^ o THE UNIVERSITY o as o THE tiBRARY OF o s ^ ^£ n o viNaojnv3 io o o VJIV9UV9 ViNVS 9 m\ O AilSHSAINO 3Hi O THE ONIVESSITY «i w . — O SANTA BARBARA « 1^1 O THE UNIVERSITY m j^ O SANTA BARBARA o SANTA BARBARA o ^ VIN)IOJnV3 JO O AllSd3AINn 3H1 » OF CAUFOftNIA o THE UNIVERSITY 9 p THE KBRAilY OF e Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN DEAD MAFS ROCK: 31 "g^vomancc. Q. CASSELL & COMPANY, Limited ZOXDOX, PARIS, NEW YORK, A: MELBOURNE. 1887. [all rights reserved.] UNIVERSITY GF C. • ' ORNiA SANTA BARBARA Co THE MEMORY OF ]MY FATHER I DEDICATE THIS liOOK. CONTENTS Cook I.— THE QUEST OF THE GREAT RUBY. CHAPTER I. Tells of the Strange Will of my Gkan'dfathek, page Amos Treno-sveth 1 II. Tells how my Father avent to Seek the Treasure ; AND how my Mother Heard a Cry in the Night 9 III. Tells of Two Strange Men that Watched the Sea LPOX PoLKIMKKA BeACH ..... 22 IV. Tells how a Song was Sung and a Knife Drawn UPON Dead Man's Rock ..... 38 V. Tells how the Sailor Geokgio Rhodojani gave Evidence at the "Lugger Inn" ... 48 VI. Tells how a Face Looked in at the Window of Lantrig ; AND in what Manner my Father came Home to cs . . . . . . . 05 Vll. Tells how Uncle Loveday made a Discovery ; AND WHAT THE TiN BoX CONTAINED ... 82 Vlll. Contains the First Part of my Father's Journal : SETTING FORTH HIS MEETING WITH Mr. ElIHU Sanderson, of Bomhay ; and my Grandfather's Manuscript 08 IX. — Contains the Second Part of my Father's Journal: setting forth his Adventures in the Island OF Ceylon .116 X.— Contains the Third and Last Part of my Father's Journal : setting forth the Mutiny, on Board the Belle FourvyE 148 via CONTENTS. CHAPTER XI.— Tells of the Wkiting upon the Golden Cl.\.si» ; paoe AND HOW I Took Down the Gheat Key . . 169 Boofe II.— THE FINDING OF THE GREAT RUBY. I. — Tells how Thomas Loveuay and I went in Search OF Fortune 177 II. — Tells of the Luck of the Golden Clasp . . 192 III. — Tells an Old Story in the Traditional Manner . 212 IV. — Tells how I Saw the Shadow of the Rock ; and HOW I Told and Heard News .... 225 V. — Tells how the Curtain Rose upon " Francesca : a Tragedy" 241 VI. — Tells how the Black and Yellow Fan sent a Message ; and how I Saw a Face in the Fog . 257 VII. — Tells how Claire went to the Play ; and how she Saw the Golden Clasp 272 VIII. — ^Tells how the Curtain Fell upon "Francesca: a Tragedy" . 285 IX.— Tells how Two Voices led me to Board a Schooner ; AND what Befell there ..... 299 X. — Tells in what Manner I Learnt the Secret of the Great Key ........ 312 XI. — Tells how at last I Found my Revenge and the Great Ruby 331 Dead Mans Rock §ooh I. THE QUEST OF THE GREAT EUBY. CHAPTER I. TELLS OF THE STllAXGE WILL OF MY GRANDFATHER^ AMOS TRENOWETH. Whatever claims tbis stoiy may have upon the notice of the world, they will rest on no niceties of style or aptness of illustration. It is a plain talc, plainly told : nor, as I conceive, does its native horror need any ingenious embellishment. There are many books that 1, though a man of no great erudition, can remember, which gain much of interest from the pertinent and appropriate comments with which the writer has seen fit to illustrate any striking situation. From such books an observing man may often draw the exactest rules for the regulation of life and conduct, and their authors may therefore l)e esteemed public benefactors. Among these I, Jasper Trenoweth, can claim no place ^ yet I venture to think my history will not altogether lack interest — 2 DEAD MAN\s EOCK. and this for two reasons. It deals with the last chapter (I j)vay Heaven it be the last) in the adventures of a very remarlcal^le gem — none other, in fact, than the Great Ruby of Ceylon ; and it lifts, at least in part, the veil which for some years has hidden a certain mystery of the sea. For the moral, it must be sought by the reader himself in the following pages. To make all clear, I must go back half a century, and begin with the strange and unaccountable Will made in the year of Grace 1837 by my grandfather, Amos Trenoweth, of Lantrig in the County of Cornwall. The old farm-house of Lantrig, heritage and home of the Trenoweths as far as tradition can reach, and Heaven knows how much longer, stands some few miles N.W. of the Lizard, facing the Atlantic gales from behind a scanty veil of tamarisks, on Pedn-glas, the northern point of a small sandy cove, much haunted of old by smugglers, but now left to the peaceful boats of the Polkimbra fishermen. In my grandfather's time however, if tales be true, Ready-Money Cove saw many a midnight cargo run, and many a prize of cognac and lace found its way to the cellars and store-room of Lantrig. Nay, there is a story (but for its truth I will not vouch) of a struggle between my grandfather's lugger, the Pride of Heart, and a certain Revenue cutter, and of an unowned shot that found a Preventive Officer's heart. But the whole tale remains to this day full of mystery, nor would I mention it save that it may be held to throw some light on my grandfather's sudden disappearance no long time MY GRANDFATHER. 3 after. Whither he went, none clearly knew. Folks said^ to lig^ht the French ; but when he returned sud- denly some twenty years later, he said little about sea- fights, or indeed on any other subject ; nor did many care to question him, for he came back a stern, taciturn man, apparently with no great wealth, l)ut also without seeming to want for much, and at any rate indisposed to take the world into his confidence. His father had died meanwhile, so he quietly assumed the mastership at Lantrig, nursed his failing mother tenderly until her death, and then married one of the Triggs of Mullyon, of whom was born my father, Ezekiel Trenoweth. I have hinted, AA^hat I fear is but the truth, that my grandfather had led a hot and riotous youth, fearing neither God, man, nor devil. Before his return, how- ever, he had ''got religion ^' from some quarter, and was confirmed in it by the preaching of one Jonathan Wilkins, as I have heard, a Methodist from "up the country,^^ and a powerful mover of souls. As might have been expected in such a man as my grandfather, this religion was of a joyless and gloomy order, full of anticipations of hell-fire and conviction of the sin- fulness of ordinary folk. But it undoubtedly was sincere, for his wife Philippa believed in it, and the master and mistress of Lantrig were alike the glory and strong support of the meeting-house at Polkimbra until her death. After this event, her husband shut himself up with the tortures of his own stern conscience, and was seen by few. In this dismal self-commuuino- B 2 4 DEAD MAN S BOCK. he (lied on the 27th of Octobei-, ]8o7, leavings behind him one mourner, his son Ezehiel, then a strong and comely youth of twenty-two. This brings me to my grandfather's Will, discovered amongst his papers after his death; and surely no stranger or more perplexing document was ever penned, especially as in this case any Will was unnecessary, see- ing that only one son was left to claim the inheritance. Men guessed that those dark years of seclusion and self-repression had been spent in wrestling with memories of a sinful and perhaps a criminal past, and predicted that Amos Trenoweth could not die without confession. They were partly right, from knowledge of human nature; and partly wrong, from ignorance of my grand f ather ' s chai'acter . The Will was dated ^^ June 15th, 1837,'' and ran as follows : — "/, An/OS Trenoioeth, of Lanirif/, in ike Parish of '' PoIMmLra and Counts/ of Cormcall, feeling , in this year ^' of Grace JLigliteeii Jiuudred and tJiirty-seven, tliat my ''Bodily Powers are failing and the Hour drawing near " tvhen I shall be called to account for wy Many and " Grievous Sins, do hereby make Provision for my Heath " and also for my son EzeJciel, together toith such Pescend- '' ants as may hereafter be born to him. To this my ''son Ezekiel I give and bequeath the Farm and House " of Lantrig, ivith all my Worldly Goods, and add my " earnest hope that this may suffice to sujqiort both him "and his Pescendauts in Godliness and Contentment, MY GRANDFATHERS WILL. '' knoiolng how greatly these excell the Wealth of this '' World and the Lusts of the Flesh. But, knowing also "the mutability of earthly things, I do heretjy command ''and enjoin that, if at any time He or his Descendants "be in stress and tribalation of poverty, the Head of our "Family of Trenoweth shall strictly and faithfully obey " these my Latest Directions, lie shall take ship and go " unto Bombay in India, to the house of Flihu Sanderson, " Esquire, or his Heirs, and there, presenting in person " this my last Will and Testament, together with the Holy " Bible now lying in the third draioer of my Writing Desk, " shall duly and scrupulously execute such instructions "as the said Flihu Sanderson or his Heirs shall lay upon " him. "Also I command and enjoin, under pain of my "Dying Curse, that the Iron Key now hanging from the " Middle Beam in the Front Parlour be not touched or " moved, until he toho imdertakes this Task shall have " returned and have crossed the threshold of Lantrig, "having duly performed all the said Instructions. And " farlhcrmore that the said Task be not undertaken lightly " or except in direst Need, under pain of Grievous and " Sore Affliction. This I say, knowing loell the Spiritual " and worldly Perils that shall beset such an one, and " having myself been brought near to Destruction of Body "and Soul, which latter may Christ^-^in His Mercy avert. " Thus, having eased my mind of great and pressing "Anguish, I commend my soul to God, before Whose "Judgment Bar I sliall be presently summoned to stand, 6 DEAD man's rock. " I lie greatest oj sinners, ?/et not without hope of Ever- ^' lasting Redemption , for Christ's salce. Amen. " Amos Tbexo wetii." Such was tlie Will, written on stiff parchment in crabbed and unscholarly characters, without legal forms or witnesses; but all such were needless, as I have pointed out. And, indeed, my father was wise, as I think, to show it to nobody, but go his way quietly as before, managing the farm as he had managed it during the old man's last years. Only by degrees he broke from the seclusion which had been natural to him during his parents' lifetime, so far as to look about for a wife — shyly enough at first — vmtil he caught* the dark eyes of Margery Freethy one Sunday morning in Polkimbra Church, whither he had gone of late for freedom, to the no small tribulation of the meeting- house. Now, whether this tribulation arose from the backsliding of a promising member, or the loss of the owner of Lantrig (who was at the same time unmarried) , I need not pause here to discuss. Nor is it necessary to tell how regularly Margery and Ezekiel found them- selves in church, nor how often they caught each other's eyes straying from the prayer-book. It is enough that at the year's end Margery answered Ezekiel's question, and shortly after came to Lantrig " for good." The first years of their married life must have been very happy, as I gather from the hushed joy with MY FATHER AXD MOTHER. 7 which my mother always spoke of them. I gather also that my first appearance in this world caused more delig-ht than I have ever g-iven since — God forgive me for it ! But shortly after I was four years old every- thing began to go wrong. First of all, two ships in which my father had many shares were lost at sea; then the cattle were seized with plague, and the stock gradually dwindled away to nothing. Finally, my father's bank broke — or, as we say in the West, " went scat ! ^' — and we were left all but penniless, with the prospect of having to sell Lantrig, being without stock and lacking means to replenish it. It was at this time, I have since learnt from my mother, that Amos Trenoweth's Will was first thought about. She^ poor soul ! had never heard of the parchment before, and her heart misgave her as she read of peril to soul and body sternly hinted at therein. Also, her best-beloved brother had gone down in a squall off the Cape of Good Hope, so that she always looked upon the sea as a cruel and treacherous foe, and shuddered to think of it as lying in wait for her EzekieFs life. It came to jiass, therefore, that for two years the young wife's tears and entreaties prevailed ; but at the end of this time, matters growing worse and worse, and also because it seemed hard that Lantrig should pass away from the Trenoweths while, for aught we knew, treasure was to be had for the look- ing, poverty and my father's wish prevailed, and it was determined, with the tearful assent of my mother, that he should start to seek this Elihu Sanderson, of Bombay, O DEAD MAN S ROCK. and, with good fortune, save the failing house of the Trenoweths. Only he waited until the worst of the winter was over, and then, having commended us both to the care of his aunt, Elizabeth Loveday, of Lizard Town, and provided us with the largest sum he could scrape together (and small indeed it was), he started for the port of Plymouth one woeful morning in February, and thence sailed away in the good ship Golden Wave to win his inheritance. CHAPTER II. TELLS now MY FATIIEII WENT TO SEEK THE TEEASUEE ; AND HOW MY MOTHER HEARD A CEY IN THE NIGHT. So my father sailed away, earrying" with him — sewn for safety in his jersey^s side — the AVill and the small clasped Bible ; nor can I think of stranger equijDment for the hunting- of earthly treasure. And the great iron key hung untouched from the hGi\m, while the spiders outvied one another in wreathing it with their wehs, knowing it to he the only spot in Lantrig where they were safe from my mother's broom. It is with these spiders that my recollections begin, for of my father, before he sailed away, remembrance is dim and scanty, being confined to the picture of a tall fair man, with huge shoulders and wonderful grey eyes, that changed in a moment from the stern look he must have inherited from Amos to all extraordinary depth of love and sympathy. Also I have some faint memories of a pig, named Eleazar (for no well-explained reason), which fell over the cliff one night and a^voke the house- hold with its cries. But this I mention only because it happened, as I learn, before my father^s going, and not for any connection Avith my story. We must have 10 DEAD man's rock. lived a very quiet life at Laiitrig", even as lives g-o on our Western coast. I remember my mother now as she went softly about the house contriving and seheming- to make the two ends of our small possessions meet. She was a woman who always walked softly, and, indeed, talked so, with a low musical voice such as I shall never hear again, nor can ever hope to. But I remember her best in church, as she knelt and prayed for her absent husband, and also in the meeting'-house, which she sometimes attended, more to please Aunt Elizabeth than for any good it did her. For the re- ligion there was too sombre for her quiet sorrow ; and often I have seen a look of awful terror possess her eyes when the young minister gave out the hymn and the fervitl congregation wailed forth — " 111 midst of life wo are iii deatli, Oil ! stretch Tliiuo arm to save, Amid the storm's tumultuous breath Aud roaring of the wave," which, among a fishing population, was considered a particularly approjoriate hymn j and, truly, to hear the unction with which the word " tu-mult-u-ous " was rendered, with all strength of lung and rolling of syllables, was moving enough. But my mother would grow all white and trembling, and clutch my hand sometimes, as though to save herself from shipwreck ; whilst I too often would be taken with the passion of the chant, and join lustily in the shouting, only half MY EDUCATION. 11 comprehending her mortal anguish. It was this, per- haj)S, and many another such scene, which drew upon me her gentle reproof for pointing one day to the text above the pulpit and repeating, " How dreadful is this place ! " But that was after I had learned to spell. It had always been my father's wish that I should grow up " a scholar,^' which, in those days, meant amongst us one who could read and write with no more than ordinary difficulty. So one of my mother's chief cares was to teach me my letters, which I learnt from big A to "^Ampusand'' in the old hornbook at Lan- trig. I have that hornbook still, " eoverecl with pelhicid lioru, To save from fiugers wet the letters fair." The horn, alas ! is no longer pellucid, but dim, as if with the tears of the many generations that have struggled through the alphabet and the first ten numerals and reached in due course the haven of the Lord's Prayer and Doxology. I had passed the Doxology, and was already deep in the '^ Pilgrim's Progress " and the " Holy AVar " (which latter book, with the rude taste of childhood, I greatly pre- ferred, so that I quickly knew the mottoes and stan- dards of its bewildering hosts by heart), when my father's first letter came home. In those days, before the great canal was cut, a voyage to the East Indies was no light matter, lying as it .did around the 1^ DEAD MAN^S ROCK. treacherous Cape and through seas where a ship may lie becalmed for weeks. So it was little wonder that my father''s letter^ written from Bombay^ was some time on its way. Still, wlien the news came it was good. He had seen Mr. Elihu Sanderson, son of the Elihu mentioned in my grandfather^s Will, had presented his parchment and Testament, and received some notes (most of which he sent home), together with a sealed packet, directed in Amos Trenoweth^s handwriting : " To THE Son of my House, who, having Counted ALL the Perils, is Resolute.-'^ This packet, my father went on to say, contained much mysterious matter, which would keep until he and his dear wife met. He added that, for himself, he could divine no peril, nor any cause for his dear wife to trouble, seeing that he had but to go to the island of Ceylon, whence, having accomplished the commands contained in the packet, he purposed to take ship and return with all speed to England. This was the substance of the letter, wrapped around with many endearing words, and much tender solicitude for Margery and the little one, as that he hoped Jasper was tackling his letters like a real scholar, and comforting his mother's heart, with more to this effect; which made us weej) very sorrowfully when the letter was read, although we could not well have told why. As to the sealed packet, my father would have been doubtless more explicit had he been without a certain distrust of letters and letter-carriers, which, amid much faith in the miraculous powers of the Post WE HEAR TIDINGS. 13 Oflico, 1 ]iav(' IvMowii to exist amono- us even in these later days. Than tlii-- liksscd letter surely- no written sheet was ever more n^vl and re-read ; read to me every iiii>ht before jorayers y^re said, read to Aunt Elizabeth and Uncle Loveday, read (in extracts) to all the neig-hbonrs of Polkimbra, for none knew certainly why Ezekiel had gone to India except that, somewhat vaguely, it was to '' better hisself /^ How many times my mother read it, and kissed it, and cried over it, God alone knows ; I only know that her step, which had been failing of late, grew firmer, and she went about the house with a light in her face like " the face of an angel /^ as the vicar said. It may have been : I have never since seen its like upon earth. After this came the great joy of sending an answer, which I wrote (with infinite pains as to the capital letters) at m}- mother's dictation. And then it was read over and corrected, and added to, and finally directed, as my father had instructed us, to " Mr. Ezekiel Trenoweth ; care of John P. Eversleigh, Esq., of the East India Company^s Service, Colombo, Ceylon.'^ I remember that my mother sealed it with the red cornelian Ezekiel had given her when he asked her to be his wife, and took it with her own hands to Penzance to post, having, for the occasion, harnessed old Pleasure in the cart for the first time since we had been alone. Then we had to wait again, and the little store of money grew small indeed. But Aunt • Elizabeth was a 14 DEAD man's rock. wonderful contriver^ and tender of heart besides, al- though in most things to be called a "hard''' woman. She had married, during my grandfather's long absence. Dr. Loveday, of Lizard Town — a mild little man with a prodigious vanity in brass buttons, and the most terrific religious beliefs, which did not in the least alter his natural sweetness of temper. My aunt and uncle (it was impossible to think of them except in this order) would often drive or walk over to Lantrig, seldom without some little present, which, together with my aunt's cap-box, would emerge from the back seat, amid a (luelio something after this fashion : — My Aunt. — " So, my dear, we tliougbt as we were driving in tliis direction we woiild see how yon were getting on; and by great good fortune, or rather as I should say (Jasper, do not hang your head so ; it looks so deceitful) by the will of Heaven (and Heaven's will be done, you know, my dear, which must be a great comfort to you in your sore atfliction), as Cyrus was driving into Cadgwith yesterday — were you not, Cyrus? " My Uncle. — " To be sure, my dear." My Aunt. — " "Well, as I was saying, as Cyrus was driving into Cadgwith yesterday to see Martha George's hus- band, who was run over by the Helstou coach, and she suck a regular attendant at the Prayer- meeting, but in the midst of life (Jasper, don't fidget) — well, whom should he see but Jane Ann Collins, with the finest i^air of ducks, too, and costing a mere nothing. Cyrus will bear me out." My Uncle. — " Nothing at all, my dear. Jasper, come here and talk to mo. Do you know, Jasper, what happens THE SECOND LETTER. 15 to little boys that tell lies ? Tou do r Some- thing terrible, eh ? Soul's perdition, my boy ; soul's ev-er-last-ing perdition. There, come and show me the pig." What agonies of conscience it must have cost these two good souls thus to conspire together f(^v benevolence, none ever knew. Nor was it less pathetic that the fraud was so hollow and transparent. I doubt not that the sin of it was washed out with self-reproving tears^ and cannot think that they were shed in vain. So the seasons passed, and we waited, till in the late summer of 1849 (my father having been away nineteen months) there came another letter to say that he was about to start for home. He had found what he sought, so he saidj but could not rightly understand its value, or, indeed, make head or tail of it by himself, and dared not ask strangers to help him. Perhaps, how- ever, Avhen he came home, Jasper (who was such a scholar) would help him ; and maybe the key would be some aid. For the rest, he had been stricken with a fever — a malady common enough in those j)arts — but was better, and would start in something over a week, in the Belle Fortune,^ barque of some 650 tons register, homeward bound with a cargo of sugar, spices, and coffee, and having a crew of about eighteen hands, with, he thought, one or two passengers. The letter was full of strong hope and love, so that my mother, who trembled a little when she read about the fever, plucked np courage to smile again towards the close. The ship 16 DKAD man's liOCK. would he due about October, or perhaps Novem- ber. So once more we had to resume our weary wait- ing-^ but this time with f^lad hearts, for we knew that before Christmas the days of anxiety and yearning would be over. The long summer drew to a glorious and g-olden September, and so faded away in a veil of grey sky ; and the time of Avatching was nearly done. Through September the skies had been without cloud, and the sea almost breathless, but with the coming of October came dirty weather and a strong sou'-westerly wind, that gathered day by day, until at last, upon the evening of October 11th, it broke into a gale. My mother for days had been growing more restless and anxious with the growing wind, and this evening had much ado to sit quietly and endure. I remembered that as the storm raged without and tore at the door-hinges, while the rain lashed and smote the tamarisk branches against the panes, I sat by her knee before the kitchen fire and read bits from my favourite '^ Holy War," which, in the pauses of the storm, she would explain to me. I was mvich put to it that night, I recollect, by the questionable morality at one point of Captain Credence, who in general was my favourite hero, dividing that honour with General Boanerges for the most part, but exciting more sympathy by reason of his wound — so grievously I misread the allegory, or rather saw no allegory at all. So my mother explained A WILD NIGHT. 