedly Sir Gaire is first.Meanwhile I will give her a little nerve tonic; it will do her noharm, and will give her reason to think that we know how to treat her,so that it may do her good. She must wear the shade I brought her, andtake care her eyes are never exposed to the light."
"The fact that you yourself can make nothing of it is for us oragainst us?" asked the General, in an anxious voice.
He was looking haggard and tired out.
"In what way?" queried the doctor.
"I mean that if she had--er--totally lost her--the use of hereyes--for all time, could you be certain of that or not? Or canyou give us any reason to hope that the very fact of your notunderstanding the nature of the case points to her getting over it?"
"Ah," said the doctor, "I'm not going to be so unfair to you as to saythat. I will say emphatically that she has not absolutely hopelesslylost her sight. The nerves are not dead. This green veil may belifted, possibly, as suddenly as it fell; but I am talking to men, andI want you to understand that I can give no idea as to when that maybe. I pray that it may be soon--very soon."
"I'm glad you're so straightforward about it, Whitehouse," said theold man, as he sank into a chair. "I don't need to be buoyed up by anyfalse hopes. You can understand that it is a very terrible blow to Mr.Ewart and myself."
"I can indeed," said the doctor solemnly. "I brought her into theworld, you know. It is a tragic shock to me. I'll get back now, ifyou'll excuse me. I have a very serious case in the village, but I'llbe over first thing in the morning, and I'll bring you a small bottleof something with me. You'll need it with this anxiety."
"Nonsense, Whitehouse," declared the General stoutly. "I'm perfectlyall right. There's nothing at all the matter with me. I don't need anyof your begad slush."
"Now, my dear friend," said the medical man cunningly, "it's mybusiness to look ahead. In the next few days you'll be too anxious toeat, so I'm going to bring you something that will simply stimulateyour appetite and make you want to eat. It's not good for any man togo without his meals, especially when that man's getting on forsixty."
"Thank ye, my dear fellow," said the old man, more graciously."I'm sorry to be such a boor, but I thought you meant some begadtonic." The General was getting on for seventy; to be exact, he wassixty-nine--he married at forty-six--and when the medicine came hetook it, "because, after all, it was begad decent of Whitehouse tohave thought of it."
I spent a miserable night. I went to bed early, and lay awake tilldaybreak. The hideous nightmare of the green ray kept me awake formany nights to come. The General agreed with me that we must waste notime, and it was arranged that we should take Myra up to London thenext day.
"You know, Ronald," said the old man to me as we sat together afterthe mockery that would otherwise have been an excellent dinner, "Iwas particularly glad to see you to-day. I've been very worriedabout--well, about myself lately. I had an extraordinary experiencethe other day which I should never dare to relate to anyone whom Icould not absolutely rely on to believe me. I've been fidgeting forthe last month or two, and that window that you say you saw to-day hasgot very much on my nerves. I've been imagining that it's a heliographfrom an enemy encampment. Simply nerves, of course; but nerves oughtnot to account for extraordinary optical delusions or hallucinations."
"Hallucinations?" I asked anxiously. "What sort of hallucinations?"
"I hardly like to tell you, my boy," he answered, nervously twirlinghis liqueur glass in his fingers. "You see, you're young, andI'm--well, to tell you the truth, I'm getting old, and when you getold you get nerves, and they can be terrible things, nerves." I lookedup at the haggard face, drawn into deep furrows with the new troublethat had fallen on the old man, and I was shocked and startled to seea look of absolute fear in his eyes. I leaned forward, and laid myhand on his wrist.
"Tell me," I suggested, as gently as I could. He brightened at once,and patted my arm affectionately.
"I couldn't tell the little woman," he muttered. "She--she'd have beenfrightened, and she might have thought I was going mad. I couldn'tbear that. I hadn't the courage to tell Whitehouse either; but you'rea good chap, Ronald, and you're very fond of my girlie, and yourfather and I were pals, as you boys would say. I daresay it was onlya sort of waking dream, or----" He broke off and stared at thetable-cloth. I took the glass from his hand, and filled it withliqueur brandy, and put it beside him. He sipped it thoughtfully.Suddenly he turned to me, and brought his hand down on the table witha bang.
"I swear I'm not mad, Ronald!" he cried fiercely. "There must be someexplanation of it. I know I'm sane."
"What was it exactly?" I asked quietly. "Nothing on God's earth willpersuade me that you are mad, sir."
"Thank you, my boy. I'll tell you what happened to me. You won't beable to explain it, but you shall hear just what it was. You may thinkit's silly of me to get nervous of what sounds like an absurdity, butyou see it happened where--where to-day's tragedy happened."
"What Myra calls the Chemist's Rock?" I asked, by this time intenselyinterested.
"At the Chemist's Rock," he replied. "It was a lovely afternoon, justsuch an afternoon as to-day. I had been going to fish with girlie, butI was a little tired, and--er--I had some letters to write, so I saidI would meet her later in the afternoon. It was agreed we should meetat the Chemist's Rock at half-past four. I left the house about aquarter-past, and strolled down the river to the Fank Pool, crossedthe stream in the boat that lies there, and walked up the oppositebank past Dead Man's Pool towards the Chemist's Rock. I mention allthis to show you that I was feeling well enough to enjoy a stroll, anda very rocky stroll at that, because, if I hadn't been feelingperfectly fit, I should have gone up the back way past the stable, theway you came back this afternoon. So you see, I was undoubtedly quitewell, my boy. However, to get on with the tale. As soon as I came insight of our meeting-place I looked up to see if girlie had got therebefore me. She was not there. I looked further up stream, and sawSholto come tearing down over the rocks. I knew that he had seen me,and that she was following him. I naturally strolled on to go to therock--I say I went----" He broke off, and passed his hands across hiseyes.
"Yes," I said softly; "you went to the rock, and Myra met you----"
"No," he said; "I didn't. I didn't go to the rock."
"But I don't understand," I said, as he remained silent for somemoments. The old man leaned forward, and laid a trembling,fever-scorched hand on mine.
"Ronald," he said, in a voice that shook with genuine horror, and senta cold shiver down my spine, "I did not go to the rock. _The rock cameto me._"