17 it to me, thong-li all the while, poor creature, her heart was racked with terror for her Mansoul, beaten, perhaps, at that moment from its body by the fury of that awful night. Then wheii the fable's meanin^g was explained, and my difficulty smoothed away, we fell to talking of father's home-coming, in vain endeavours to cheat ourselves of the fears that rose again with every angry bellow of the tempest, and agreed that his ship could not possibly be due yet (rejoicing at this for the first time), but must, we feigned, be lying in a dead calm off the West Coast of Africa ; until we almost laughed — God pardon us ! — at the picture of his anxiety to be home while such a storm was raa'ing' at the doors of Lantrig. And then I listened to wonderful stories of the East Indies and the marvels that men found there, and wondered whether father would In-ing home a parrot, and if it would be as like Aunt Loveday as the parrot down at the " Lugger Inn,'' at Polkimbra, and so crept up- stairs to bed to dream of Captain Credence and parrots, and the " Lugger Inn " in the city of Mansoul, as though no fiends were shouting without and whirling sea and sky together in one deviFs cauldron. How long I slept I know not; but I woke with the glare of a candle in my eyes, to see my mother, all in white, standing by the bed, and in her eyes an awful and soul-sickening horror. " Jasper, Jasper ! wake up and listen \" I suppose I must have been still half asleep, for I c 18 DEAD man's rock. lay looking at her with dazzled sights not rightly know- ing whether this vision were real or part of my strange dreams. ^' Jasper, for the love of God wake up ! ^' At this, so full were her words of mortal fear, I shook off my drowsiness and sat up in bed, wide awake now and staring at the strange apparition. My mother was white as death, and trembling so that the caudle in her hand shook to and fro, casting wild dancing shadows on the wall behind. " Oh, Jasper, listen, listen ! '^ I listened, but could hear nothing save the splash- ing of spray and rain upon my window, and above it the voice of the storm ; now moaning as a creature in pain, now rising and growing into an angry roar whereat the whole house from chimney to base shook and shuddered, and anon sinking slowly with loud sobbings and sighings as though the anguish of a million tortured souls were borne down the blast. " Mother, I hear nothing but the storm." " Nothing but the storm ! Oh, Jasper, are you sure you hear nothing but the storm ? " " Nothing else, mother, though that is bad enough/'' She seemed relieved a little, but still trembled sadly, and caught her breath with every fresh roar. The tempest had gathered fury, and was now raging as though Judgment Day were come, and earth about to be blotted out. For some minutes we listened almost motionless, but heard nothing save the furious WE HEAR THE CRY. 19 elements ; and, indeed, it was hard to believe that any sound on earth could be audible above such a din. At last I turned to my mother and said — " jNIother dear, it is nothing but the storm. You were thinking- of father, and that made you nervous. Go back to bed — it is so cold here — and try to go to sleep. What was it you thought you heard ? " " Dear Jasper, you are a good boy, and I suppose you are right, for you can hear nothing, and I can hear nothing now. But, oh, Jasper ! it was so terrible, and I seemed to hear it so plainly; though I daresay it was only my Oh, God ! there it is again ! listen ! listen ! " This time I heard — heard clearly and immistak- ably, and, hearing, felt the blood in my veins turn to very ice. Shrill and distinct above the roar of the storm, which at the moment had somewhat lulled, there rose a prolonged wail, or rather shriek, as of many human voices rising slowly in one passionate appeal to the mercy of Heaven, and dying away in sobbing, shudder- ing despair as the wild blast broke out again with the mocking laughter of all the fiends in the pit — a cry without similitude on earth, yet surely and awfully human ; a cry that rings in my ears even now, and will continue to ring vmtil I die. I sprang from bed, forced the window open and looked out. The wind Hung a drenching shower of spray over my face and thin night-dress, then tore c 2 20 DEAD MAN^S ROCK. past up the hill. I looked and listeued^ but nothing could be seen or heard ; no blue light, nor indeed any light at all; no cry, nor gun, nor signal of distress — nothing but the howling of the wind as it swept up from the sea, the thundering of the surf upon the beach below ; and all around, black darkness and impenetrable night. The blast caught the lattice from my hand as I closed the window, and banged it furiously. I turned to look at my mother. She had fallen forward on her knees, with her arms Hung across the bed, speechless and motionless, in such sort that I speedily grew possessed with an awful fear lest she should be dead. As it was, I could do nothing but call her name and try to raise the dear head that hung so heavily down. Remember that I was at this time not eight years old, and had never before seen a fainting fit, so that if a sight so like to death bewildered me it was but natural. How long the fit lasted I cannot say, but at last, to my great joy, my mother raised her head and looked at me with a puzzled stare that gradually froze again to horror as recollection came back. " Oh, Jasper, what could it be? — what could it be?" Alas ! I knew not, and yet seemed to know too well. The cry still rang in my ears and clamoured at my heart ; while all the time a dull sense told me that it must have been a dream, and a dull desire bade me believe it so. " Jasper, tell me — it cannot have been " She stopped as our eyes met, and the terrible sus- WHAT ? 21 picion grew aud niiisteved us^, mimbiugj rreezing', para- lysing" tlie life within us. I tried to answer, but turned my bead away. My mother sank once more upon her knees, weeping-, praying, despairing, wailing, while the storm outside continued to moan and sob its passionate litany. 22 CHAPTER III. TELLS OF TWO STRANGE MEN THAT WATCHED THE SEA UPON P0LKIMI3RA BEACH. Morning came at last, and with the first grey light the storm had spent its fury. By degrees my mother had grown calmer, and was now sleeping peacefully upon her bed, worn out with the joassion of her terror. I had long ago dressed ; but even had I wished to sleep again, curiosity to know the meaning of that awful cry would have been too strong for me. So, as soon as I saw that my mother was asleep, I took my boots in my hand and crept down-stairs. The kitchen looked so ghostly in the dim light, that I had almost resolved to give up my plan and go back, but reflected that it behoved me to play the man, if only to be able to cheer mother when I came back. So, albeit with my heart in my mouth, I drew back the bolt — that surely, for all my care, never creaked so loudly before or since — and stepped out into the cool air. The fresh breeze that smote my cheeks as I sat down outside to put on my boots brought me back to the every-day world — a world that seemed to make the events of the night unreal and baseless, so that I had, with boyish elasticity of temper, almost forgotten all fear as I began to descend the cliff towards Ready- Money Cove. THE ROCK. 23 Before I g'o any further, it will bo necessary to describe iu a few words that part of the coast which is the scene of my story. Lantrig-, as I have said, looks down upon Ready-Money Cove from the summit of Pedn-glas, its northern arm. The cove itself is narrow, running iu between two scarred and rugged walls of serpentine, and terminatiug in a little beach of whitest sand beneath a frowning and precipitous cliff. It is easy to see its value in the eyes of smugglers, for not only is the cove difficult of observation from the sea, l)y reason of its straitness and the protection of its pro- jecting arms, but the height and abruptness of its cliffs also give it seclusion from the land side. For Pedn-glas on the north rises sheer from the sea, sloping down- wards a little as it runs in to join the mainland, but only enough to admit of a rough and winding path at its inmost point, while to the south the cove is guarded by a strange mass of rock that demands a somewhat longer description. For some distance the cliff ran out as on the north side, but, suddenly breaking off as if cleft by some gigantic stroke, left a gloomy column of rock, attached to it only by an isthmus that stood some six or seven feet above high-water mark. This separate mass went by the name of Dead Man's Rock — a name dark and dreadful enough, but in its derivation inno- cent, having been but Dodmen, or " the stony head- land,''' until common speech perverted it. For this reason I suppose I ought not to call it Dead Man's 24 DEAD man's rock. llock, the " Rock " being superfluous^ Lut I give it the name by which it has always been known, being to a certain extent suspicious of those anticpiarian gentlemen that sometimes, in their eagerness to restore a name, would deface a tradition. Let me return to the rock. Under the neck that joins it to the main cliff there runs a natural tunnel, which at low water leads to the long expanse of Pol- kimbra Beach, with the village itself lying snugly at its further end ; so that, standing at the entrance of this curious arch, one may see the little town, with the purple cliffs behind framed between walls of glistening serpentine. The rock is always washed by the sea, except at low water during the spring tides, though not reaching out so far as Pedn-glas. In colour it is mainly black as night, but is streaked with red stains that bear an awful likeness to blood; and, though it may be climbed — and I myself have done it more than once in search of eggs — it has no scrap of vegetation save where, upon its summit, the gulls build their nests on a scanty patch of grass and wild asparagus. By the time I had crossed the cove, the western sky was brilliant with the reflected dawn. Above the cliffs behind, morning had edged the flying wrack of indigo clouds with a glittering line of gold, while the sea in front still heaved beneath the pale yellow light, as a child sobs at intervals after the first gust of passion is over-past. The tide was at the ebb, and the fresh breeze dropped as I got under the shadow of Dead jNIan^s I ft[AKE A DISCOVERY. 25 Rock and looked tlirougli the archway on to Polkimbra Sands. Not a soul was to be seen. The long" stretch of beach had scarcely yet caught the distinctness of day, but was already beginning to glisten with the gathering" light, and, as far as I could see, was desolate. I passed tlirough and clambered out towards the south side of the rock to watch the sea, if perchance some bit of floating' wreckage might explain the mystery of last night. 1 could see nothing-. Stay ! What was that on the ledge below me, lying" on the brink just above the receding" wave ? A sailor's cap ! Somehow, the sight made me sick with horror. It must have been a full minute before I dared to o])en my eyes and look again. Yes, it was there ! The cry of last night rang again in my ears with all its supreme agony as I stood in the presence of this silent witness of the dead — this rag of clothing that told so terrible a history. Child as I was, the silent terror of it made me faint and giddy. I shut my eyes again, and clung, all trembling, to the ledge. Not for untold bribes could I have gone down and touched that terrible thing, but, as soon as the first sjiasm of fear was over, I clambered desperately back and on to the sands again, as though all the souls of the drowned were pursuing mo. Once safe upon the beach, I recovered my scattered wits a little. I felt that I could not repass that dreadful 26 DEAD man's EOCK. rock, so determined to go across the sands to Pol- kimbra, and homewards around the cliffs. Still gazing- at the sea as one fascinated, I made along the length of the beach. The storm had thrown up vast quantities of weed, that lined the water's edge in straggling lines and heaps, and every heap in turn chained and riveted my shuddering eyes, that half expected to see in each some new or nameless horror. I was half across the beach, when suddenly I looked up towards Polkimbra, and saw a man advancing to- wards me along the edge of the tide. He was about two hundred yards from me when I first looked. Heartily glad to see any human being after my great terror, I ran towards him eagerly, think- ing to recognise one of my friends among the Pol- kimbra fishermen. As I drew nearer, however, without attracting his attention — for the soft sand muffled all sound of footsteps — two things struck me. The first was that I had never seen a fisherman dressed as this man was ; the second, that he seemed to watch the sea with an absorbed and eager gaze, as if expecting to find or see something in the breakers. At last I was near enough to catch the outliue of his face, and knew him to be a stranger. He wore no hat, and was dressed in a red shirt and trousers that ended in rags at the knee. His feet were bare, and his clothes clung dripping to his skin. In height he could not have been much above five feet six inches, but his shoulders were broad, and his whole A STRANGE MAN. 27 appearance^ cold and exhausted as he seemed, gave evidence of great strength. His tangled hair hung over a somewhat weak face, hut the most curious feature ahout the man was the air of nervous expecta- tion that marked, not only his face, but every move- ment of his body. Altogether, under most circum- stances, I should have shunned him, but fear had made me desperate. At the distance of about twenty yards I stopped and called to him. I had advanced somewhat obliquely from behind, so that at the sound of my voice he turned sharply round and faced me, but with a terrified start that was hard to account for. On seeing^ ow\y a child, however, the hesitation faded out of his eyes, and he advanced towards me. As he approached, I could see that he was shivering with cold and hunger. " Bo}'," he said, in an eager and expectant voice, " what are you doing out on the beach so early ? " " Oh, sir ! " I answered, " there was such a dreadful storm last night, and we — that is, mother and I — heard a cry, we thought ; and oh ! I have seen " " What have you seen ? ^' — and he caught me by the arm with a nervous grip. ''Only a cap, sir," I said, shrinking — " only a cap ; but I climbed up on Dead Man's Rock just now — the rock at the end of the beach — and I saw a cap lying there, and it seemed " " Come alon"- and show it to me ! " and he beo'an 28 DEAD JFAn's rock. to run over the sands towards the rock, dragging" me helpless after him. Suddenly he stopped. " You saw nothing else ? " he asked, facing round and looking into my 63^68. '' No, sir.'^ " Nor anybody ? " " Nobody, sir.'' " You are sure you saw nobody lint me ? You didn't happen to see a tall man with black hair, and rings in his ears ? " " Oh, no, sir." '^Y^ou'll swear you saw no such man? Swear it now; say, ' So help me, God, I haven't seen anybody on the beach but you.' " I swore it. " Say, ' Strike me blind if I have ! ' " I repeated the vv^ords after him, and, with a hurried look around, he set off running again towards the rock. I had much ado to keep from tumbling, and even from crying aloud with pain, so tight Avas his grip. Fast as we went, the man's teeth chattered and his limbs shook; his wet clothes flapped and fluttered in the cold morning breeze ; his face was drawn and pinched with exhaustion, but he never slackened his pace until we reached Dead Man's Rock. Here he stopped and looked around again. " Is there any place to hide in hereabouts ? " he suddenly asked. ON THE LEDGE. 29 The oddness of the question took mc aback : and, indeedj the whole conduct of the man was so strange that I was heartily frightened, and longed greatly to run away. There was no help for it, however, so 1 made shift to answer — " There is a nice cave in Ready-Money Cove, which is the next cove to this, sir. The smugglers used to use it because it was hidden so, but '^ I suppose my eyes told him that I was wondering why he should want to hide, for he broke in again — "Well, show me this cap. Out on the face of this rock, you say — what^s the name ? Dead Man^s Rock, eh ? AVell, it^s an ugly name enough, and an ugly rock enough ! ''•' he added, with a shiver. I climbed up the rock, and he after me, until we gained the ledge where I had stood before. I looked down. The cap was still lying there, and the tide had ebbed still further. My companion looked for a moment, then, with a short cry, scrambled quickly down and picked it up. To me it had looked like any ordinary sailor's cap, but he examined it, fingered it, and pulled it about, mutter- ing all the time, so that I imagined it must be his own, though at a loss to know why he made so much of recovering it. At last he climbed up again, holding it in his hands, and still muttering to himself — " His cap, sure enough ; nothing in it, though. But he was much too clever a devil. However, he^s gone right enough ; I knew he must, and this proves it, 30 DEAD MAN^S ROCK. curse him ! Well, 1^11 wear it. He's not left beliiiid as much as he thought, but mad enough he'd be to think I was his heir. I'll wear it for old acquaint- ance' sake. Sit down, boy/' he said aloud to me; " we're safe here, and can't be seen. I want to talk with you." The rocky ledge on which we stood was about seven feet long and three or four in breadth. On one side of it ran down the path by which we had ascended ; the other end broke off with a sheer descent into the sea of some forty feet in the present state of the tide. High above us rose an unscaleable cliff; at our feet lay a short descent to the ledge on which the cap had rested, and after that another precipice. It was not a pleasant position in which to be left alone with this strange com- panion, but I was helpless, and perhaps the trace of weakness and a something not altogether evil in his face, gave me some courage. Little enough it was, however, and in mere desperation I sat down on the side by the path. My companion flung himself down on the other side, with his legs dangling over the ledge, and so sat for a minute or two watching the sea. The early sun was now up, and its oblique rays set the waves dancing with a myriad points of fire. Above us the rock cast its shadow into the green depths below, making them seem still greener and deeper. To my left I could see the shining sands of Polkimbra, still desolate, and, beyond, the purple line of cliffs towards Kynance ; on my right the rock hid everything from 1 TELL MY NAME. 31 vieWj except the open sea and the gulls returning after the tempest to inspect and pry into the fresh masses of weed and wreckage. I looked timidly at my com- panion. He was still gazing out towards the sea, apparently deep in thought. The cap was on his head, and his legs still dangled, while he muttered to himself as if unconscious of my presence. Presently, however, he turned towards me. " Got anything to eat ? '' I had forgotten it in my terror, but I had, as I crossed the kitchen, picked up a hunch of bread to serve me for breakfast. This, with a half-apologetic air, as if to deprecate its smallness, I produced from my pocket and handed to him. He snatched it without a word, and ate it ravenously, keeping his eye fixed upon me in the most embarrassing way. '^ Got any more ? '' I was obliged to confess I had not, though sorely afraid of displeasing him. He turned still further towards me, and stared without a word, then suddenly spoke again. " What is your name ? " Truly this man had the strangest manner of questioning. However, I answered him duly — " Jasper Trenoweth." " God in heaven ! AVhat ? " He had started forward, and was staring at me with a wild surprise. Unable to comprehend why my name should have this effect on him, but hopeless of 32 DEAD MAN^S EOCK. understanding this extraordinary man's behaviour^ I re- peated the two words. His face had turned to an ashy white^ but he slowly took his eyes off me and turned them upon the sea, almost as though afraid to meet mine. There was a pause. '' Father ])y any ehanee answering- to the name of Ezekiel— Ezeldel Trenoweth ? " Even in my fright I can remember being struck with this strange way of speaking, as though my father were a dog ; but a new fear had gained possession of me. Dreading to hear the answer, yet wildly anxious, I cried — " Oh, yes. Do you know him ? He was coming home from Ceylon, and mother was so anxious ; and then, what with the storm last night and the cry that we heard, we were so frightened ! Oh ! do you know — do you think " My words died away in terrified entreaty ; but he seemed not to hear me. Still gazing out on the sea, he said — " Sailed in the Belle Fortune, barque of 600 tons, or thereabouts, bound for Port of Bristol? Oh, ay, I knew him — knew him w^ell. And might this here place be Lantrig ? " '' Our house is on the clifE above the next cove,^^ I replied. " But, oh ! please tell me if anything has happened to him ! " *^And why should anything have happened to THE STRANGE MAN IS LOGICAL. 33 Ezekiol Trenowetli ? That^s what I want to know. Wliy slioukl anything have happened to him ? " He was still watching the waves as they (lanced and twinkled in the sun. He never looked towards me, but plucked with nervous fingers at his torn trousers. The gulls hovered around us with melancholy cries, as they wheeled in graceful circles and swooped down to their prey in the depths at our feet. Presently he spoke again in a meditative, far-away voice — "Ezekiel Treuoweth, fair, broad, and six foot two in his socks ; why should anything have happened to him ? " " But you seem to know hiui, and know the ship he sailed in. Tell me — please tell me what has hap- pened. Did you sail in the same ship? And, if so, what has become of it ? " " I sailed,^^ said my companion, still examining the horizon, '^from Ceylon on the l£th of July, in the ship Marij Jane, bound for Liverpool. Consequently, if Ezekiel Trenowetli sailed in the Belle Fortune we couldn't very well have been in the same ship, and that's logic," said he, turning to me for the first time with a watery and uncertain smile, but quickly with- drawing his eyes to their old occupation. But he had lifted a great load from my heart, so that for very joy at knowing my father was not among the crew of the Mart) Jane I could not speak for a time, but sat watching his face, and thinking how I should question him next. 34 DEAD man's rock. " Sailed in the Mary Jane, bound for Liverpool/' lie repeated, his face twitching- slig-htly, and his hands still plucking- at his trousers, '' sailed along with — never mind who. And this boy's Ezekiel Trenoweth's son, and I knew him ; knew him well." His voice was husky, and he seemed to have something in his throat, but he went on : " Well, it's a strange world. To think of him being dead!" looking at the cap — which he had taken off his head. " What ! Father dead ? " ^' No, my lad, t'other chap : him as this cap be- longed to. Ah, he was a devil, he was. Can't fancy him dead, somehow ; seemed as though the water wasn't made as could have drowned him; always said he was born for the gallows, and joked about it. But he's gone this time, and I've got his cap. 'Tis a hard thought that I should outlive him; but, curse him, I've done it, and here's his cap for proof — why, what the devil is the lad staring at ? " During his muttered soliloquy I had turned for a moment to look across Polkimbra Beach, when suddenly my eyes were arrested and my heart again set violently beating by a sight that almost made me doubt whether the events of the morning were not still part of a wild and disordered dream. For there, at about fifty yards' distance, and advancing along the breakers' edge, was another man, dressed like my companion, and also watching the sea. '^ What's the matter, boy ? Speak, can't you ? " AXOTIIEU. 35 " It's a man." " A man ! Where ? " He made a motion forwards to look over the edg-e, but cheeked himself, and crouched down close against the rock. "Lie down!'' he murmured in a hoarse whisper. " Lie down low and look over." My arm was clutched as thoug-h by a vice. I sank down flat^ and peered over the edge. '* It's a man/' I said, " not fifty yards off, anil coming this way. He has on a red shirt, and is watch- ing the sea just as you did. I don't think that he saw us." " For the Lord's sake don't move. Look ; is he tall and dark?" His terrified excitement was dreadful, I thought I should have had to shriek with paiu, so tightly he clutched me, but found voice to answer — " Yes, he seems tall, and dark too, though I can't well see at " " Has he got earrings ? " "I can't see ; but he walks with a stoop, and seems to have a sword or something slung round his waist." "God defend us! that's he! Curse him, curse him ! Lie down — lie down, I say ! It's tleath if he catches sight of us." We cowered against the rock. jNIy companion's face was livid, and his lips worked as though fingers were plucking at them, but made no sound. I never D 2 36 DEAD MAN^S ROCK. saw such abject, hopeless terror. We waited thus for a full minute^ and then I peered over the ledge again. He was almost directly beneath us now, and was still watching the sea. At his side hung a short sheath, empty. I could not well see his face, but the rings in his ears glistened in the sunlight. I drew back cautiously, for my companion was plucking at my jacket. " Listen,''^ he said — and his hoarse voice was sunk so low that I could scarcely catch his words — '' Listen. If he catches us it's death — death to me, but perhaps he may let you off, though he's a cold-blooded, mur- derous devil. However, there^s no saying but you might get off. Any Avay, it'll be safest for you to have this. Here, take it quick, and stow it away in your jacket, so as he can't see it. For the love of God, look sharp ! " He took something out of a pocket inside his shirt, and forced it into my hands. What it was I could not see, so quickly he made me hide it in my jacket. But I caught a glimpse of something that looked like brass, and the packet was hard and heavy. '^ It's death, I say ; but you may be lucky. If he does for me, swear you'll never give it up to him. Take your Bible oath you'll never do that. And look here : if I'm lucky enough to get off, swear you'll give it back. Swear it. Say, ' Strike me blind ! '' '^ He clutched me again. Shaking and trembling, I gave the promise. ''And look, here's a letter; put it away and read it DEVIT, AND DEEP SEA. 37 after. If he does for me — curse liini ! — you keep what I've o-iven you. Yes, keep it; it^s my last Will and Testament, upon my soul. But you oug-lit to go half shares with little Jenny ; you ought, you know. Yo\Vll find out where she lives iu that there letter. But you^ll never give it up to him. Swear it. Sw(?nr it again.'' Again I j^romised. " ^lind you, if you do, I'll haunt you. I'll curse you dying, and that's an awful thing to ha2:)pen to a man. Look over again. He mayn't bo coming — l^erhaps he'll go through to the next beach, and then we'll run for it." Again I peered over, liut drew back as if shot ; for just below me was a black head with glittering ear- rings, and its owner was steadily coming up the path towards us. 38 CHAPTER IV. TELLS HOW A SONG WAS SUNG AND A KNIFE DRAWN UPON DEAD man's ROCK. There was uo escape. I have said that the ascent of Dead Man's Rock was possible, but that was upon the northern side, from which we were now utterly cut off. Hemmed in as we were between the sheer cliff and the precipice, we could only sit still and await the man's coming-. Utter fear had apparently robbed my com- panion of all his faculties, for he sat, a stony image of despair, looking with staring, vacant eyes at the spot where his enemy would appear; while as for me, dreading I knew not what, I clung to the rock and listened breathlessly to the sound of the footsteps as they came nearer and nearer. Presently, within about fifteen feet, as I guess, of our hiding-place, they suddenly ceased, and a full, rich voice broke out in song — " Sing hey ! for the dead man's eyes, my lads; Sing ho ! for the dead man's hand ; For his glittering eyes are the salt sea's prize, And his fingers clutch the sand, my lads — Sing ho ! how they gi-ip the land ! " Sing hey ! for the dead man's lips, my lads ; Sing ho ! for the dead man's soul. At his red, red lips the merrymaid sips For the kiss that his sweetheart stole, my lads — Sing ho ! for the beU shaU toll 1" A MEETING. 39 The words were full and clear upon the morniDg- air — so clear that their weird horror, tog"ether with the strange- ness of the tnne (which liad a curious catch in the last line but one) and, above all, the sweetness of the voice, held me spellbound. I glanced again at my companion. He had not changed his position, but still sat motion- less, save that his dry lips were again working and twitching as though they tried to follow the words of the song. Presently the footsteps again began to advance, and again the voice broke out — " So it's hey ! for the homeward bound, my lads, And ho ! for the drunken crew. For his messmates ronnd lie dead and drowned. And the devil has got his due, my lads — Siug ho ! but he " He saw us. He had turned the corner, and stood facing us ; and as he faced us, I understood my companion's horror. The new-comer wore a shirt of the same red colour as my comrade, and trousers of the same stuff, but less cut and torn with the rocks. At his side hung an empty sheath, that must once have held a short knife, and the handle of another knife glittered above his waistband. But it was his face that fascinated all my gaze. Even had I no other cause to remember it, I could never forget the lines of that wicked mouth, or the glitter in those cruel eyes as their first sharp flash of surprise faded into a mocking and evil smile. For a minute or so he stood tranquilly watching our 40 DEAD man's rock. confusion, while tlie smile o^rcw more and more devilishly hland. Not a XA'ord was spoken. What my comrade did I know notj but, for myself, I could not take my eyes from that fiendish face. At last he spoke : in a sweet and silvery voice, that in company with such eyes was an awful and fantastic lie, he spoke — " Well, this is pleasant indeed. To run across an old comrade in flesh and blood when you thought him five fathom deep in the salt water is one of the pleasantest things in life, isn't it, lad ? To put on sack- cloth and ashes, to g-o about refusing to be comforted, to find no joy in living because an old shipmate is dead and drowned, and then suddenly to come upon him doing the very same for yon — why, there's nothing that com- pares with it for real, hearty pleasure; is there, John? You seem a bit dazed, John : it's too good to be true, you think ? Well, it shows your good heart ; shows what I call real feeling. But you always were a true friend, always the one to depend upon, eh, John ? Why don't you speak, John, and say how glad you are to see your old friend back, alive and hearty ? " John's lips were trembling, and something seemed working in his throat, but no sound came. '' Ah, John, you were always the one for feeling a thing, and noAV the joy is too much for you. Considerate, too, it was of you, and really kind — but that's you, John, all over — to wear an old shipmate's cap in affectionate memory. No, John, don't deprive yourself of it." AT BAY. 41 The wreteliod man felt with quivering fing-cvs for the cap, took it off and laid it on the rock beside me, but never spoke, " And who is the boy, John ? But, there, you were always one to make friends. Everybody loves you ; they ean^t help themselves. Lucy loved you when she wouldn't look at me, would she? You were always so gentle and qiiiet, John, except perhaps when the drink was in you : and even then you didn^t mean any harm; it was only your play, wasn^t it, Jolni ? " John's face was a shade whiter, and ao-ain somethin"- worked in his throat, but still he uttered no word. " Well, anyhow, John, it's a real treat to see you — and looking- so well, too. To think that we two, of all men, should have been on the jib-boom when she struck ! By the way, Johu, wasn't there another with us? Now I come to think of it, there must have been another. What became of him ? Did he jump too, John ? " John found speech at last. " No ; I don't think he jumped.'' The words came hoarsely and with difficulty. I looked at him ; cold and shivering' as he was, the sweat was streaming down his face. '^ No ? I wonder why.^' No answer. " You're quite sure about it, John ? Because, you know, it would be a thousand pities if he were thrown up on this desolate shore without seeing the faces of his old friends. So I hope you are quite sure, John ; think ao'aiu," 42 DEAD man's rock. " He didn't jump/' "No?'' '' He fell." " Poor fellow^ poor fellow ! " The words came in the softest, sweetest tones of pity. " I sujipose there is no mistake about his melancholy end ? " " I saw him fall. He just let go and fell ; it's Bible oath, Captain — it's Bible oath. That's how it happened ; he just — let go — and fell. I saw it with my very eyes, and Captain, it was your knife." To this effect John, with great difficulty and a nervous shifting stare that wandered from the Captain to me until it finally rested somewhere out at sea. The Captain gave a sharp keen glance, smiled softly, set his thin lips together as though whistling inaudibly, and turned to me. " So you know John, my bo}^? He's a good fellow, is John ; just the sort of quiet, steady. Christian man to make a good companion for the young. No swearing, drinking, or vice about John Railton ; and so truthful, too — the very soul of truth ! Couldn't tell a lie for all the riches of the Indies. Ah, you are in luck to have such a friend ! It's not often a good companion is such good company." I looked helplessly at the model of truth to see how he took this tribute ; but his eyes were still fixed in that eternal stare at the sea. " And so, John, you saw him fall ? 'Who saw him die ? ' — ' I,' said the soul of truth, ' with my little eye ' "it was your knife." 43 — and you have very sharp eyes, John. However, the poor fellow's gone ; ' fell off/ you say ? I don't wonder you feel it so ; but, John, with all our sympathy for the unfortunate dead, don't you think this is a good oppor- tunity for reading the Will ? We three, you know, may possibly never meet again, and I am sure our young friend — what name did you say ? Jasper ? — I am sure that our 3'oung friend Mr. Jasper would like the melau- eholy satisfaction of hearing the Will." The man's eyes were devilish. John, as he faced about and caught their gaze, looked round like a wild beast at bay. '^ Will ? What do you mean? I don't know — I haven't got no Will." " None of your own, John, none of your own ; but maybe you might know something of the last Will and Testament of — shall we say — another party ? Think, John ; don't hurry, think a bit." '' Lord, strike me " " Hush, John, hush ! Think of our young friend Mr. Jasper. Besides, you know, you were such a friend of the deceased — such a real friend — and knew all his secrets so thoroughly, John, that I am sure if you only consider quietly, you must remember ; you who watched his last moments, who saw him — ' fall,' did you say ? " No answer. " Come, come, John ; I'm sorry to press you, but really our young friend and I miist insist on an answer. For consider, John, if you refuse to join in our conver- 44 DEAD JFAn's EOCK. sation, we sli:ill liave to go — reluctaiitlv, of course^ but still we shall have to go — and talk somewhere else. Just think how very awkward that would he." '' You devil — you devil ! " John^s voice was still hoarse and low^ but it had a something in it now that sounded neither of hope nor fear. " Well, 3^es ; devil if you like : hut the devil must have his due, you know — "And tlie devil lias got his duo, my lads — Sing liey ! but lie waits for you ! Yes, John, devil or no devil, I'm waiting for 30U. As to having my due, why, a lucky fellow like you shouldn^f grudge it. Why, you've got Liicy, John : what more can you want ? We both wanted Lucy, but you got her, and now she's waiting at home for you. It would be awkward if I turned up with the news that you were languishing in gaol — I merely put a case, John — and little Jenny wouldn't have many sweet- hearts if it got about that her father — and I suppose you are her father " Before the words were well out of his mouth John had him by the throat. There was a short, fierce struggle, an oath, a gleam of light — and then, with a screech of mortal pain and a wild clutch at the air, my companion fell backwards over the cliff. •X- -K- ^ -)f -Jf It was all the work of a moment — a shriek, a splash, THE CAPTAIN COUNSELS SILENCE. 45 and then silence. How long the silence lasted I cannot tell. What happened next — whether I cried or fainted^ looked or shut my eyes — is to me an absolute blank. Only I remember gradually waking up to the fact that the Captain was standing over me^ wiping his knife on a piece of weed he had picked up on the rock^ and regard- ing me with a steady stare. I now suppose that during those few moments my life hung in the balance: but at the time I was too dazed and stunned to comprehend anything. The Captain slowly rejilaced his knife, hesitated, went to the ledge and peered over, and then finally came back to me. " Are you the kind of boy that's talkative ? " liis voice was as sweet as ever, but his eyes were scorching me like live coals. I suppose I must have signified my denial, for he went on — " You heard what he called me ? lie called me a devil ; a devil, mark you ; and that's what I am.'' In my state of mind I could believe anything; so I easily believed this. " Being a devil, naturally 1 can hear what little boys say, no matter where I am ; and when little boys are talkative I can reach them, no matter how they hide. I come on them in bed sometimes, and sometimes from behind when they are not looking ; there's no escaping me. You've heard of Apollyon perhaps ? Well, that's who I am." 46 DEAD man's rock. I had heard of Apollyon in Bunyan ; and I had no doubt he was speaking- the truth. " I catch little boys when they are not looking, and carry them off, and then their fathers and mothers don't see any more of them. But they die very slowly, very slowly indeed — you will find out how if ever I catch you talking." But I did not at all want to know; I was quite satisfied, and apparently he was also ; for, after staring at me a little longer, he told me to get uj) and go down the rock in front of him. The agonies I suffered during that descent no pen can describe. Every moment I expected to feel my shoulder gripped from behind, or to feel the hands of some mysterious and infernal power around my neck. Close behind me followed my companion, humming — " Aud the devil lias got his due, my lads — Sing hey ! but he waits for you ! " And though I was far from singing hey ! at the pro- spect, I felt that he meant what he said. Arrived at the foot of the rock, we passed through the archway on to Ready-Money Cove. Turning down to the edge of the sea, the Captain scanned the water narrowly, but there was no trace of the hajiless John. With a muttered curse, he began quickly to climb out along the north side of the rock, just above the sea- level, and looked again into the depths. Once more he was disappointed. Flinging off his clothes, he dived MY NAME AGAIN. 47 again and again^ until from sheer exhaustion he crept out, bundled on his shirt and trousers, and climbed back to me. *' Curse him ! where can he be ? " I now saw for the first time how terribly worn and famished the man was : he looked like a wolf, and his white teeth were bare in his rage. He had cut his foot on the rock. Still keeping his evil eye upon me, he knelt down by the water's edge and began slowly to bathe the wound. " By the way, boy, what did you say your namd was ? Jasper ? Jasper what ? " " Trenoweth.'' " Ten thousand devils ! " He was on his feet, and had gripped me by the shoulder witli a furious clutch. I turned sick and cold with terror. The blue sky swam and circled around me : then came mist and black darkness, lit only by the gleam of two terrible eyes : a shout — and I knew no more. 48 CHAPTER V. TELLS HOW THE SAILOR GEORGIO RHODOJANl GAVE EVIDENCE AT THE " LUGGER INn/^ I CAME gradually back to consciousness amid a buzz of voices. Uncle Loveday was bending over me^ bis every button glistening witli sympatby, and his face full of kindly anxiety. What had haj)penedj or how I came to be lying thus upon the sand, I could not at first re- member, until my gaze, wandering over my uncle^s shoulder, met the Captain's eyes regarding me with a keen and curious stare. He was standing in the midst of a small knot of fishermen, every now and then answering their questions with a gesture, a shrug of the shoulders, or shake of the head; but chiefly regarding my recovery and waiting, as I could see, for me to speak. " Poor boy ! " said Uncle Loveday. " Poor boy ! I suppose the sight of this man frightened him.'" I caught the Captain's eye, and nodded feebly. " Ah, yes, yes. You see,'^ he exj)lained, turning to the shipwrecked man, " your sudden appearance upset him : and to tell you the honest truth, my friend, in your present condition — in your present condition, mind POLITENESS OP MY UNCLE. 49 you — your appearance is jierliaps somewhat — startling-. Shall wo say, startlinir ? '^ lu answer to my uncle's apolog-ctie hesitation the stran^^er merely spread out his palms and shrugged his shoulders. '' Ah, yes. A foreigner evidently. Well, well, al- though our coast is not precisely hospitable, I believe its inhabitants are at any rate free from that reproach. Jasper, iny boy, can you walk now ? If so, Joseph here will see you home, and we will do our best for the — the — foreign gentleman thus unceremoniously cast on our shores.'' My uncle seemed to regard magnificence of speech as the natural due of a foreigner : whether from some hazy conception of " foreign politeness," or a hasty deduction that what was not the language of one part of the world must be that of another, I cannot say. At any rate, the fishermen regarded him approvingly as the one man who could — if human powers were equal to it — extricate them from the present deadlock. " You do not happen, my friend, to be in a position to inform us whether any — pardon tlie expression — any corpses are now lying on the rocks to bear witness to this sad catastrophe ? " Again the stranger made a gesture of perplexity. " Dear, dear ! I forgot. Jasper, when you get home, read very carefully that passage about the Tower of Babel. Whatever the cause of that melancholy con- fusion, its reality is impressed upon us when we stand E 50 DEAD MAN^S EOCK. face to face with one whom I may perhaps be allowed to callj metaphorically, a dweller in Mesopotamia/^ As DO one answered, my uncle took silence for con- sent, and called him so twice — to his own great satis- faction and the obvious awe of the fishermen. " It is evident/' he continued, '' that this gentleman (call him by what name you will) is in immediate need of food and raiment. If such, as I do not doubt, can be obtained at Polkimbra, our best course is to accom- pany him thither. I trust my proposition meets with his approval." It met, at any rate, with the approval of the fisher- men, who translated Uncle Loveday's speech into gestures. Being answered with a nod of the head and a few hasty foreign words, they began to lead the stranger away in their midst. As he turned to go, he o'lanced for the last time at me with a strano-e flickering; smile, at which my heart grew sick. Uncle Loveday lingered behind to adjure Joe to be careful of me as we went up the cliff, and then, with a promise that he would run in to see mother later in the day, trotted after the rest. They passed out of sight through the archway of Dead Man^s Rock. For a minute or so we plodded across the sand in silence. Joe Roscorla was Uncle Loveday's " man,^' a word in our parts connoting ability to look after a horse, a garden, a pig or two, or, indeed, anything that came in the way of being looked after. At the present moment I came in that way; consequently. joe's OPliNlON. 51 at'tor some time spent in reliective silence, Joe began to speak. " You'm looking- wisht/' " Am I, Joe ? " " Mortal/' There was a pause : then Joe continued — " I don't hold by furriners : let alone they be so hard to get along with in the way of convarsing, they be but a heathen lot. But, Jasper, warn't it beauti- ful ? " " What, Joe ? " '' Why, to see the doctor tackle the lingo. Beau- tiful, I calls it ; but there, he's a scholard, and no mis- take, and 'tain't no good for to say he ain't. Not as ever I've heerd it said." " But, Joe, the man didn't seem to understand him." " Durn all furriners, say I ; they be so cursed pig- headed. Understand? I'll go bail he vmderstood fast enough." Joe's opinions coincided so fatally with my certainty that I held my tongue. " A dweller in — what did he call the spot, Jasper ? " " Mesopotamia." " Well, I can't azacly say as I've seen any from them parts, but they be all of a piece. Thicky chap warn't in the way when prettiness was sarved out, anyhow. Of all the cut-throat chaps as ever I see Mark my words, 'tain't no music as he's come after." E 2 5^ DEAD MAN^S EOCK. This seemed so indisputable that I did not veutuve to contradict it. '' I hain't clear about thicky wreck. Likely as not 'twas the one I seed all yesterday tacking- about : and if so be as I be rights a pretty lot of lubbers she must have had aboard. Jonathan, the coast-guard, came down to Lizard Town this morning", and said he seed a big- vessel nigh under the elifPs toward midnight, or fancied he seed her : but fustly Jonathan's a buffle- head, and secondly 'twas pitch-dark; so if as he swears there weren't no blue light, 'tain't likely any man could see, let alone a daft fule like Jonathan. But, there, 'tain't no good for to blame he ; dura Government ! say I, for settin' one man^ and him a born fule, to mind seven mile o' coast on a night ^'hen an airey mouse cou'dn' see his hand afore his face." " What was the vessel like, Joe, that you saw ? " ''East Indj'man, by the looks of her; and a ])assel of lubberin' furrinors aboard, by the way she was worked. I seed her miss stays twice myself : so when Jonathan turns up wi' this tale, I says to myself, 'tis the very same. Though 'tis terrible queer he never heard nowt; but he ain't got a ha'porth o' gumption, let alone that by time he's been cloppin' round his seven mile o' beat half a dozen ships might go to kingdom come." With this, for we had come to the door of Lantrig, Joe bid me g-ood-bye, and turned along the cliffs to seek fresh news at Polkimbra. Instead of going indoors at once I watched his short. I EXAMINE MY LEGACY. 53 oddly-shaped figure stride away, and then sat down on the edge of the cliff for a minute to collect my thoughts. The day was ripening into that mellow glory which is the peculiar grace of autumn. Below me the sea, still flaked with spume, was gradually heaving to rest ; the morning light outlined the cliffs in glistening promi- nence, and clothed them, as well as the billowy clouds above, with a reality which gave the lie to my morning^s adventure. Tiic old doorway, too, looked so familiar and peaceful, the old house so reassuring, that I half wondered if I had not two lives, and were not coming Ijack to the old cpiiet everyday experience again. Suddenly I remembered the packet and the letter. I put my hand into my pocket and drew them out. The packet was a tin box, strapped around with a leathern band : on the top, between the band and the box, was a curious piece of yellow metal that looked like the half of a waist-buckle, having a socket but without any corresponding hook. On the metal were traced some characters which I could not read. The tin box was heavy and plain, and the strap soaking with salt water. I turned to the letter ; it was all but a pulp, and in its present state illegible. Carefully smoothing it out, 1 slipped it inside the strap and turned to hide my prize ; for such was my fear of the man who called him- self Apoll)'on, that I could know no peace of mind whilst it remained about me. How should I hide it ? After some thought, I remembered that a stone or two in the now empty cuw-house had fallen loose. With a 54 DEAD MAN^S ROCK. hasty glance over my shoulder, I crept around and into the shed. The stones came away easily in my hand. With another hiirried look^ I slij^ped the packet into the opening, stole out of the shed, and entered the house by the back door. My mother had been up for some time — it was now about nine o'clock — and had prepared our breakfast. Pier face was still pale, but some of its anxiety left it as I entered. She was evidently waiting for me to speak. Something in my looks, however, must have frightened her, for, as I said nothing, she began to question me. " Well, Jasper, is there any news ? " " There was a ship wrecked on Dead Man's Rock last night, but they've not found anything except " " What was it called ? " "The Mary Jane — that is — I don't quite know." Up to this time I had forgotten that mother would want to know about my doings that morning. As an ordinary thing, of course I should have told her what- ever I had seen or heard, but my terror of the Captain and the awful consequences of saying too much now flashed upon me with hideous force. I had heard about the Maru Jane from the unhappy John. What if I had already said too much ? I bent over my breakfast in confusion. After a dreadful pause^ during which I felt, though I could not see, the astonishment in my mother's eyes, she said — MOTHER AND SON. 55 " You don't quite know ? " '' No ; I think it must have been the Marij JcDie, but there was a stranj^e sailor picked up. Uncle Love- day found him, and he seemed to be a foreig-ner, and he said — I mean — I thought — it was the name, but " This was worse and worse. Again at my wits' end, I tried to go on with my breakfast. After awhile I looked up, and saw my mother watching me with a look of mingled surprise and reproach. " Was this sailor the only one saved ? " "No — that is, I mean — yes; they only found one." I had never lied to my mother before, and almost broke down with the effort. Words seemed to choke me, and her saddening eyes filled me with torment. " Jasper dear, what is the matter with you ? Why are you so strange ? " I tried to look astonished, but broke down miserably. Do what I would, my eyes seemed to be beyond my control j they would not meet her steady gaze. " Uncle Loveday is coming up later on. He's look- ing after the Cap — I mean the sailor, and said he would run in afterwai-ds.'^ " What is this sailor like ? " This question fairly broke me down. Between my dread of the Captain and her pained astonishment, I could only sit stammering and longing for the earth to gape and swallow me up. Suddenly a dreadful sus- picion struck my mother. 56 DEAD man's rock. " Jasper ! Jasper ! it cannot be — you cannot mean — that it was hh ship ? " " No, mother, no ! Father is all rig-ht. He said — I mean — it was not his ship/' " Oh ! thank God ! But you are hiding something from me ! What is it ? Jasper dear, what are you hiding?'^ " Mother, I //iink it was the Marij Jane. ]^ut it was not father's ship. Father's all right. And, mother, don't ask me any more ; Uncle Loveday will tell all alwut it. And — I'm not very well, mother. I think " Want of sleep, indeed, and the excitement of the morning, had broken me down. JNIy mother stifled her desire to hear more, and tenderly saw me to bed, guess- ing my fatigue, but only dimly apprehensive of any- thing beyond. In bed I lay all that morning, but could get no sleep. The vengeance of that dreadful man seemed to fill the little room and charge the atmo- sphere with horror. '' I come on them in bed some- times, and sometimes from behind when they're not looking " — the words rang in my ears, and could not be muffled by the bed-clothes ; whilst, if I began to doze, the dreadful burthen of his song — " And tlio devil has got liis duo, my lads — Siug Lo ! but lio waits fur you ! " — with the peculiar catch of its lilt, would suddenly make me start up, wide awake, with every nerve in my body dancing to its grisly measure. I DREAM. 57 At last^ towards noon, I dozed off into a restless slumber, but only to see each sight and hear each sound repeated with every grotesque and fantastic variation. Dead INIan^s Rock rose out of a sea of blood, peopled with hundreds of ghastly faces, each face the distorted likeness of John or the Captain. Blood was every- where — on their shirts, their hands, their faces, in sj)l ashes across the rock itself, in vivid streaks across the spume of the sea. The very sun peered through a blood-red fog, and the waves, the mournful gulls, the echoes from the cliff, took up the everlasting chorus, led by one silvery demoniac voice — " Siug lio ! but he waits for you ! " Finally, as I lay tossing and tormented with this phantom horror in my eyes and ears, the sound died imperceptibly away iiito the soft hush of two well- known voices, and I opened my eyes to see mother with Uncle Loveday standing at my bedside. " The boy's a bit feverish,^' said my uncle's voice ; " he has not got over his fright just yet.'''' "Hush! he's waking ! ^^ replied my mother; and as I opened my eyes she bent down and kissed me. How inexpressibly sweet was that kiss after the night- mare of my dream ! '' Jasper dear, are you better now ? Try to lie down and get some more sleep.''' But I was eager to know what news Uncle Love- day had to tell, so I sat up .and questioned him. There 58 DEAD MAN^S ROCK. was little enough ; though, delivered with much pomp, it took some time iu telling. Roughly, it came to this : — A body had been discovered — the body of a small infant — washed up on the Polkimbra Beach. This would give an opportunity for an inquest ; and, in fact, the coroner was to arrive that afternoon from Penzance with an interpreter for the evidence of the strange sailor, who, it seemed, was a Greek. Little enough had been got from him, but he seemed to imply that the vessel had struck upon Dead Man^s Eock from the south-west, breaking her back upon its sunken base, and then slipping out and subsiding in the deej) water. It must have hai)pened at high tide, for much coffee and basket-work was found u^jon high-water line. This fixed the time of the disaster at about 4 a.m., and my mother's eyes met mine, as we both remembered that it was about that hour when we heard the wild despairing cry. For the rest, it was hopeless to seek information from the Greek sailor without an interpreter; nor were there any clothes or identifying marks on the child^s body. The stranger had been clothed and fed at the Vicarage, and would give his evidence that afternoon. Hitherto, the name of the vessel was un- known. At this point my mother's eyes again sought mine, and I feared fresh inquiries about the Mary Jane ; but, luckily. Uncle Loveday had recurred to the question of the Tower of Babel, on which he delivered several AT THE " LUGGER." 59 profound reflections. Seeing me still disinclined to explain, she merely sighed, and was silent. But when Uncle Loveday had broken his fast and, rising-, announced that he must drive down to be pre- sent at the inquest, to our amazement, mother insisted upon going with him. Having no suspicion of her deadly fear, he laughed a little at first, and quoted Solomon on the infirmities of women to an extent that made me wonder what Aunt Loveday would have said had he dared broach such a subject to that strong- minded woman. Seeing, however, that my mother was set upon going, he desisted at last, and put his cart at her service. Somewhat to her astonishment, as I could see, I asked to be allowed to go also, and, after some entreaty, prevailed. So we all set out behind Uncle Loveday ^s over-fed pony for Polkimbra. There was a small crowd around the door of the '' Lugger Inn '' when we drove up. It appeared that the coroner had just arrived, and the inquest was to begin at once. Meanwhile, the folk were busy with conjecture. They made way, however, for my uncle, who, being on such occasions a person of no little im- portance, easily gained us entry into the Red Room where the inquiry was about to be held. As we stepped along the passage, the landlord's parrot, look- ing more than ever like Aunt Elizabeth, almost frightened me out of my wits by crying, '' All hands lost ! All hands lost ! Lord ha^ mercy on us ! " Its lioarse note still sounded in my cars, when the door 60 DEAD MAN^S ROCK. opened, and we stood in presence of the " crowncr's quest/^ I sujipose the Red Room of the " Lug-ger " was full; andj indeed, as the smallest inquest involves at least twelve men and a coroner, to say nothing of wit- nesses, it must have been very full. But for me, as soon as my foot crossed the threshold, there was only one face, only one pair of eyes, only one terrible pre- sence, to be conscious of and fear. I saw him at once, and he saw me ; but, unless it were that his cruel eye glinted and his lips grew for the moment white and fixed, he betrayed no consciousness of my presence there. The coroner was speaking as we entered, but his voice sounded as though far away and faint. Uncle Loveday gave evidence, and I have a dim recollection of two rows of gleaming buttons, but nothing more. Then Jonathan, the coast-guardsman, was called. He had seen, or fancied he saw, a ship in distress near Gue Graze; had noticed no light nor heard any signal of distress ; had given information at Lizard Town. The rocket apparatus had been got out, and searchers had scoured the clift's as far as Forth Pyg, but nothing was to be seen. The search-party were returning, when they found a shipwrecked sailor in company with a small boy, one Jasper Trenoweth, in Ready-Money Cove. At the sound of my own name I started, and for the second time since our entry felt the eyes of the stranger THE GREEK SAIfOIi. 61 quest idii me. At tlio same time I felt my mother's elasp of my hand tig-hteii, and knew that she saw that look. The air grew closer and the walls seemed to draw nearer as Jonathan's voice continued its drowsy tale. The afternoon sun poured in at the window until it made the little wainscoted parlour like an oven, but still for me it only lit up one pair of eyes. The voices sounded more and more like those of a dream; the scratcliing- of pens and shuffling- of feet were, to my ears, as distant murmurs of the sea, until the coroner's voice called — " Georgio Rhodojani.'^ Instantly I was wide awake, with every nerve on the stretch. Ag-ain I felt his eyes question me, again my mother's hand tightened upon mine, as the stranger stood UJ1 and in softest, most musical tones gave his evidence. And the evidence of Georgio Rhodojaui, Greek sailor, as translated l>y Jacopo Rousapoulos, inter2:>reter, of Penzance, was this : — '' jNIy name is Georgio Rhodojani. I am a Greek by birth, and have been a sailor all my life. I was sea- man on board the ship which was wrecked last night on your horrible coast. The ship belonged to Bristol, and was homeward bound, Itut I know neither her name nor the name of her captain." At this strange opening, amazement fell upon all. For myself, the wild incongruity of this foreign tongue fiom lips which I had heard utter such fluent and llute-likc English swallowed up all other wonder. G:i DEAD 3IAN^S ROCK. After a pause, seeing the marvelling looks of his audience, the witness quietly explained — '' You wonder at this ; but I am Greek, and cannot master your hard names. I joined the ship at Colombo as the ea])tain was short of hands. I was wrecked in a Dutch vessel belonging to Dordrecht, off Java, and worked my passage to Ceylon, seeking employment. It is not, therefore, extraordinary that I am so ignorant, and my mouth cannot pronounce your English language, but show me your list of ships and I will point her out to you.^^ There was a rustling of pajiers, and a list of East Indiamen was handed up to him : he hastily ran liis finger over the pages. Suddenly his face lighted up. " Ah ! this is she ! — this is the shij^ that was wrecked last night ! " The coroner took the paper and slowly read out — " The James and Elizaheth, of Bristol. Captain — Antonius Merrydew.''^ ^' Ah, yes, that is she. The babe here was the cap- tain's child, born on the voyage. There were eighteen men on board, an English boy, and the captain's wife. The child was born off the African coast. We sailed from Colombo on the 22ud of July last, with a cargo of coffee and sugar. Two days ago we were off a big harbour, of which I do not know the name; but early yesterday morning were abreast of what you call, I think, the Lizard. The wind was S.W., and took ns into your terrible bay. All yesterday we were tacking STRANGE EVIDENCE. 6-^ to g"et out. Towards evening" it blew a gale. The captain had been ill ever since we passed the Bay of Biscay. We hoisted no signal^ and knew not what to do, for the captain was sick, and the mate drunk. The mate began to cry when we struck. I alone got on to the jib-boom and jumped. What became of the others I know not, but I jumped on to the rock by which you found me this morning. The vessel broke up in a very short time. I heard the men crying bitterly, but the mate's voice was louder than any. The captain of course was below, and so, when last I saw them, were his wife and child, but she might have rushed upon deck. I was almost sucked back twice, but managed to scramble up. It was not until daylight that I knew I was on the mainland, and climbed down to the sands.'' As this strange history proceeded, I know not who in that little audience was most affected. The jury, fascinated by the sweet voice of the speaker, as well as the mystery about the vessel and its unwitnessed disappearance, leant forward in their seats with strained and breathless attention. My mother could not take her eyes off the stranger's face. As he hesitated over the name of the ship, her very lips grew white in agonised suspense, but when the coroner read ''the James and ElizahetJi/' she sank back in her seat with a low " Thank God ! " that told me what she had dreaded, and how terril)ly. I myself knew not what to think, nor if my ears had heard aright. Part of the tale I knew to 64 DEAD man's rock. Lea lie; Imt liow miu-li ? And what of the l][(tn/ Jane ? I looked round about. A hush had succeeded the closing words of Rhodojani. Even the coroner was puzzled for a moment ; hut improbable as the evidence might seem, there was none to gainsay it. I alone, had they but known it, could give this demon the lie — I, an unnoticed child. The coroner put a question or two and then summed up. Again the old drowsy insensibility fell upon me. I heard the jury return the usual verdict of " Acci- dental Death/' and, as my mother led me from the room, the voice of Joe Roscorla (who had been on the jury) saying, '' Duni all foreigners ! I don't hold by none of 'em." As the door slammed behind us, shutting out at last those piercing eyes, a shrill screech from the landlord's parrot echoed through the house — '^ All hands lost ! Lord ha' mercy on us ! " Go CHAPTER VI. TELLS now A FACE LOOKED IN AT THE WINDOW OE LANTE.IG; AND IN WHAT MANNER MY FATHER CAME HOME TO US. My mother and I walked homeward together by way of the clijEfs, We were both silent. My heart ached to tell the whole story, and prove that my tale of the Mcuy Jane was no wanton liej but fear restrained me. My mother was busy with her own thoughts. She had seen, I knew, the g-lanee of intellig-ence which the stranger gave me; she guessed that his story was a lie and that I knew it. What she could not guess was the horror that held my tongue fastened as with a padlock. So, both busy with bitter thoughts, we walked in silence to Lantrig. The evening meal was no better. My food choked me, and after a struggle I was forced to let it lie almost untouched. But when the fire was stirred, the candles lit, and I drew my footstool as usual to her feet by the hearth, the old room looked so warm and cosy that my pale fears began to vanish in its genial glow. I had possessed myself of the *' Pilgrim^s Progress,"^ and the volume, a dumpy octavo, lay on my knee. As I read 6 matter with the boy? Jasper, what ails you ? " Incoherently I told my story, at first to Aunt Elizabeth alone, but presently, in answer to her call, I ASTONISH MY AUNT. 71 Uiiele Lovetlay came down to hear. The pair stood silent and wondering". Tliey were not elaborately dressed. Aunt Elizabeth ^ it is triic, was smothered from head to foot in a g'ig'antic Inverness cape, that niig'ht have been my uncle's were it not obviously too large for that little man. Iler nightcap, on tte other hand, was ostentatiously her own. No other woman would have had strength of mind to wear such a head-dress. Uncle Loveday's costume was even more singular; for the first time I saw him with- out a single l)rass button, and for the first time I understood how much he owed to those decorations. II is first words were — " Jasper^ I hope you are telling me the truth. Your mother told me yesterday oE some cock-and-bull story concerning the Anna Marin or some such vessel. I hope tin's is not another such case. I have told you often enough where little boj's wdio tell falsehoods go to." jNTy white face must have been voucher for my truth on this occasion; for Aunt Elizabeth cut him short with the single word '' Breakfast," and haled mo inio the little parlour whilst the pair went to dress. As I waited, I heard the sound of the pony wdthout, and presently Aunt Elizabeth returned in her ordinary costume to worry the small servant who laid breakfast. AVhethor Uncle Loveday ever had that meal I do not know to this day, for whilst it was being prepared I saw him get into the little carriage and drive off towards Lantriir. I was told that I could not go until I h:id 73 DEAD man's rock. eaten ; and so with a sove heart, but no thout^'ht of dis- obedience, I turned to breakfast. The meal had scarcely begun when the door opened and Master Thomas Loveday sauntered into the room. Master Thomas Loveday, a youth of some eight sum- mers, was, in default of a home of his own, f|uartered permanently upon my uncle, whose brother's son lie was. His early days had been spent in India. After, how- ever, both father and mother had succumbed to the climate of Madras, he was sent home to England, and had taken root in Lizard Town. Hitherto, his life had been one long lazy slumber. AVhenever we were sent, on his rare visits to Lantrig, to '' play together," as old age alwaj'S rudely puts it, his invariable rule had been to go to sleep on the first convenient spot. Conse- quently his presence embarrassed me not a little. He was a handsome l)oy, with blue eyes, long lashes, fair hair, and a gentle habit of speech. AYhen I came to know him better, I learnt the quick wit and subtle power that lay beneath his laziness of manner ; but at present the soul of Thomas Loveday slept. He was certainly not wide awake when he entered the room. With a sleepy nod at me, and no trace of surprise at my presence, he jxirsued his meal. Occasion- ally, as Aunt Elizabeth put a fresh question, he would regard her with a long stare, but otherwise gave no sign of animation. This finally so exasperated my aunt that she addressed him — " Thomas, do not stare. ^^ THOMAS LOVEDAY. 73 Thomas looked mildly surprised for a moment, and then inquired, " Why not ? " " Does the hoy think I'm a wild Indian ? " The question was addressed to me, but I could not say, so kept a discreet silence. Thomas relieved me from my didiculty by answering, ''No," thoughtfully. "Then why stare so? I'm sure I don't know what boys are made of, nowadays. '^ '' Slugs and snails and pup])y-dogs' tails/' was the dreamy answer. "Thomas, how dare you? I should like to eateh the person who taught you such nonsense. I'd teach liiin !" " Tt was Uncle Loveday," remarked the innocent Thomas. There was an awful pause ; which I broke at length by asking to bo allowed to go. Aunt Elizabeth saw her way to getting rid of the offender. "Thomas, you might walk with Jasper over the downs to Lantrig. It will be nice exercise for you." " It may l)e exercise, aunt, but " " Do not answer me, but go. Where do you expect little boyg will go to, who are always idle ?" " Slec]) ? " hazarded Thomas. " Thomas, you shall learn the whole of Dr. "Watts's poem on the sluggard before you go to bed this night." At this the boy slowly rose, took his cap, stood before her, and solemnly repeated the whole of that melancholy tale, finishing the last line at the door and 74 DEAD man's IIOCK. gravely bowing' liimsclf out. I followed, a wostruckj and we set out in silence. At first, anxiety for my mother possessed all my thoughts, but presently I ventured to cong-ratulate Tom on his performance, " She has read it to me so often/' replied he, " that I can't help knowing it. I hate Dr. Watts, and I love to go to sleep. I dream such jolly things. Sleep is ever so much nicer than being awake, isn't it?" I wanted sleep, having had but little for two nights, and could therefore agree with him. '^ You get such jolly adventures when you dream," said Tom, reflectively. I had been rather surfeited with adventures lately, so held my peace. "Now, real life is so dull. If one could only meet with adventures " I caught the sound of wheels behind us, and turned round. We had struck off the downs on to the high road. A light gig with one occupant was approaching US. As it drew near the driver hailed us. '' Hullo ! lads, is this the road for Polkimbra? " The speaker was a short, grizzled, seafaring man, with a kind face and good-humoured mouth. He drove execrably, and pulled his quiet mare right back upon her haunches. I answered that it was. "Are you bound for there ? Yes ? .Tump up then. I'll give you a lift." WE HAVE A LIFT. 75 I looked at Tom ; ho, of course, was ready for any- thing- that would save trouble^ so we clambered up beside the stranger. " There was a wreck there yesterday, V\c heard," said he, after we had gone a few yards, '' and an inquest, and, by the tale I heard, alot of lies told.'^ T started. The man did not notice it, but con- tinued — " ]\Iaybo you've heard of it. AY ell, it's a rum world, and a tine lot of lies gets told every day, but you don't often get so accomplished a liar as that chap — what's his name? lilessed if I can tackle it; not but what it's another lie, I'll wager." I was listening intently. He continued more to himself than to us — " An amazing liar, though I wonder what his game was. It beats me ; beats me altogether. The ' Jt/mes inid EViziihclh,' says he, as largo as life. I take it the fellow couldn't 'a been fooling who brought the news to Falmouth. Didn't know me from Adam, and was fairly put about when he saw how I took it, and, says he, ' 'twas the James, and Kllzahelh the chap said, as sure as I stand here.' Boy, do you hap])on to know the name of the vessel that ran ashore here, night afore last ? " I had grown accustomed to being asked this dreadful (|uestion, and therefore answered as bravely as I couhl, " The Jamea and Elizaheih, sir." " Captain's name ? " " Captain Antonius Merrydew." 76 DEAD man's rock. '^ All, poor chap ! He was lyini? sick ]jelow when she struck, wasn't he ? And ho had a wife aboard, and a chikl born at sea, hadn't he ? Fell sick in the Bay o' Biscay, like any land-lubber, didn't he ? Why, 'tis like play-actin' ; damme ! 'tis better than that." With this the man burst into a shout of langhter and slapped his thigh until his face grew purple with merriment. '^ What d'ye think of it, boy, for a rare farce ? Was ever the likes of it heard ? Captain Antonius Merrydew sick in the Bay o' Biscay ! Ho, ho ! Where's play- actin' beside it ? " " Wasn't it true, sir?" ^' True ? God bless the boy ! Look me in the face : look me in the face, and then ask me if it's true." " But why should it not be true, sir? " " Because I am Captain Antonius Merrydew ! " For the rest of the journey I sat stunned. Thomas beside me was wide awake and staring', seeing his way to an adventure at last. It was I that dreamed — I heard without comprehension the rest of the captain's tale : — how he had come, after a quick passage from Ceylon, to Falmouth with the barque James and Fjlizaheth, just in time to hear of this monstrous lie ; how he was un- married, and never had a day's illness in his life ; how, suspecting foul play, he had hired a horse and gig with a determination to drive over to Polkimbra and learn the truth ; how a horse and gig were the most cursedly obstinate of created things ; with much besides in the CAPTAIN ANTONIUS MERRYDEW. 77 way ui" oaths and ejaculations. All this I must have heardj i'or memory hroug-ht them Lack later; but I did not listen. My life and circumstances had got the upper hand of me, and were dancing a deviPs riot. At last, after much tacking and porting of helm, we navigated Polkimbra Hill and cast anchor before the " Lugger.^' There we alighted, thanked the captain, and left him piping all hands to the horse's head. His cheery voice followed us down to the sands. We had determined to cut across Polkimbra Beach and climb up to Lantrig by Ready-Money Cliffs, as in order to go along the path above the cliffs we should have to ascend Polkimbra Hill again. The beach was so full of horror to me that without a companion I could • not have crossed it ; but Tom^s presence lent me courage. Tom was nearer to excitement than I had ever seen him ; he grew voluble ; praised the captain, admired his talk, and declared adventure to be abroad in the air — in fact, threw up his head as though he scented it. Yes, adventure was in the air. It was not exactly to my taste, however, nor did the thought of my poor mother at home make me more sympathetic with Tom^s ecstasy; so whilst he chattered I strode gloomily for- ward over the beach. The day was drawing towards noon. October was revelling in an after-taste of summer, and smiled in broad glory over beach and sea. A light breeze bore eastward a few fleecy cloutls, and the waves danced and murmured before its breath. Their salt scent was in 78 DEAD man's KOCK. our nostrils, ami tlu' L;lilti'r i>\' tlie saml in our ryes. Hlark and soinluc in tlu- rlcar air, Hcail Alan's Korh rose in gloomy isolation IVnm the sea, while the sea- hinls swept in glisten in;; cinli's round its summit, litit what was that at its base ? Seemin<.fly, a little knot ol* men stood at the water's edj^e. As we drew nearer I enuld distinguish their forms hut not their oeeupat ion, fur they stoud in a eirele, intent on some ohjcet in tlu-ir midst eoneealed from our view. Presently, Imwever, they fell into a roui^h line as th(»Ui^h makini; li'r the arehway to Ready-Money Cove. Somethini; tlu-y carrii'd amont; tlu'm, and eon- tinually stooped over; Imt what it was I e<»uld not sec. Their ]'aee was very slow, hut they turned into the areh and were disappearing-, when I oauj^ht sij^ht of the un- eonth little lii^ure of Joe Roseorla among" the last, and ran forward, hailing him by name. At the sountl d' my voice Joe started, liinii'd round and made a slow pause ; then, with a few words to his neighlioiu", eame (piiekly towards me. As he drew near, 1 saw that his faee was white and his manner full of embarrassment; but he put on a smile, and spoke tirst — " Why, Jasper, what be doin' along here ? " " I'm g-oing home. Has Uncle Loveday seen mother? And is she better ? " " Aw iss, he've a seen her an' she be quieter: least- ways, he be bound to do her a power o' g-ood. Hut what be goin' back for ? 'Tain't no use botherin' in- CURIOUS BEHAVIOUll OF JOE llOSCOELA. 79 doors \v? your mother in thicky wisht state. Bun about an^ get some play/^ ''AYhat were you doing- down by the Hock just now, Joe ? " Joe hesitated for a while ; stammered, and then said, " Nuthin.^' " But, Joe, you were doing- something : what were you carrying over to Ready-Money ? " " Look-ee here, my lad, run an^ V^'^^J} an' doauH ax no questions. •'Tain^t for little bo^'s to ax questions. Now I comes to think of it, Doctor said as you was to stay over to Lizard Town, 'cos there ain't no need of a passel of boys in a sick house : so run along back.'' Joe's voice had a curious break in it, and his whole bearing was so unaccountable that I did not wonder when Tom quietly said — " Joe, you're telling lies.'"' Now Joe was, in an ordinary way, the soul of truth : so I looked for an explosion. To my surprise, how- ever, he t(3ok no notice of the insult, but turned again to me — '' Jasper, lad, run along back : do'ee now\" His voice was so full of entreaty that a sudden suspicion took hold of me, " Joe, is — has anything happened to mother ? " " Noa, to be sure : she'll be gettin' well fast enough, if so be as you let her be.''' " Then I'll go and see Uncle Loveday, and find out if I am really to go back." S(l DEAD MAN .S KOCK. I made a motiuu to <^«>, but he eaiij^ht me (^uiekly l)y tlie ami. " Now, Jasper, il(»an't-'ee j^'O : run baek, I tell'ec — run baek — I tell'ee you iiinat g-o Ijaek." His words were so earnest ami lull of eommaml that I turm'd rouml and faced him. Somethim; in his eyes iiih'd me with siekeniujf tear. " Joe, what were yuu earryinj;? " No answer. " Juc", what were y<>u carryini^^ ? " Still mi answer; but an apiiealinj^ mntinn I'f tlie hand. " Joe, what was it V " " Go back ! " he said, hoarsely. " Go baek ! " "■ I will not, until I have seen what you were earryini;-." " Go baek, boy : i'or God's sake «^n back ! " I wrenched mysell" i'rom his ,i;r.is]>, and ran with all speed. Joe and Ti>m Followed me, but tear y;nvii me lleetuess. Behind 1 eould liear Joe's pantini^ voice, eryiu^', " Come baek ! " but the agony in his tone set me running faster. 1 Hew tluough tlie areiiway, and saw the small procession halt-way across the cove. At my shout they halted, jiaused, and one or two advanced as if to stop me. But I dashed through their hands into their midst, and saw — God in heaven ! What ? The drowned face of my father ! Tenderly as women they lifted me from the body. Gently and with tear-stained faces, they stood around MY FATIIEH COMES HOME. 81 and tried to comfoi't me. Reverently, while Joe Ros- corla held me in his arms behind, they took up the corpse of him they had known and loved so well, and carried it np the cliffs to Lantrig'. As they lifted the latch and bore tlie body across the threshold, a yell of maniac laughter echoed throug-h the house to the very roof. And this was my father's " Welcome Home ! '' Nay, not all ; for as Uncle Loveday started to his feet, the door behind him flew open, and my mother, all in white, with very madness in her eyes, rushed to the corpse, knelt, cauglit the dead hand, kissed and fondled the dead face, cooing and softly laughing the while with a tender rapture that would have moved hell itself to pity. In this manner it was that these two fond lovers met. 8a CHAPTER YU. TKLLS HOW UNt'I.M T,OVEDAY HIADK A DlSfOV lilt Y ; AND WHAT IIIK TIN nOX ( ONTAINED. An lioiir .'irtcruMrds T wns sif (ln<]^ at the bedside of my man's rock. .Inliii liaillon's riiciid, .nul, Iriiin \\li:it you say, must liavo liad an nslonisliinj^ influence over tlie nnliai)i>y man. Simon, we learn, is a scholar,*' pursueil my uncle, after aj^ain consullini;- the letter, "and I see the word 'office' here, which nialces it. likely that he was a clerk of some kind, who took to the sea ft»r some \mv- jiose of his own, and induced Hailton to i^o with him. |)crh:i|>s for the same purpose, perhaps for another. Anvhow, it. sccmus it was hi^h time for {{ailton to H'o soincwlicn', for hc^idcs the ri-fcreiices to li(pior, which tally with Simon's words upon Head Man's llock, we also meet, with the (uniuous words 'the fuss,' wlicrci?), .lasper, I liiid I lie dilinite arlicK- not without mc;miiirc, of your father's j)m*pose, it would helj) us ; and, to my mind, this letter o-oos far to prove that wickedness of some sort was the cause of their i^oin A T5T> A "D A- 102 DKAD man's UOCK. and uouUl not guess liuw I cunie to hear df it, ' for/ said Bhe/ the resolution had been so suddenly taken that even she eould searce account for it.' Siie adniittef Bombay. As 1 stood upon deck on the evening before last and watched the Hlinr (ihauts (as they are called) rise t^radually on the dim horizon, whilst the long ridorc of the Malabar Hill with its clustered lights grew swiftly dyed in delicate pink and gold, and as swiftly sank back into night, I confess that my heart was strangely fluttered to think that the wonders of this strange country lay at my feet, ami I slept but badly for the excitement. But when, yesterday morning, I disembarked upon the Apollo Bund, I knew not at first whither to turn for very dismay. It was like the ])lay-acting we saw, my dear Margery, one Christmas at Plymouth. Every sight in the strange crowd was unfamiliar to my Cornish eyes, and I felt sorely tempted to laugh when I thought what a figure some of them would cut in Polkimbra, and not less when I renected that after all I was just as much out of place in Bom- bay, though of course less noticed because of the great traffic. As I strolled through the Bazaar, Hindoos, Europeans, Jews, Arabs, Malays, and Negro men passed me by. Mr. Elihu Sanderson has kindly taught me to distinguish some of these nations, but at the time I did not know one from another, fancying them indeed all Indians, though at a loss to account for their diversity. IN BOMBAY. 105 Also the gaudy houses of red^ blue^ and yellow, the number of beautiful trees that grew in the very streets, and the swarms of birds that crowded every roof-top and ventured down quite feai'lessly among the passers-by, all made me gasp with wonder. Nor was I less amazed to watch the habits of this marvellous folk, many of them to me shocking, and to see the cows that abound everywhere and do the work of horses. But of all this I will tell if Heaven be pleased to grant me a safe return to Lantrig. Let me now recount my business with Mr. Elihu Sanderson. " I said farewell to the captain of the Golden Wave and my friend Colliver upon the quay, meaning to ask Mr, Sanderson to recommend a good lodging for the short time I intended to stay in Bombay. Captain Carey had already directed me to the East India Com- pany's office, and hither I tried to make my way at once. Easy as it was, however, I missed it, being lost in admiration of the crowd. When at last I arrived at the doors I was surprised to see Colliver coming out, until I remembered that his brother was in the Com- pany's employ. It seems, however, that he had been transferred to Trichinopoly some months before, and my friend's labour was in vain. I am bound to say that he took his disappointment with great good-humour, and made very merry over our meeting again so soon, pro- testing that for the future we had better hunt in couples among this outlandish folk ; and so I lost him again. '^ After some difficulty and delay I found myself at I<)() DKAD man's UOCK. leng;tli in the presence of this Mr. Elihu Sanderson, on whom I had sjicoulated so often. I was ushered by a clerk into his private (jlliee, and as he rose to meet me, jud«jred him directly to he the son of the Khhu Sanderson mentioned in my lather's Will — as indeed is the case. A Sparc, ilry, shrivelled man, with a month full of determination and acutcness, and a hahit of measurin<^ his words as tliou<^h they were for sale, ho is in every- thin<»' but hei<;;ht the essence of every Scotchman I remember to have seen. " ' Good day,' said he, ' Mr. I fancy I did not cat<'Ii yi»nr name.' " * Trenoweth/ said I. " * Indeed ! Trenowcth ! ' he repeated, and I fancy I saw a ;;-limmer of surj)rise in his eyes. ' Do I guess your business? ' "'Maybe you do,' I replied, 'for I take it to be .somewhat unusual.' "'Ah, yes; just so; sonu-what unusual ! ' — and he chuckled drily — ' somewhat unusual ! Very good in- deed ! I suppose — eh ? — you have some credentials — some proof that you really are called Trenoweth ? ' — Here Mr. Sanderson looketl at me sharply. " In reply I produced my father's Will and the little Bible from my jersey's side. As I did so, I felt the Scotchman's eyes examining- me narrowly. I handed him the packet. The Will he read with great atten- tion, glanced at the Bible, pondered awhile, and then said — ME. KLIHU SANDERSON. 107 (( < I suppose you guess that this was a piece of private business between Amos Trenoweth, deceased, and my father, also deceased. I tell ye frankly, Mr. Trenoweth — by the way, what is your Christian name, eh? So you are the Ezekiel mentioned in the Will? Are you a bold man, eh ? Well, you look it, at any rate. As I was saying, I tell ye frankly it is not the sort of business I would have undertaken myself. But my father had his crotchets — which is odd, as I'm sup- posed to resemble him — he had his crotchets, and among* them was an affection for your father. It may have been based on j)rofit, for your father, Mr. Trenoweth, as far as I have heard, was not exactly a lovable man, if ye'll excuse me. If it was, I\^e never seen those profits, and IVe examined my father's papers pretty thoroughly. But this is a family matter, and had better not be dis- cussed in oflice hours. Can you dine with me this evening ? ' " I replied that I should be greatly obliged ; but, in the first place, as a stranger, would count it a favour to be told of some decent lodging for such time as I should be detained in Bombay. " Mr. Sanderson pondered again, taj^ped the floor with his foot, pulled his short crop of sandy whiskers, and said — " ' Our business may detain us, for aught I know, long into the night, Mr. Trenoweth, Ye would be doing me a favour if ye stayed with me for a day or two. I am a bachelor, and live as one. So much 108 DhAi) man's hock. the better, eh ? If you will get your boxes sent up to Craigie Cottage, ^lalabar Hill — any one will tell ye where Elihu Sanderson lives — I will try to make you comfortable. You are wondering at the name " Craigie Cottage " — another crotehet of my father's. He was a Scotchman, I'd have ye know; and so am I, for that matter, though I never saw Scotch soil, being that pro- digious phenomenon, a liritish child successfully reared in India. IJut I hope to set foot there some day, please God ! Save us ! how I am talking, and in office hours, too! Good-bye, Mr. Trenoweth, and'— once more his eyes twinkled as I thaidced him and made for the door — ' I would to Heaven ye were a Scotchman ! ' "Although vei'ily broiled vdih. the heat, I spent the rest of the day in sauntering about the city and drink- ing in its marvels until the time when I was due to present myself at Craigie Cottage. Following the men who carried my box, I discovered it without difficulty, though very unlike any cottage that came within my recollection. Indeed, it is a large villa, most richly furnished, and crowded with such numbers . of black servants, that it must go hard with them to find enough to do. That, however, is none of my business, and Mr. Sanderson does not seem the man to spend his money wastefuUy ; so I suppose wages to be very low here. " Mr. Sanderson received me hospitably, and enter- tained me to a most agreeable meal, though the dishes were somewhat hotly seasoned, and the number of ser- vants again gave me some uneasiness. But when, after AT CllAIGlE COTTAGE. 109 dinner, we sat and smoked oat on the balcony and watched the still gardens, the glimmering houses and, above all, the noble bay sleeping beneath the gentle shadow of the night, I confess to a feeling that, after all, man is at home wherever Nature smiles so kindly. The hush of the hour was upon me, and made me dis- inclined to speak lest its spell should be broken — dis- inclined to do anything but watch the smoke-wreaths as they floated out ujDon the tranquil air. " Mr. Sanderson broke the silence. " ' You have not been long in coming.^ " ' Did you not expect me so soon ? ' '' ' Why, you see, I had not read your father^s Will.'' " I explained to him as briefly as I could the reasons which drove me to leave Lantrig. He listened in silence, and then said, after a pause — '' ' You have not, then, undertaken this lightly ? ' " ' As Heaven is my witness, no, whether there be anything in this business or not.'' " ^ I think,^ said he, slowly, ' there is something in it. My father had his crotchets, it is true ; but he was no fool. He never opened his lips to me on the matter, but left me to hear the first of it in his last Will and Testament. Oddly enough, our fathers seem both to have found religion in their old age. Mine took his comfort in the Presbyterian shape. But it is all the same. There was some reason for your father to repent, if rumours were true ; but why mine, a respect- able servant of the East India Comi^iny, should want 110 DEAD man's hock. ponsolation, is not so clear. Mayhe ^twas only another form of egotism. Relij^ion, oven, is spolt with an I, yo'll observe. '''An Olid eonple/ lie enntinuoil, musing", 'to l)e mixed uj) to<^ether ! But we'll lot them rest in ]ieaec. I'd better let you have what was entrusted to me, and then, mayhap, ye'll he better able to form an opinion/ " With this he rt)se and stepped back into the liffhted room, whilst 1 followed. Drawing a buneh of keys from his pocket, he opened a heavy chest of some dark wood, intricately carved, which stood in one corner, drew out one by one a whole pile of tin boxes, bundles of papers and heavy books, until, almost at the very bottom of the chest, he seemed to find the box he wanted ; then, carefully replacing the rest, closed and fastened the chest, and, after some search among his keys, openeil the tin box and handed me two envelopes, one much larger than the other, but both bulky. "And here, my dear ^Margery, with my hand upon the secret which had cost us so much anxious thought and such a grievous parting, I could not help breathing to myself a prayer that Heaven had seen fit to grant me at last some means of comforting my wife and little one and restoring our fallen house; nor do 1 doubt, dear wife, you were at that moment praying on your knees for me. I did not speak aloud, but Mr. Sander- son must have divined my thoughts, for I fancied I heard him utter ' Amen' beneath his breath, and when I looked up he seemed prodigiously red and ashamed of himself. TWO ENVELOPES. 1 1 1 " The small envelope was without address, and con- tained .€50 in Bank of England notes. These were enclosed without letter or hint as to their purpose, and sealed with a plain black seal. " The larger envelope was addressed in my father^s hand writing — 'To THE Son of my House who, having COUNTED ALL THE PERILS, IS EESOLUTE. ' Mem. — To be burned in one hundred years from tills date, May Uh, in the year of our Lord MDCCCV.' " It likewise was sealed with a plain black seal, and contained the manuscript which I herewith pin to this leaf of my Journal.^'' [Here Uncle Loveday, who had hitherto read with- out comment, save an occasional interjection, turned the page and revealed, in faded ink on a large sheet of parchment, the veritable writing of my grandfather, Amos Trenoweth. We both unconsciously leaned further forward over the relic, and my uncle, still with- out comment, proceeded to read aloud as follows : — ] "From Amos Trenoiveth, of Lantrig, in the Parish of Pol- " hhnbra and County of Cornwall j to such descendant of 'mine " as may inherit my wealth. " Be it Tinown to you, my son, that though in this parch- " ment mention is made of great and surpassing Wecdth, seem- " ingly hut to be won for the ashing, yet beyond doubt the dangers "which beset him who tvould lay his hand upon this accursed " store are in nature so deadly, that almost am I resolved to "fling the Secret from me, and so go to my Grave a Beggar. " For that I not only believe, but am well assured, that not with- 112 DKAD man's rock. "out tnuch SjiiUing of Blood and Loss of Human Life shall "thru he enjoyed, I myself having looked in the Face of Death " thricf brforc ever I might set Uund upon them, escajying each "time by a Miracle and by forfeit of my SoiiVs Peace. Yet, "considering that the Anger of Heaven is quick and not re- "vengeful unduly, I have determined not to do so wholly, but "in ji&rt, abandoning myself the Treasure unrighteously won, " if j^er chance the Curse may so be appeased, but cO'mmitting it to "the enterprise of another, icho may escape, and so raise a fall. " ing House. " You then, my Son ivho may read this Mes.'iagc, I entreat "to consider well the Perils of your Course, though to you " )inknown. Hut to me they are known well, who have lived a "Sinful Life for the sake of this gain, and now find it but as " the fruit of Gomorrah to tny lips. For the rest, my Secret is " ivith God, from ichom I humbly hope to obtain Portion, but " not yot. And even as the Building of the Temple was with- "hcld from David, as being a Sheddcr of Blood, but not from " Solomon his son, so may you lay your Hand to much Treasure " in Gold, Silver, and Precious Stones, but chiefly the Gbeat " Ruby of Ceylon, ichose beauty excels all the jewels of the " Earth, I myself having looked iq^on it, and knoiving it to be, as "an Ancient Writer saith,'a Sj^cctacle Glorious and icithout " Compare.' " Of this Buby the Traveller Marco Polo speaks, saying, ' The "King of Scilan hath a Buby the Greatest and most Beautiful "that ever ivas or can be in the World. In length it is a palm, "and in thickness the thickness of a man's arm. In Splen- "dour it cxceedcth the things of Earth, and gloivcth like tinto " Fire. Money cannot purchase it.' Likewise Mauudevile tells " of it, and how the Great Khan would have it, but teas refused ; " and so Orloric, the tico giving various Sizes, and both placing " it falsely in the Island of Nacumcra or Nicovcran. But this " Iknoiv, that in the Island of Ceylon it was found, being lo.st "for many Centuries, and though less in size than these Writei-s " would have it, yet far exceeding all imagination for Beauty "and colour. " Now this Buby, together with much Treasure beside, you "may gain with the Grace of Heaven and by following my THE MS. 113 "plain loorcls. Yoif, will go from, tJiis place unto the Island of " Ceylon, and there proceed to Samauala or Adam's Peak, the " sa')ne being the most notable mountain of the Island. From "the Resting House at the foot of the PeaJc you will then ascend, "following the tracTc of the Pilgrims, until you have passed the " First Set of Chains. Between these and the Second there lies " a stretch of Forest, in which, still follounng the track, you will "come to a Tree, the trunh of ivhich branches into seA^en parts " and again unites. This Tree is noticeable and cannot be " missed. From its base yoti must proceed at a right angle to " the left-hand edge of the trade for thirty-two paces, and you, "will come to a Stone shaped Wee a Man's Head, of great size, " but easily moved. Beneath this Stone lies the Secret of the " Great Rubyy and yet not all, for the rest is gravest on the "Key, of tvhich mention shall already have been made to you. " These precautions I have tahen that none may surprise " this Secret but its right possessor ; and also that none may "without due reflection undertake this task, inasmuch as it is "prophesied that ' Even as the Heart of the Ruby is Blood and " its Eyes a Flaming Fire, so shall it be for them that would "possess it : Fire shall be their portion and Blood their inherit- " ancefor ever.' " This prophecy I had from an aged priest, ivhose bones lie " beneath the Stone, and upon xohose Sacred clasp is the Secret written. This and all else may God pardon. Amen. "A. T." " He visiteth the iniquity of the Fathers upon the Children " unto the third and fourth "generation." [To this extraordinary document was appended a note in another handwriting".] " There is little doubt that the Ruhy noio in the possession of " Mr. Amos Trenoioeth is the veritable Great Ruby of lohich the " traveller Marco Polo speaks. But, however this may be, I "know from the testimony of my own eyes that the stone is of "inestimable worth, being of the rarest colour, and in size I 114 DKAn A[AN's KOC'K. " f/rcnthj bi'ijnnd any linby ihnt ever I amc. The slvne is gpohcn "of, in additinn to ituch ivrilers as }fr. Trenowith qHoten, by " Friar JordanuH [in the fourteenth ceutunj), who mentions it "lis 'so hiriji' that it cannot be grasped in the clos'd hand' ; and " Uni liatiila reckons it an great an the palm of a vian'n hand. " Cosmag, as far bark as 550, had heard tell of it from Sopnter, ^' and its fame extended to the sixteenth century, wherein Corsali " tcrote of * ttPo rubies so lustrous and shining that they seem a "flame of fire.' Also Hay ton, in the thirteenth century, men- *' tions it, telling much the same story as Sir John Maiindi-rile, " to the effect that it was the esjieclal symbid of sovereignty, and "when held in the hand of the newly-chasen king, enforrvd the " recognition nf his majesty. Hut, whereas ITayton simply calls " it the greatest and finest liuby in existence, M(tunderile puts it "at afoot in length and five fingers in girth. Also^'or I hare "made much inquiry concerning this stone — i7 was well known " to the Chinese from the days of Jfwen T'sang downicard. " Mr. Trenoweth has wisely forborne for safety from show- " ing it to any of the jewellers here; but on the one occasion "when I saic the gem I measured it, and found it to be, roughly, "some '.\\ inches square and 2 inches in drpth ; of its iceight I "cannot speak. But that it truly is the Great Ruby of Ceylon, "the account of the Buddhist pru'«f from ichom Mr. Trenoweth "got the stone puts out of all doubt. ^ , "As I finished my reading, I looked up and saw ;Mr. Sanderson watehing me aeross the table. * Well ? * said he. " I pushed the parchment aeross to him, and filled a pipe. He read the whole throu<>^h very slowly, and without the movement of a mnsele ; then handed it back, l)ut said never a word. " ' Well/ I asked, after a pause ; ' what do you think of it ? ' •' ' Why, in the first place, that my father was a MR. SANDERSON HAS DOUBTS. 115 marvellously honest man, and jourSj Mr. Trenowcth, a very indiscreet one. And secondly, that ye're just as indiscreet as he, and it will be lucky for ye if I'm as honest as my father.'' " I laughed. " ' Aye, ye may laugh ; but mark my words, Mr. Trenoweth. YeVe a trustful way with ye that takes my liking; but it w^ould surprise me very much, sir, did ye ever lay hands on that Ruby.^ " I i lu; CIIAI'TIIK l\. CONTAINS TIIK SKCOND PAUT OK MV FATIIKU's JOIIINAI.: SKrriNO lORTII HIS ADVKNTUUKS IN THE ISLAND OF CEYLON. "St'i.t. 21)tli, ISIS,— It is a stran<,'0 thin^ tlmt on the very iu'\t day ufti-r reatlin*^ my fathfr's message I shouKl have been struek down ami renc can say. I shall ^ivo uj) tryinj^ to conviiicL' him. ** Oct. 'Jist. — I am ni»\v consiiK-raltiy heller. My stren«;th is slowly returning,'', and with it, I am glad to say, my memory. At liist it seemed as thoii^^h I euuld rememher nuthinj^ nf my past life, hut imw my ivcol- leetioti is j^ooil on every point up to the moment of my attack. Since then, for at least the space of three months, I can recall nothing. I am able to creep about a little, and ^fr. Sanderson has taken me for one or two excursions. Curiously enough, I thought I saw John iJailton yester- day upon the Apollo Bund. I was probably mistaken, but at till' lime it caused me no surj>risc that he should still be here, since 1 forgot the interval of three months in my memory. If it were really Railton, he has, I suppose, found employment of some kind in Bombay ; but it seems a cruel shame for him to desert his poor wife at home. I, alas ! am doing little better, but God knows I am anxious to be gone ; however, Mr. Sander- sou will not hear a word on the subject at present. He has promised to lind a ship for me as soon as he thinks I am able to continue my travels. "Nov. 4th. — I was not mistaken. It was John Railton that I saw on the Apollo Bund. I met him hovering about the same spot to-day, and spoke to him ; but apparently he did not hear me. I intended to ask him some news of my friend Colliver, but I daresay he knows as little of his doings as I do. Mr. Sanderson .-a\s that in a week's time 1 shall be recovered suf- COLLIVER AGAIN. 119 ficiently to start. I hope so, indeed, for this delay is ehafiDg me sorely. " Nov. 21st. — Mr. Sanderson has found a ship for me at last. I am to sail in five days for Colombo in the schooner Campaspe, whose captain is a friend — a business friend, that is — of my host. I shall be the only pas- senger, and Mr. Sanderson has given Captain Dodge full instructions to take care of me. But I am feeling strong enough now, and fit for anything. ''Nov. 2'3rd. — I have been down to look at the vessel, and find that a most comfortable little cabin has been set apart for me. But the strangest thing is that I met Colliver also inspecting the ship. He was most surprised at seeing me, and evidently imagined me home in England by this time. I told him of my meeting with John Railton, and he replied — " ' Oh, yes ; I have taken him into my service. We are going together to Ceylon, as I have travelled about India enough for the present. I went to visit my brother at Trichinopoly, and have only just returned to Bombay. Unfortunately the captain of the Cavipaspe declares he is unable to take me, so I shall have to wait/ " I explained the reasons of the captain's reluctance, and offered him a share of my cabin if Captain Dodge would consent to be burdened with Railton''s company. " ' Oh, for that matter,' replied he, ' Railton can follow ; but he's a handy fellow, and I daresay would make himself useful without payment.' 12(1 JEAD man's KOCK. " W^e consulted Cai)tain D(xl<^e, who lulniitU'd liim- btlt' ready tu take anuther passenger, and even to aeconunodato llailton, if that were my wish. Only, he exj»hiineil, Mr. Sanderson had especially told liim that I should wish to he alone, heinn' an invahd. So the bargTiin was struck. " Mr. Sanderson did not seem altogether i>lea.sed when I informed him tliat I intended to take a eom- I>anion, He asked many (juestions about Colliver, and was especially anxious to know if I had c<»nlideya<^o. Certainly I can find n»> reason for crediting Mr. Sanderson's suspicions. In the hurry of landing I missed liiin, not (.'Vfii having opportiniity t<» ask ahout his plans. Doubtless I shall see him in a day or two. "Dee. loth. — \Vhat an entrancing eonntry is this Ceylon ! The monsoon is upon us, and hinders my journey: indet tl^ Mr. Iwersleigh advises me nut to start for some weeks. He promises to accompany me to the Peak if I can wait, hut the suspense is hard to hear. Meantime I am drinking in the marvels of Colombo. The (juaint names over the sliops, the bright dresses of white and red, the priests with tlirii- mbes of llaming yellow — all these are diverting enough, but words cannot tell of the beauty of the country here. The roads are all of some strange red soil, and run lor miles beneath the most beautiful trees imaginable — bamboos, palms, and others unknown to me, but covered with crimson and yellow blossom. Then the long stretches of rice fields, and again more avenues of palms, with here and there a lovely pool by the wayside — all this I cannot here describe. But most wonderful of all is the monsoon which rages over the country, wrapping the earth sometimes in sheets of lightning which turn sea, sky and earth to one vivid world of flame. The wind is dry and parching, so that all windows are kept carefully closed at night; but, indeed, the mosquitoes are suflicient excuse for that. I have seen nothing of Colliver and Railton. IN CEYLON. 1:35 "Dec. 31st. — New Year's Eve, and, as I hope, the dawn of brighter days for us, dear wife. Mr. Evers- leig-h has to-night been describing Adam's Peak to me. Truly this is a most marvellous mountain, and its effect upon me I find hard to put into words. To-day I watched it standing solitary and royal from the low hills that surround it. At its feet waved a very sea of green forest, around its summit were gathered black clouds charged with lightning. Mr. Eversleigh tells me of the worship here paid to it, and the thousands of pilgrims that wear its crags with their patient feet. Can I hope to succeed when so many with prayers so much more holy have failed ? Even as I write, its un- moved face is mocking the fire of heaven. I dream of the mountain ; night and day it has come to fill my life Avith dark terror. I am not by nature timid or des- pondent, but it is hard to have to wait here day after day and watch this goal of ray hopes — so near, j^et seemingly so forbidding of access, ", On looking back I find I have said nothing about the house where I am now staying. It lies in the Kolpetty suburb, in the midst of most lovely gardens, and is called Blue Bungalow, from the colour in which it is painted. I have made many excursions with Mr. Eversleigh on the lagoon ; but for me the onl}^ object in this land of beauty is the great Peak. I cannot endure this idleness much longer. Colliver seems to have vanished : at least, I have not seen him. " Jan. 2.5th, 1849. — I have been in no mood lately I2(j ui:ad man's hock. to niako any Fivsli entry in my Jmirnal. Hut to-niomtw I start for Adam's Peak. At the last moment my host linils himself unaMc to g-o with me, much as he protests he desires it ; hut tw<^ of his servants will act as my i;'uides. It is ahdut sixty miles from Cnlondx) to the foot of the Peak, so that in four days fmrn this time I hope to lay my hand upon the secret. The two natives (their real names I do ner at every step. The moon ])resently eea.sei- last i hain. IJut what bad with him ? ' *' He might well ask ; fur there, I'ldl in Inint ol" my eyes that strained and di)ublearchmenl had not lied. Here was the tree, ' noticeable and not to be missed,' and barely thirty-two paces from the spot where I was standing lay the key to the treasure which I had travelled this weary distance to seek. But the time for search had not yet come. By the clear light of day and alone I must explore the secret. It would keep for a few hours longer. "Dismissing my pre-occupied manner which had caused no small astonishment to Peter and Paul, I Kxeil the position of the tree as firmly as I could in my mind, and gave the word to advance. " We then continued in the same order as before, whilst, to make matters sure, I counted our steps. I had reached six hundred and twenty — though when I con- sidered the darkness and the rough path I reflected that ON THE SUMMIT. 133 this was but little help — when we arrived at the seeoud set of chains. My foot was already beginning to give me pain^ but under any circumstances this would have been by far the worst of the ascent. All around us stretched darkness void and horrible^ leading, for all that we could see, down through veils of curling mist into illimitable depths. In front the rock was almost perpendicular. The fascination of gazing down was wellnigh resistless, but Peter ahead continually cried ' Hurry ! ' and the voice of Paul behind repeated ' Hurr}' ! ' so that panting, gasping, and fit to faint, with fino-ers clinoing- to the chain until the skin was blistered, with every nerve throbbing and every muscle strained to its utmost tension, I clambered, clambered, until with one supreme effort I swung myself up to the brink, staggered rather than ran up the last few feet of rock, and as my guides bent and with outstretched palms raised the cry ' Saadoo ! Saadoo ! ' I fell ex- hausted before the very steps of Buddha's shrine. ''AVhen I recovered, I saw just above me the open shrine perched on a tiny terrace and surrounded by low walls of stone ; a yard or two from me the tiny hut in which its guardians live ; and all around the expanse of sky. Dawn was stealing on; already its pale light was creeping up the east, and a bar or two of vivid fire proclaimed the coming of the sun. The priests were astir to receive the early pilgrims, and as Paul led me to the edge of the parapet I could see far away below the torches of the new-comers dotted in thin lines of fire 1->I DEAD man's I!0CK. (liiwn llif mountain-side. Some pilL^rinis IkhI arrived before us, and stood shivorini;; in their thin white g-arments about the summit. " Prosenlly tlie distant sound (A' measin-ed ehantinu^ « aine lluatin^' uji on the tran(|nil air, sank and died away, and ruse ai^-ain more loudly. I'ahM' and pah-r <^rew the heavens, nearer ami nearer swept the chanting-; and nuw the first pilgrim swiinn' hinisell" uj> inl<» our view, (juenehed his tureh and bowed in Imuia^-e. Otlu'rs following" did the same, all adorin;;-, until the terrace was crowded witli wnrshijtpers ga/ing eai^'er and bn'ath- Icss into the far east, where brighter and brinhler the crimson bars of morning were widening. "Then with a leap Hashed up Ihe sun, the daz/ling centre of a tlood of odlden light, (jodlike and re- sj)lendent he rode up on wreaths of twirling mist, ami with one stroke sent the shadows (juivering back to the very corners of heaven. As the blazing orb toj)pcd the horizon, every head bent in worship, every hand arose in welcome, every voice broke out in trembling adoration, * Saafloo ! Sandon f ' Even I, the only European there, could not forbear from bowing my head and lifting up my hands, so carried away was I with the aching fer- vour of this crowd. There they stood and bent until the whole- fiery ball was clear, then turning, paced to the sound of chanting up the rough steps and laid their offerings on the shrine. Thrice at each new offering rang out a clattering gong, and the worshipper stepped reverently back to make way for another; while all the THE SHADOW OF THE PEAK. 135 time the newly-risen snn blazed aslant on their robes of dazzling whiteness. "As I stood watching this strange scene, Peter plucked me by the sleeve and pointed westward. I looked, and all the wonders I had yet viewed became as nothing. For there, disregarded by the crowd, but plain and manifest, rose another Peak, graven in shadow upon the western sky. Bold and confronting, it soared into heaven and, whilst I gazed in silent awe, came striding nearer through the void air, until it seemed to sweep down upon me — and was gone ! For many a day had the shadow of this mighty cone lain upon my soul ; here, on the very summit, that shadow took visible form and shape, then paled into the clear blue. Has its invisible horror left me now at last ? I doubt it. But by this time the sun was high, and the last pilgrim with a lingering cry of ' Sctadvo ! ' was leaving the summit. So, although my ankle was now 1)0- ginning to give me exquisite pain, I gave the order to return. Before loaving-^ however, I looked for a moment at the sacred footprint, to my mind the least of the wonders of the Peak, and resembling no foot that ever I saw. We had gone but a few steps when I plainly guessed from the state of my ankle that our descent would be full of danger, but the guides assured me of their carefulness ; so once more we attacked the chains. " How we got down I shall never fully know ; but at last and after infinite pain we stood at the foot of the cliff and entered the forest of rhododendrons. And I'^t! T)E.M» .man's I!0( K. how, to tlio wild aslniiisliiiit'iil of my o-uidcs wlio plainly thoiiolii ino mad, I \ku\o llicm leave me and proceeil ahead, vemaiiiin<^ within call. Thry were full of protestations and dismay, but I was lirm. Trusty thoy miyht he, hut it was well in this matter to dis- trust eviM'ythini;" and evervhody. Finally, llierefure, they obeyed, and I sat watching- until their white-elad forms disappeared in the thicket. " As soon as I judjj^ed them to have ^-one a sufficient distance, I arose and lolldwi-d, eaulionsly eountini;' my footsteps. Hut this was needless; my father had de- scribed the tree as ' noticeable and not to be missed,' nor was he wroni;-. Barely had I counted live hundred ]iaces when it rose into view, uneonl li and nionstmus. All aronnd it spread the nie twelve feet .s(|uare aiul bare ol" the uiuler^-ntwth that crowded elsewhere; but not a trace of a stone. 1 looked right and left, crossed the tiny lawn, peered all about, but still saw ni)thinf^ at all resen)lilin<4- what I sou«;ht. " As it be<^an to dawn on me that all my hopes had been duped, my journey vain, and my father's words an empty eheat, a siekniinn' despair i;ut Imld <>f me. My knees shudk lo^-etiur, and bii;- dn-ps i.l" sweat •^-athered on m^- forehead. I museil myself and searched ai^-ain ; attain I was liMlilrd. ihslraif edl\ I beat the bushes round and rounil tin- tiny lawn, linn lluno- myself air. To Ibis, then, it bad all come; this was the end for which I had abandoned my wife and child; this the treasure that had danolcd so long- Ix'fore my eyes. Fool that I had been ! I cuised my madness and the hour when 1 was born ; never before had I heartil}' despised my.self, never imtil now did I know how the lust for this treasure had eaten into my sold. The secret, if secret indeed there were, and all were not a lie, was in the keeping of the silent Peak. " I almost wept with wrath, I tore the turf in my frenzy, and felt as one who would fain curse God and die. But after a while my passion spent itself. I sat up and reflected that after all my first direction might have been the right one; at any rate, I would try it again and explore it thoroughly. The instructions were precise, and had been confirmed in the matter of the THE GRAVEN HEAD. 189 tree. Evidently the person that wrote them had been u2)on the Peak^ and what, if they were lies, was to he gained by the cheat? " I pulled out the parchment again and read it through ; then started to my feet with fresh energy. I was just leaving the little kiwn and returning down my path, when it struck me that the bush on my left hand was of a curious shape. It seemed a mere tangled knot of creepers covered with large white blossom, and T'ose to about my own height. Carelessly I thrust my stick into the mass, when its point jarred upon — stone ! " Yes, stone ! In a moment my knife was out and I was down on hands and knees cutting and tearing at the tendrils. Some of them were full three inches thick, but I slashed and tugged, with breath that came and went immoderately fast, with bleeding hands and thumping heart, until little hy little the stone was bared and its outlines revealed themselves. " But as they grew distinct and I saw what I had uncovered, I fell back in terror. The stone was about five feet ten inches in height, and was roughly shaped to represent a human head and neck. But the face it was that froze my heated blood in horror. Never until I die shall I forget that hellish expression. It was the smoothly-shaven face of a man of about fifty years of age, roughly carved after the fashion of many of the ruins on this mountain. But whoever fashioned it, the artist must have been a fiend. I in DKAD MAN S HOCK. ir over m;ili|LJ^nant h:ito was oxprosscd in runn^ it stnotl before me. Even the blank pupils made the malevolence seem but the more undyinu^. I'iVery feature, every line was horrible, every touch of the chisel had adf socket lixetl in the earth; this was all the monster's pedestal. I saw that it barely needed a man's strenL^th to send it lopplinu- liver. Yet for a moment 1 could sumnmn u]) none. At length I ])ut my hands to it and with an elTdrt sent it crashintj;' over amid the brushwood. "The trough in whiili lliis eolo.ssal head had rested was about four feet in depth, and narrowed towards the bottom. I put down my hand and drew out — a human thio-h-bone. The touch of this would have turned me siek again, had not the statue's face already surfeited me with horror. As it was, I was nerved for any sight. The passion of my discovery was upon me, and I tossed the mouldering- bones out to right and left. " But stay. There seemed a great many in the trough. Surely this was the third tliigli-bone that I held now in my hand. Yes, and below, close to the bot- tom of the trough, lay two skulls side by side. There were two, then, buried here. The parchment had only THE TO.AIB OF THE SECRET. 141 spoken of one. But I had no time to consider about this. What I sought now was the Secret, and as I took up the second skull I caught the gleam of metal under- neath it. I j)ut in my hand and drew out a Buckle of Gold. " This buckle is formed of two pieces, bound to either end of a thin belt of rotten linen, and united by hook and socket. Its whole dimensions are but 3 in. X 3 in., but inside its curiously carved border it is en- tirely covered with writing in rude English character. The narrowing funnel of the trough had kept it from being crushed by the statue, which fitted into a rim running round the interior. Beyond the buckle and the two skeletons there was nothing in the trough; but I looked for nothing else. Here, in my hands, lay the secret of the Great Ruby of Ceylon ; my fingers clutched the wealth of princes. My journey had ended and the riches of the earth were in my grasp. '' Forgetful of my guides, forgetful of the fiight of time, mindful of nothing but the Golden Buckle, I sat down by the rim of the trough and began to decipher the writing. The inscription, as far as I could gather, ran right across the clasp. It could be read easily enough and contained accurate directions for searching in some spot, but where that spot was it did not reveal. It might be close to the statue ; and I was about to start up and make the attempt when I thought again of the parchment. Pulling it from my pocket, I read : ' . . . beneath this stone lies the secret of the Great 1 12 l)K\l> M w's KOCK. Hiihil ; iiiiif //ff uof III/, f'lir t/ie rr.if i.s 1/ flirt' II (III f/if A'// ir//ir/i xlhtll he nlri'iiifi/ cnlrKxIcil hi ^/dh. T/h'hi' /ircrait- tions liniw I lakrii l/nit none iimif xnrprine f/n'it Secret 1)1(1 iIk ri(//i/ jiti.r. . . .' " Now niv fallici's Will li;i.l t'x|'rt'ssly onjoinnl, on pain of his (lyiiiLT ••'ir>i', that this kry shoiiM not l»e uiov('y was mine. I was foKlin«^ up the buekle with tin- j)an hment before rejoinino; the j^uides, when a eurious thiny- hapiKMicd. "The sun had eliinbed hii^h into heaven whilst I was absorbed in my seanli, and was imw lloodiui^ the little lawn with lii,'-ht. In my excitement I had heard and seen nothin;;. nor noteil that the heat was «jrowini;f unWarabK' beneath the vertical rays. lint as I was folilini;- up tlu- parchment a black shadow suddenly fell across the page. I started and looked up. "Above me stood Simon C«dliver. " He was standiny- in the laoad liii;-ht of the suu and watching- me intently, with a curious smile which o-rew as our eyes met. How lonj^i^ he had been there I eould not ' A -tatiie? Wl-U, it's a queer place to eMuie huiitiu;^ I'ur statues, but yf)u've jiifkcd uj) an n<;'ly-li>itlme man, but before this I had found Collivcr not unpleasant to look upon. Now the hate of the statue's face seemed to have reflected itself upon him I leant against a tree for support and passed my hand across my brow as if to banish a fearful dream. 13ut it was no dream, and when he turned to speak ai^ain I could see lurking- beneath the assumed expression of the man all the evil passions and fuul wickedness engraved upon the stone. " ' AVcll,' he remarked, ' stranger things than this have happened, but not much. You seem distressed, THE LIKENESS. 145 Treiioweth. Surely I, if any one, hnve the right to be annoyed. But you let your antiquarian zeal carry you too far. It's hardly fair to dig* these poor remains from their sepulchre and leave them to Lleach beneath this tropical sun, even in the interest of science.^ "With this he knelt down and began to gather — very reverently, as I thought — the bones into a heaji, and replace them in their tomb. This done, he kicked up a lump or two of turf from the little lawn and pressed it down upon them, humming to himself all the while. Finally he rose and tia-ned again towards me — "'You'll excuse me, Trenoweth. It's sentimental, no doubt, but I have conceived a kind of respect for these remains. Suppose, for example, this face was really a portrait of one of this buried pair. Why, then the deceased was very like me. I forgive him for caricaturing my features now ; were he alive, it might be different. But this place is sufficiently out of the ^vay to prevent the resemblance being noted by many. By the way, I forgot to ask how you chanced on this spot. For my part, I thought that I heard something movinir in the thicket, so I followed the sound out of pure curiosity, and came upon you. Well, well ! it's a strange world; and it's a wonderful thought too, that this may be the grave of some primaeval ancestor of mine who roamed this Peak for his daily food — an ancestor of some importance too, in his day, to judge by the magnificence of his tomb. A poet might make something out of this : to-day face to face with the day K 1 l(i DEAD man's ROCK. hcforc ycsli'iday. I5iit that's llic hoauly of archfpology. I ilid not know it was a jmrsuil of yours, and am j?lad to sec you are suflioiently roeoverod of your illness to take it up again. Good-bye for the present. I am ol)liged to be cautious in taking farewell of you, for we have sucli a liabit nf meeting unexpected!}'. So, as 1 have to be up and moving for the summit, I'll say " (jO(Hl-byc for the present." We may as well leave this imago where it is; the dead won't miss it, and it's handy by, at any rate. Aihlin^ 'i'renoweth, and best of liiek to your future researches.' " lie was gone. I eould hear him singing as he went a strange song whieh he had often sung on the outward voyage — " ' Sing licy I for ilio doatl man's lij>s, my l.ids ; Sing 1k) ! for tlio dead man's soid. At his red, red lips ' "The song died away in tlie distance ]»eforc I moved. I had hardly opened my lips during the interview, and now had much ado to believe it a reality. But the newly-turfed grave was voucher enough for this. A horror of the place seized me ; I cast one shuddering look at the giant face and rushed from the spot, leaving the silent creepers to veil once more that awful likeness from the eyes of day. " As I emerged upon the track again I came upon Peter and Paul, who were seeking me high and low, with dismay written upon their faces. Excusing my absence as best I couldj I declared myself ready, in spite COLLIVEE SAYS GOOD-BYE. 147 of my ankle, to make all haste in the descent. Of onr journey down the Peak I need say little, except that, lame as I was, I surprised and exhausted my guides in my hurry. Of the dangers and difficulties which had embarrassed our ascent I seemed to feel nothing. Except in the cool of the forest, the heat was almost insufferable ; but I would hear of no delay until we reached Ratnapoora. Here, instead of returning as we had come, we took a boat down the Kalu-ganga river to Cattui'a, and thence travelled along the coast by Pantura to Colombo. '^ The object of my journey is now accomplished : and it only remains to hasten home with all speed. But I am feeling strangely unwell as I write this. My head has never fnlly recovered that IjIow at Bombay, and I think the hours during which I remained exposed to the sun's rays, by the side of that awful image, must have affected it. Or perhaps the fatigue of the journey has worn me out. If I am going to sicken I must hide my secret. It would be safer to bury it with the Jour- nal, at any rate for the time, somewhere in the garden here. I have a tin Ijox that will just answer the purpose. My head is giving me agony. I can write no more.'^ K 2 ]-18 CllAl'TIlK X. CONTAINS TlIK TIIIItD AND LAST I'AIM" OT MY I' ATllKU's JOUUNAI, : SKTTINO FORTH TlIK MITINY ON BOAllD Till", r.KLLE FORTUNE. "JuNEintli. — Sti-anu^o tliat wlwrovcr 1 am Imspilalily ontst l»y fallini^ ill in liis Iionst\ SiiK'O my las! entry in this Journal I liavc Itft-n lyinf:^ at llio i,''ate of (l(>atli, smitten down with a sore sickness. It seems that the lun"^ exjxisnre ami weari- ness of my journey ti» the Peak threw me into a fever: Imt of this I shiiulil snon have reeovered, were it not for my head, \vhi<'h I fear will never he wholly riijht nq-ain. That cowardly hliw upon Malahar Hill has made a sad wreek of me ; twice, when I scemeil in a fair way to reenvery, has my mind entirely i^-iven way. Mr. Everslei^h, indeed, assures me that my life has more than once been despaired i>f — and then what would have hecome of poor ^Marg-ery? I hope I am thankful to God for so mercifully sparing- my ]ioor life, the more so because conscious Imw unworthy I am to apjx-ar before ITim. " I trust T diear making an entry in my recovered Journal, if only to record my thaidc- fulness to Heaven for my great deliverance. "June 22nd. — I have written to Margery, but torn the letter up on second thoughts, as I had better wait until I hear news of a vessel in which I can safely travel home. Mr. Eversleigh (who is very kind to me, though not so hearty as Mr. Sanderson) will not hear of my starting" in my present condition. I wonder in what part of the world Colliver is travelling now. " July 1st. — Oh, this weary waiting ! Shall I never see the shores of England again ? The doctor says that I only make myself worse with fretting ; but it is hard to linger so — when at my joiu'uey's end lies wealth almost beyond the imagination, and (what is far more to me) the sight of my dear ones. " July 4th. — In answer to my entreaties, Mr. Evers- leigh has consented to make inquiries about the home- 150 DEAD man's rock. \v;ii(l-l)i>mi(l vcssrls startiiii;- rrnni ('olombo. Tlio result is thai he has a( (uirc alhiyt'd my impatience, and com- passed his end (>r kecpiiii;- me a little lon<^er, by selectin<^ — ii])()n condition that I approve his choice — an East Indiaman due to sail in about a fortnijj^ht's time. The name of the shi]) is the lielle Forlioir^ and of the cap- tain, Cyrus Iloldint,''. In spite of the name the ship is 10njj;-lish, and is a banjue of about (iUU tons remfortable cabin next to his set apart for me, at little cost, since it had been litted up for a lady on the outward voyage: so that I shall still have a little money in pocket on my return, as my living,-, both here and at Bombay, has cost me nothing, and the doctor's bills have not exhausted my store. I wrote to Margery to-day, making as light of my illness as I could, and saying nothing of the business on Malabar Hill. That will best be told her when she has me home again, and can hold my hand feeling that I am secm-e. *' July 8th. — I have been down again to-day to see THE BELLE FORTUNE. 151 the Belle Fortune. I forg'ot to say that she belongs to Messrs. Vincent and Hext, of Bristol^ and is bound for that port. The only other passengers are a Dr. Concanen and his wife, who are acquaintances of Mr. Eversleigh. Dr. Concanen is a physician with a good practice in Colombo, or was — as his wife's delicate health has forced him to throw up his employment here and return to England. Mr. Eversleigh introduced me to them this morning on the Belle Fortune. The husband is almost as tall as my host, and looks a man of great strength : Mrs. Concanen is frail and worn, but very lovely. To-day she seemed so ill that I offered to give up my cabin, which is really much more comfortable than theirs. But she would not hear of it, insisting that I was by far the greater invalid^ and that a sailing vessel would quickly set her right again — especially a vessel bound for England. Altogether they promise to be most pleasant companions. I forgot to say that Mrs. Con- canen is taking a native maid home to act as her nurse. " July 11th. — We start in a week^s time. I had a long talk with Captain Holding to-day; he hopes to make a fairly quick passage, but says he is short of hands. I have not seen the Concanens since. '' July 16th. — We sail to-morrow afternoon. I have been down to make my final preparations, and find my cabin much to my liking. Captain Holding is still short of hands. " July 17th., 7.30 p.m. — We cast off our warps shortly after four o'clock, and were quickly running 15:1 DEAD man's l^OCK. hoini'UMnl at about seven knots an hour. The Concancns stood on deck with me watching Ceylon grow dim on the horizon. As the proud cojie of Achim's Peak faded softly and slowly into the evening mist, and s<» vanished, as J liojM', for I'vcr oiil of my life, 1 cuiiM iml forhcar returning thanks to Provi, and wc r;in all nighl, under rci'ird toi)sails in (.'Xjx'rtal ion of a s(|uall ; but nothing eame of it. 1 trust the wind will last, not oidy l)eeause it brings me nearer home, but also because without it the heat would be intolerable. The mention of honu' leads mr to say that Mrs. Concanen was most sympathetic when 1 s])oke of ^largery. It is good to be able to talk of my wife to this kind creature, and she is so devoted to her husband that she plainly ilnds it easy to sympathise. They are a most happy couple. " July 24th. — Our voyage, hitherto so prosperous, has been marred to-day by a sad accident. Mr. Wilkins, the mate, was standing almost directly under the main- mast at about 4.30 this afternoon, when llailton, who was aloft, let slip a block, which descended on the mate's head, striking it with fearful force and killing him instantly. Pie was an honest, kindly man, to judge THE VOYAGE. 155 from thy little I have seen of him^ aud^ as Captain Holding assures mc, an excellent navigator. Poor Railton was dreadfully upset by the effects of his clumsi- ness ; although I dislike the man^ I have not the heart to blame him when I see the contrition upon his face. " July 25th, midnight. — We buried Wilkins to-day. Captain Holding read the burial service, and was much affected, for Wilkins was a great friend of his ; we then lowered the body into the sea. I spent the evening with the Concanens, the captain being on deck and too depressed to receive consolation. Nor was it much better with us in the cab':. Although we tried to talk we were all depressed and melancholy, and I retired earlier than usual to write my Journal. " July 26th to August ■Ith. — There has been nothing to record. The wind has been fair as yet throughout, though it dropped yesterday (Aug. 3rd), and we lay for some hours in a dead calm. We have recovered our spirits altogether by this time, '' August 5tli. — One of our hands, Griffiths, fell overboard to-day and was drowned. He and Colliver were out upon the fore-yard when Griffiths slipped, and missing the deck, fell clear into the sea. The captain was below at the time, but rushed upon deck on hearing Colliver's alarm of ' Man overboard ! ' It was too late, however. The vessel was making eight knots an hour at the time, and although it was immediately put about, there was not the slightest hope of finding the poor fellow. Indeed, we never saw him again.^'' 15(» nr.Ai) MA^'^s rock. [Attlii> iHiiiil I lie .loiinial Ix-comos slran^rly UH'ii^re, consislin*^ almost tntiivly of disconnectod jtjUiiigs about the wcalluT, wliile liciv and llicre occurs merely a date willi the latitude and loui^itude entered «»j>])()site. Ordy two entries seem of any importance : one of Aus^usl 2Uth, notino- tliat (lity had douliled the Cape, and a second written two d;iys later and ninnin;^ as follows : — J " Au<;'ust 2:3nd. — I)r. ('omancn came into my • ahin early this moiiiin^- ami (oM me lh;i( his wilV lia-l just i;iven hirlh to a son. ilc seemed ]irodio-i<,usly elaleil, and I fono-ral nlatftl him heartily, as this is the lirst child Iioiii tn llicm. He sla\'ed hut a monn'nt or so with me, and then went hack to attend to his wife. J spent most of the day on ileck with Captain Holding, who is un- ceasingly vigilant now. AVind continues steadily U.K." [After this the record is a«ifain scanty, but among less important entries we found the folh.wino^: — ] " August ^Oth. — ]\Irs. Coucanen rai)idly recovering. The child is a fine boy : so, at least, the doctor says, though I confess I should have thought it mther small. However, it seems able to cry lustily. " Sept. Gth. — Sighted Ascension Island, " Sej)t. 8th, 9th. — AVind dropping off and heat positively stitling. A curious circumstance occurred to- day (the '.Hh), which shows that I did well to be careful of my Journal. I was sitting on deck with the Con- canens, beneath an awning which the doctor has rigged up to protect us from the heat, when our supply of to- SUSPICIONS. 157 bacco ran short. As I was descending for more I met Colliver coming ont of my cabin. He was rather dis- concerted at seeing me, but invented some trivial excuse al)out fetching a thermometer which Captain Holding had lent me. I am confident now that he was on the look-out for my papers, the more so as I had myself restored the thermometer to the captain's cabin two days ago. It is lucky that I confided my papers to the (Joncanens. As for Railton, the hangdog look on that man's face has increased with his travels. He seems quite unable to meet my eye, and returns short, surly answers if questioned. I cannot think his dejection is solely due to poor Wilkins' death, for I noticed some- thing very like it on the outward voyage.'' [Here follow a few jottings on weather and speed, which latter — with the exception of five days during which the vessel lay becalmed — seems to have been very satisfactory. On the 17th they caught a light breeze from N.E., and on the 19th passed Cape Verde. Soon after this the Journal becomes connected again, and so continues.] " Sept. 2ith. — Just after daybreak, went on deck, and found Captain Holding already there. This man seems positively to require no sleep. Since Wilkins' death ho has managed the navigation almost entirely alone. He seemed unusually grave this morning, and fold me that four of the hands had been taken ill during the night with violent attacks of vomiting, and were lying below in great danger. He had not seen the 158 DKAD Mw's liOPK, doctor yet, l)ut siispfclfd that soiiu'lliini;- was wionir with the food. At this point the doctor joiutil us and ttM)k tlie captain aside. They conversed earnestly for about three minutes, and ]>resently I heard the captain exclainiiiiL;- in a IoikKt tone, ' ^\(■ll, iloctur, of course you know l)esl, l)ut I can't l>elieve it for all that.' Shortly after the doctor went helow ap^in to look after his patients. lie was very silent when we met ai^ain at dinner, and I Ikivc not seen him since. "Sept. 2:jth.— One ..f the hands, Walters, died durin<^ the nii^ht in i;-real a^-ony. \\ f si "'ited the Peak of TenerilTe early in the aflcrnoon, and 1 remained on deck with Mrs. ( 'oiie:inen, walehiii^- it. 'llie dixtor is helow, analysino; the food. I helieve he is coiiij>letelv l»uz/led hy this curious epidemic. "Sept. -iCth.— Wind N.K., hut som.-what li;,rl, (,.,-. Three more men seized la.st ni^ht with pieeis«']y the same symptoms. With three deaths and live men ill, we are now left with hut nine hands (not counting;;' the cajttain) to work the shij*. \^ alters was huried to-day. I learned from Mrs. Concanen that her Inishaiid has made a post itiorlmn examination of the hody. I do not know what his conclusions are. " I open my Journal again to record another disquiet- ing accident. It is odd, but I have missed one of the l)ieces of my father's clasp. I am positive it was in my ]iocket last night. I now have an indistinct recollec- tion of hearing something fall whilst I was dressing this morning, but although I have searched both cabin THE DOCTOR IS PUZZLED. 159 and state-room thoroughly, 1 can find nothing*. How- ever, even if it has fallen into Colliver^s hands, which is unlikely, he can make nothing of it, and luckily I know the words written upon it by heart. Still the loss has vexed me not a little. I will have another search before turning in to-night. '^Sept. 27th.— Wind has shifted to N.W. The doctor was summoned during the night to visit one of the men taken ill two nights before. The poor fellow died before daybreak, and I hear that another is not expected to live until night. The doctor has only been on deck for a few minutes to-day, and these he occupied in talk with the captain, who seems to have caught the prevailing depression, for he has been going about in a state of nervous disquietude all the afternoon. I expect that want of sleep is telling upon him at last. The clasp is still missing. " Sept. 28th. — A rough day, and all hands busily engaged. Wind mostly S.W., but shifted to due W. before nightfall. Three of the invalids are better, but the other is still lying in a very critical state. " Sept. 29th, 30th, Oct. 1st, 2nd.— Weather squally, so that we may expect heavy seas in the Bay of Bis- cay. All the invalids are by this time in a fair way of recovery, and one of them will be strong enough to return to work in a couple of days. Doctor Concanen is still strangely silent, however, and the captain^'s cheer- fulness seems quite to have left him. Oh, that this gloomy voyage were over ! inO DEAD man's hock. "Oct. -U-i]. — Weathor olcaror, Lit:jlit breeze from S.S.W. "Oct. olh. — Iji't nie lonjrlily jnit down in ft'W words what luis happened, not tliat 1 see at jiresent any chance of l('avin<^ this accnrsed sliij) alive, hut in the hope that Providence may tluis he aided — a.s far as human aid may fjo — in hrinL,'"inc: these villains to justice, if this .louriial sliouM hy any means survive me. " Ijast nij^ht, shortly liefoic ten, T went at Doctor Concanen's invitation to chat in his e;il)in. The doctor himself was husily necnitied with some me(lic:il works, to which, as his wife assured me, he had heen oivin^- his whi'le :iltentiipon midni^-ht, when the hahy, who was lyiui,'- asleep at her side, awoke and he<4'an to cry. IJ^pon this she hroke off her conver- sation and hi'o-an to sinj^ the little fellow to sleep. 'Home, Sweet Home' was th(> son^, and at the end of the first verse — so sweetly touching-, however hack- neyed, to all situated as we — the doctor left his hooks, came over, and was standins^ behind her, runniuf^ his hands, after a trick of his, affectionately throno-h her hair, when the native nuise, who slept in the next eahin and had heard the baby crying, came in and offered to take him. Mrs. Concanen, however, assured her that it was not necessary, and the girl was just going out of the door when suddenly we heard a scream and then the captain's voice calling, ' Trenowcth ! Doctor ! Help, help ! ' 'Mielp! help!'' 161 " The doctor immediately rushed past the maid and up the companion. I was just following at his heels when I heard two shots fired in rapid succession, and then a heavy crash. Immediately the girl fell with a shriek, and the doctor came staggering heavily back on top of her. Quick as thought^ I pulled them inside, locked the cahin door, and began to examine their wounds. The girl was quite dead, being shot through the Ijreast, while Concanen was bleeding terribly from a wound just below the shoulder : the bullet must have grazed his upper arm, tearing open the flesh and cutting an artery, passed on and struck the nurse, who was just behind. Mrs. Concanen was kneeling beside him and vainly endeavouring to staunch the flow of blood. " Oddly enough, the attack, from whatever quarter it came, was not followed up ; but I heard two more shots fired on deck, and then a loud crashing and stamp- ing in the fore part of the vessel, and judged that the mutineers were battening and barricading the forecastle. I unlocked the door and was going out to explore the situation, when the doctor spoke in a weak voice — " ' Quick, Trenoweth ! never mind me. I've got the main artery torn to pieces and can't last many more minutes — but quick for the captain's cabin and get the guns. They'll be down presently, as soon as they've finished up there.' " Opening the door and telling Mrs. Concanen — who although white as a sheet never lost her presence of mind for a moment — to lock it after me, I stole along L ]('d DKAD MAN^S lUK K. the passaj^o, o-ainod the captain's cabin, found two p^uns, a small keg of powder (to get at which I had to smash in a locker with the butt-end of one of the guns), and some large shot, brought I suppose for shooting gulls. " I found also a large packet of revolver cartridges, bul no rcvolvi-r ; and it suddenly struck me that the shots already tired must have been from the captain's revolvi-r, taken jirobably from his dead body. Yes, as I remembered the sound t.r the shots 1 was sure of it. The mutineers had prol»ably no other ammunition, and so far I was their master. " Fearful that by sma-liiuL,'- the 1^. ker I had made noise enough to be heard abuve the tiirniiid on deek, I returned swiftly and had just n-aehed the door of C'oueanen's cabin, when I lu-anl a slu»ut above, autl a man whom 1 reeo<^nise havd to the captain's watch, lint eould they be alone ? " It seemed impossible, and yet I knew no others among- the crew to distrust, and eertainly Davis, who was acting as mate at present, was, althoug-h an in- different navigator, as true as steel. Moreover, tlic fact that the mutineers' success in shooting the doctor had not been followed up, made my guess seem more likely. Certainly Colliver and Railton were the only two of wliom we could be sure as }et. Nevertheless the supposition was amazing. " I had arrived at this point in my calculations when a yell which I recognised, told me that they had caught Cox the helmsman and were murdering him. After this came dead silence, which lasted all through the night. " I must hasten to conclude this, for we have no light in the cabin, and I am writing now by the faint I EXPLOllE. 165 evening- rays that strug'g'le in througli tlie sky-light. As soon as morning broke I determined to reconnoitre. Cautiously removing the barricade, I opened the cabin door and stole up the companion ladder. Arrived at the top I jJeered cautiously over and saw the mutineers sitting by the f'oreward hatch, drinking-. They were altogether four in number — Colliver^ Railton, a seaman called Rogerson, who had lately been punished by Captain Holding- for sleeping when on watch, and the cook, a Chinaman. Rogerson was not with the rest, but had hold of the wheel and was steering. The vessel at the time was sailing- under crowded canvas before a stiff sou'-westerly breeze. I kept low lest Rogerson should see me, but he was obviously more than half drunk, and Avas chiefly occupied in regarding his comrades with anything but a pleasant air. Just as I was drawing a beautiful bead however, and had well covered Colliver, he saw me and gave the alarm ; and immediately the three sprang- to their feet and made for me, the China- man first. Altering my aim I waited until he came close and then fired. I must have hit him, I think in the ankle, for he staggered and fell with a loud cry about ten paces from me. Seeing- this, I made all speed again down the ladder, turning at the cabin door for a hasty shot with the second barrel, which, I think, missed. The other two pursued me until I gained the cabin, and then went back to their comrade. The rest of the day has been quite quiet. Luckily we have a large tin of biscuits in the cabin, so as far as food goes jr»6 DE\1) man's liOCK. we Oil n Imld out U>v sonu- tiiiu-. Mrs. Cuneaiu-ii and I are j;"oin<^ to lake turns at watcliiii}^ to-ni<^'lit. "Oet. Cth, 1 p.m.— At ab.nit l.-'iO a.m. I was sleep- ing- when Mrs. Coiieaiien woke me on hearing a noise l)y the skylio'ht. The mutineers, raulini;- this to he the only point from whieh they eould attaek us with any safety, had liit upon the ])kin of kishin<; knives to the end (^f lon^ stieks and were attempt int^ to stah us with these elumsy weapons. It was so dark that I eould hardly see to aim, hut a couijIc of shots lind in rai)id sueeession drove them (piiekly away. The rest of the nii^hl was j)assed (piietly enough, exeept for the cries of the uil'iini, which arc very jiitialth-. The rt'iwrt of a f;iin, ami my assailant's f5;rasp siuUlenly relaxed. He fell back, trii)j)iiif^ up Railt«»n who was followinuf un- stoadily, and so ffivin<^ nie time to piin the cahin door, where Mrs. Coneanen was standinj^, a smokinj; j^uu in her hand. Before wc could shut the door, however, CoUiver, who by this time had jjained the head of the stairs, lired, and she (lrojHM'y his face that Aunt Elizabeth was .lead. 81ie had boon in tlio kitchen busied with <»ur supper, when slio suddenly fell down and died in a few minutes. Heart disease was the cause, but in our part people only die of three complaints — a seizun', an iidlammation, or a decline. The difl'erence between these is purely one of time, so that Joe Roseorla, learninii^ the suddenness of the attack, jud<:>ed it forthwith a ease of " seizure," and had so rej>orted. IVIy poor aunt was dead ; and until now we had never known how we loved her. Jjike so many of the Trenoweths she seemed hard and reserved to many, but we who liad liveil with her had learnt the jroodness of her soul and the sincerity of her relii4ion. 'l"he j^n-ief of her husband was her noblest ppita])h. lie, i)oor man, was inconsolable. "Without his wife he seemed as one deprived of most of his limbs, and moved helplessly about, as though life were now with- out purpose. Accustomed to be ruled by her at every turn, he missed her in every action of the day. Very swiftly he sank, of no assi<^ned complaint, and within six months was laid beside her. On his death-bed my uncle seemed strangely troubled about us. Tom was to be a doctor. My destiny was not so certain ; but already I had renounced in my heart an inglorious life in Lizard Town. I longed to go with Tom ; in London, too, I thought I should be free to follow the purpose of my life. But the question was, UNCLE LOVEDAY IS TROUBT^ED. 183 how should I find the money ? For I knew that the sum obtained by the sale of Lantrig' was miserably in- sufficient. So I sat Avith idle hands and waited for destiny ; nor did I realise my helplessness until I stood in the room where Uncle Loveday lay dying". "Tom/^ said my uncle, " Tom, come closer." Tom bent over the bed. " I am leaving- you two boys without friends in this world. You have friends in Lizard Town, but Lizard Town is a small world, Tom. I ought to have sent you to London before, but kept putting* oif the parting. If one could only foresee — could only foresee." He raised himself slightly on his elbow, and con- tinued with pain — " You will go to Guy's, and Jasper, I hope, may go with you. Be friends, boys ; you will want friendship in this world. It will be a struggle, for there is barely enough for both. But it is best to share equally; s//e would have wished that. She was always planning that. I am doing it badly, I know, but she would have done it better." The chill December sun came stealing in and illumined the sick man's face with a light that was the shadow of heaven. The strange doctor moved to the blind. My uncle's voice arrested him — " No, no. Leave it up. You will have to pull it down very soon — only a few moments now. Tom, come closer. You have been a g*ood boy, Tom, a good boy, though" — ^^with a faint smile — "a little trying at times. 18-1 DKAO AFAN's ItOfK. All, lull she fort^ave you, Toni. She loved you dearly ; she will tell me so — when we meet." jNIy uncle's g-aze beg-an to wander, as though antici- pating that meeting-; but he roused himself and said — " Kiss me, Tom, and send .I:is|itn- to mo." Bit((M'ly wecpini;', Tom m:id»' room, :ind T bent over the bed. " Ah, Jasper, il is you. Kissmt', boy. 1 have been telliui;- Tom 1h;i( you must share alike, (jiod has been stern with yuu, .Iiisprr, to His own good ends — His own g^ood ends. Oidy be jiatienf, it will come right at the last. Ilnw diirk it is gelling; j)ull up the blind." '' The blind is ii]>, uncle." " Ah, yes, 1 forgot. I have dflen IhoULiht — do you remember thai day — reading \-our latlu-r's paper — and the key y " " Ves, uncle." " I have ol'teu Ihought — about th:it key — which you Hung into the lire— and I pieked out — your father Ezekiel's key — keeji it. Closer, Jasper, elo.ser " I bent down until my ear almost touched his lips. " I have — often — thought — we were wrong that night — and perhaps — meant — search — in . . ." For cpiite a minute I bent to catch the next word, then looking' on his face withdrew my arm and laid the grey head back ujxui the pillow. jNIy \incle was dead. ^ -H- -jf * ^ ^ So it happened that a few weeks after Tom and I, MY UNCLE DIES. 185 having" fonud Uncle Loveday's saving's equally divided between us^ started from Lizard Town by coach to seek our fortunes in London. In London it is that I must resume ray tale. Of our early mishaps and mis- adventures I need not speak, the result being discernible as the story progresses. We did not find our fortunes, but we found some wisdom. Neither Tom nor I ev^er confessed to disappointment at finding the pavements of mere stone, but certainly two more absolute Whii- tingtons never trod the streets of the great city. But before I resume I must say a few words of mj'self. No reader can gather the true moral of this narrative who does not take into account the effect which the cruel death of my parents had wroug-ht on me. From the day of the wreck hate had been my constant companion, cherished and nursed in my heart until it held complete mastery over all other passions. I lived, so I told myself over and over again, but to avenge, to seek Simon Colliver high and low until I held him at my mercy. Thousands of times I rehearsed the scene of our meeting, and always I held the knife which stabbed my father. In my waking thoughts, in my dreams, I was always pursuing, and Colliver for ever fleeing before me. In every crowd I seemed to watch for his face alone, at every street-corner to listen for his voice — that face, that voice, which I should know among* thousands. I had read De Quincey^s ^"^ Opium-Eater,^^ and the picture of his uni-esting" search for his lost Ann somehow seized upon my imagination. Night after 186 DKAI) man's KOCK. iiit;lit it \v:i- (<• Oxlonl Slrcct that my devil drove nn- , nig'lil :iflti- iii^ht I \K\i-fi\ till' " ni'vcr-cudiiij;' torracos," as did the opimn-i'alor, on my tireless quest — but with I'celiuf^s how difTerent ! To me it was hut one lonp^ thirst of hatred, tlu; lon<^ avt'uues of o;aslii;ht vistas of an av('n<4'in<_;- hell, all the mult it udinniis smmds of life hut Ihr iliorus of that song' to whin Collivor come, and somewhere, some (lav, he would ho mine. I util that day I soug'ht a liviuL;' faec in a eity of deail men, and down that illimitahlt> slope to Ilolhorn, and hack ai^ain, I would tramp until the ])avements were silent and deserletl, then seek my hxli^inu;- and throw myself exhausted on the hed. Tn a ding-y "-arret, lookinij^ out, when its ^rimy panes allowed, al)ove one of the many squalid streets that feed the main artery of the Strand, my story hef]fins anew. The furniture of the room relieves mo of the task of word-painting', l)eing- more cfTectively desorihed hy cata- logue, after the manner of the ships at Troy. It con- sisted of two small beds, one rickety washstand, one wooden chair, and one tin candlestick. At the ])resent moment this last held a flickering dip, for it was ten o'clock on the night of May the ninth, eighteen hundred and sixty-three. On the chair sat Tom, turning ex- citedly the leaves of a prodigiously imposing manuscript. I was sitting on the edge of the hed nearest the candle, brooding on my hate as usual. TOM AND I. 187 Fortmio had evidently dealt us some roug-li knocks. We were dressed, as Tom put it, to suit the furniture, and did it to a nicety. We were fed, according- to the same authority, aLove our income ; but not often. I also quote Tom in saying- that we were living- rather fast : we certainly saw no long- prospect before us. In short, matters had reached a crisis. Tom looked up from his reading. " Do you know, Jasper, I could wish that our wash- stand had not a hole cut in it to receive the basin. It sounds hyper-critical. But really it prejudices me in the eyes of the managers. There^'s a suspicious bulge in the middle of the paper that is damning-.^' I was absorbed in my own thoughts, and took no notice. Presently he continued — " Whittington is an overrated character, don't you ihink? After all he owed his success to his name. It's a great thing- for strugg-ling }'outh to have a three- syllabled name with a proparoxyton accent. IVe been listening to the bells to-night and they can make nothing- of Loveday, while as for Trenoweth, it's hopeless.''^ As I still remained silent, Tom proceeded to an- nounce — "The House will now go into the Question of Supply.- " The Exchequer," I reported, " contains exactly sixteen and eightpence halfpenny." " Rent having been duly paid to-day and receipt ffiven." 188 dj:ai) mw's koc k. " Ko('ri|>t ^ivi'll,*' 1 fcluM'd. " KimIIv, wlicn (ircat Knhv of {'(•yh)n, hosidos ollirr treasure too paltrs to nimliun, in tIani,Tr of starving; in a •iji'nnt't. flci-c am I. Thiinia-^ Tjove ; and yet we agreed liefore 1 set out that \ uiir t niiif a pair of boots. CMieer up, Jasper, boy," he continued, risin<^ and })laeinu;- a hand on my shoulder. '' We have been fools, and have paid for it. You thouf^ht you could find your enemy in London, and find the hiding-place too big. I thought I could write^ and find I cannot. As I MAKE A PROPOSAL. 189 for legitimate work, sixteen and eig-litpence halfpenny, even with economy, will hardly carry us on fur three years /^ I rose. " I will have one more walk in Oxford Street," I said, " and then come home and see this miserable farce of starvation out." " Don^t be a fool, Jasper. It is difficult, I know, to perish with dignity on sixteen and eightpence half- penny : the odd coppers spoil the effect. Still we might bestow them on a less squeamish beggar and redeem our pride. '^ '^Tom," I said, suddenly, '^you lost a lot of money once over rouge-et-noir." "■ Don't remind me of that, Jasper.'^ " No, no ; but where did you lose it ? '^ "At a gambling hell off Leicester Square. But why " " Should you know the place again ? Could you find it ? " "Easily." " Then let us go and try our luck with this miser- able sum." " Don^t be a fool, Jasper. What mad notion has taken you now ? " " I have never gambled in my life," I answered, "and may as well have a little excitement before the end comes. It^s not much of a sum, as you say ; but the thought that we are playing for life or death may make up for that. Let us start at once." l!)0 DKAI) man's rock. " It is the inadclest folly." "Very Wfll, Tom, we will sliaiv this. TlitTc may may be some little dilliculty over tlu' liair|>enny, Imt 1 don't mind tluuwin^ thai in. We will take hall' e;icli, and you can hoard whilst 1 lemi>t fortune. " " flas|ter," said Tom, his i-yes lillini^ with tears, "you have siid a hard ihinn", hut I know you don't mean it. If you are ahsulutely set on this silly freak, we will stand or fall too-ether." " ^'el•y well,'' said I, " we will stand or fall toj^cther, for I am i)erl'eetly serious. The six and eij^htpenee halfpenny, no more and no less, T propose to spend in suj)per. After that we shall he better prepared to face our ehanee. Do you ai^ree ? " " I a«;ree," said Tom, sadly. We took our hats, extinguished the eandlc, and stumbled down the stall's into the nio-ht. We ordered supper at an eatinfj-house in the Strand, and in all my life I cannot i*ecall a merrier meal than this, which, for all we knew, would be our last. The very thought lent a touch of bravado to my humour, and presently Tom caug-ht the infection. It was not a sumptuous meal in itself, but i)rinee]y to our ordinary fare; and the iniaecustomed taste of beer loosened onr tongues, until our mirth fairly astonished our fellow- diners. At length the waiter came with the news that it was time for closing. Tom called for the bill, and finding that it came to half-a-crown apiece, ordered two sixpenny cigai*s, and tossed the odd eightpence half- IN SEARCH OP LUCK. 191 penny to the waiter^ announcing at the same time that this was our last meal on earth. This done, he gravely handed me four half-crowns, and rose to leave. I rose also, and once more we stepped into the night. Since the days of which I write, Leicester Square has greatly changed. Then it was an intricate, and, by night, even a dangerous quarter, chieily given over to foreigners. As we trudged through innumerable by- streets and squalid alleys, 1 wondered if Tom had not forgotten his way. At length, however, we turned up a blind alley, lit by one struggling gas-jet, and knocked at a low door. It was opened almost immediately, and we groped our way up another black passage to a second door. Here Tom gave three knocks very loud and distinct. A voice cried, " Open,^^ the door swung back before us, and a blaze of light flashed in our faces. li)2 (iiAiri:!; ii. TELLS OF Till; MCK Ol' Till; (iOLUKN I LASp. As the dnur swuiii; l>;uk I hecamc conscious lirst of a ll(»(t(l of liL,''Iit that »Mtmi)li't<'ly (hi//k'd my eyes, next of tlie l)Uzz (if many vniccs that (Minfusctl my hcaiiiiLC. Hy sldw tU'j^ivi's, liowovcr, tlio noise and y^laie jj^rew familiar and my senses wore ahle to take in the strani^e scene. I stood in a hiry;e room furnished after the fashion of a dra\viii!^-room, and resplendent with eandles and gildiny. The ear|)et was rieh, the walls were hung with j)ietures, whieh if i^-arish in colour were not tasteless in design^ and between these i^littere«l a ((uantity of i^ilded mirrors that caught and retlccted the rays of a hu»^e candelabrum dejK'ndinjj from the centre of the ceiling. Innumerable wax candles also shone in various parts of the room, while here and there rich chairs and sofas were disposed ; but these were for the most part un- occupied, for the guests were clustered together beneath the great candelabrum. They were about thirty in number, and from their appearance I judged them to belong to very different classes of society. Some were poorly and even mi.serably attired, others adorned with gorgeous, and not a few with valuable, jewellery. Here stood one who from his A STEANGE COMPANY. 193 clothes seemed to be a poor artisan ; there lounged a fop in evening dress. There was also a sprinkling of women, and not a few wore masks of some black stuff concealing the upper part of their faces. But the strangest feature of the company was that one and all were entirely and even breathlessly watching the table in their midst. Even the idlest scarcely raised his eyes to greet us as we entered, and for a moment or two I paused at the door as one who had no business with this strange assemblage. During these few moments I was able to grasp the main points of what I saw. The guests were grouped around the table, some sitting and others standing behind their chairs. The table itself was oblong in shape, and at its head sat the most extraordinary woman it had ever been my lot to behold. She was of immense age, and so wrinkled that her face seemed a very network of deeply-printed lines. Her complexion, even in the candle-light, was of a deep yellow, such as is rarely seen in the most jaundiced faces. Despite her age, her features were bold and bore traces of a rare beauty outlived ; her eyes were of a deep yet glittering black, and as they flashed from the table to the faces of her guests, seemed never to wink or change for an instant their look of intense alertness. But what was most noteworthy in this strange woman was neither her eyes, her wrinkles, nor her curious colour, but the amazing quantity of jewels that she wore. As she sat there beneath the glare of the N 191 DEAD man's rock. eaiult'labrum she positively l>lazod with gems. ^Vith every motion of her (|uiek hands a luindreil points of lire leapt ont from the diamonds on her liny;eis ; with every turn of her wrinkled neek the light played upon innumerable facets; and all the time those cold, lustrous eyes scintillated as brightly as the stones. She was en- gaged in the g-ame as we entered, and turned her gaze ujx)n us for an instant only, but that momentary flash was so cold, so absolutely un-humanj that 1 doulited if I looked upon reality. The whole assembly seemed rather like a room full of eondemneeen here before, and, if I remember ritjhtly, were unfortunate. Cf)ine and sit near me when you have a ehanee, and perhaps you may break this run of luck. I'^ven I am tiring- of it. Or better still, get that dark handsome friend of yours to stake for you. Have you ever plaved before ? " she asked, turn- ing to me. I shook my head. "All the better. Fortune always favours beginners, and if it does I shall be well recompensed to have so handsome a youth beside me/' and with this she turned to the game again. At her right sat a grey-headed man with worn face and wolfish eyes, who might have been expected to take this as a hint to make way. But he never heard a word. All his sense was concentrated on the board be- fore him, and his only motion was to bend more closely and eagerly over the play. Tom whis])ered in my ear — "You have the money, Jasjjer; take her advice if you really mean to play this farce out. Take the seat if you get a chance, and play your own game.'' " You have been here before," I answered, " and know more about the game." " Here before I Yes, to my cost. Xo, no, the idea I WATCH THE GAME. 197 of play is your own and you shall carry it out. I am always unlucky, and as for knowledge of the game, you can j^ick that up by watching a round or two ; it's perfectly simple.^" Again the bank had won. At the left hand of our hostess stood a stolid man holding a small shovel with which he gathered in the winnings. All around were faces as of souls in torture ; even the features of the winners (and these were few enough) scarcely expressed a trace of satisfaction, but seemed rather cast into some horrible trance in which they saw nothing but the piles of coin, the spinning needle, and the flashing hands of the woman that turned it. She all the while sat pas- sionless and cold, looking on the scene as might some glittering and bejewelled sphinx. As I gazed, as the needle whirled and stopped and once more whirled, the mad excitement of the place came creeping upon me. The glittering fingers of our hostess fascinated me as a serpent holds its prey. The stifling heat, the glare, the confused murmurs mounted like strong wine into my brain. The clink and gleam of the gold as it passed to and fro, the harsh voice of the man with the shovel calling at intervals, " Put on your money, gentlemen,^'' the mechanical progress of the play, confused and staggered my senses. I for- got Tom, forgot the reason of our coming, forgot even where I was, so absorbed was I, and craned forward over the hurrying wheel, as intent as the veriest gambler present. lOS UKAD man's rock. I was aroused from my stuiior by a muttered curse, as the grey-headed man l)efi)re me stajj^ jeered up from his chair, and left the table with desj)erate eyes and stupid gait. As he rose the jewelled fingers made a slight motion, ami I dropped into the vacant seat. The bank was still winning. At our hostess' left hand rose a swelling pile of gold and silver that time after time absorbed all the smaller heaps upon the black ane nee«lle went nmnd once more, slack- ened and stopped — this time amid dcej) and desperate execrations — she turned to me and said — " Now i-< your time to break the bank if you wish. Play boldly; I should like to lose t<) so pn)per a man." I looked back at Tom, who merely nodded, anrcak the hank. But see, have you nothing — nothini^? For I feel as if my hick were i^'^oing to h'ave me." " Nothin;^'," I answered, " nothiiifj^ in the worKl." " Poor boy ! " IK-r Voice was tcinlcr and sympathetic, hut in lier eyes there ulauccd nut the faintest spark of mercy. I sat for a moment stunned and helpless, and then she resumed. " Can I lend to you ? " " No, for 1 have no chance of repayin;^. This was iny all, and if has i^'-one. I have not one penny left in the World." " Poor boy ! " " T thaidv you. I eouKl not expect you to pity me, but " "Ah, but you are wroui,'-. I i)ity you: I pity you all. Fools, fools, 1 call you all, and yet I make my liviufT out of you. So you cannot ]>lay," she added, as she set the game going once again. " What will you do ? " " Go, first of all." " And after ? " I shrugged my shoulders. ''No, do not go yet. Sit beside me for a while and watch : it is only Fortune that makes me your enemy. I would willingly have lost to you." She looked so curious, sitting there with her yellow YELLOW BLOOD. 20 1 face, her wrinkles and her innumerable diamonds, that I could only sit and stare. " I have seen many a desperate boy/'' continued this extraordinary woman, " sitting beside me in that very chair. Ah, many a young life have I murdered in this way. I am old, you see, very old ; older even than you could guess, but I triumph over youth none the less. Sometimes I feel as if I fed on the young lives of others.^^ She delivered these confidences without a change in her emotionless face, and still I stared fascinated. " Ah, yes, they sit here for a moment, and then they go — who knows where ? You will be going presently, and then I shall lose you for ever, without a thought of what hajDpens to you. Money is my blood : you see its colour in my face. Here they all come, and I suck their blood and fling them aside. They win sometimes ; but I can wait. I wait and wait, and they come back here as surely as there is a destiny. They come back, and I win in the end. I always win in the end." She turned her attention to the game for a moment and then went on : — " It is a rare drink, this yellow blood : and all the sweeter when it comes from youth. I have had but a drop from you, but I like you nevertheless. Oh, yes, I can pity, my heart is always full of pity as I sit here drinking gold. Your friend is a charming boy, but I like you better : and now you will go. These partings are. very cruel, are they not?'^ •ZU'Z DEAD man's KOCK. There was not a trace <•£ mockery in her voice, uiul her eyes were the same as ever. I merely lookeil up in reply, but she divined my thouy;hts. *^No, I am not mockin*::: you. I should like you to win — once : I say it, and am perfectly honest about it. Von would be beaten in the end, but it would please me while it lasted. Has your friend no money ? " " No, this was all we had between us/' " So he came back and ji^ot you to play with yur money. That was stning-e friendship,'' " You are wrony-," I answered, " he was set against comini^ ; but I persuaded him — or rather, I insisted. It is all my own fault.'' " Well," she said, musingly, " I suppose you must go; but it is a pity. You are too hand.some a boy to — to do what you will probably do : but the game does not regard gocxl looks, or it would fare badly with me. Good-bye." Still there was no shadow of ])ity in those unfathom- able eyes. I looked into them for a moment, but their shining jet revealed nothing below the surface — nothing but inexorable calm. " Good-bye," I said, and rose to go, for Tom's hand was already on my shoulder. I dared not look in his face. All hope was gone now, all wealth, all Stay ! I put my fingers in my waistcoat-pocket and drew out the Golden Clasp. Worthless to me as any sign of the hiding-place of the Great Ruby, it might yet be worth something as metal. I had carried it ever since the day I STAKE THE CLASP. 303 when Uncle Loveday and I read my father's Journal. But what did it matter now ? In a few hours I should be beyond the hoj)e of treasure. Might I not just as well fling this accursed clasp after the rest ? For aught I knew it might yet win something back to me — that is^ if anyone would accept it as money. At least I would try. I sank back into my chair again. The woman turned her eyes upon me carelessly, and said — '' What, back again so soon ? " '' Yes," said I, somewhat taken aback by her cold- ness, " if you will give me another chance." " I give nothing, least of all chance," she replied. " Well, can you tell me if this is worth anything? " As I said this I held out the clasp, which flashed brightly as it caught the rays of the large candelabrum overhead. She turned her eyes upon it, and as she did so, for the first time I fancied I caught a gleam of interest within them. It was but a gleam, however, and died out instantly as she said — '' Let me look at it." I handed it to her. She bent over it for a moment, then turned to me and asked — ^' Is this all of it ? I mean that it seems only one half of a clasp. Have you not the other part ? " I shook my head, and she continued — " It is beautifully worked, and seems valuable. Do you wish me to buy it ? " " Not exactly that," I explained ; " but if you think •iOl DKAI) man's hock. it worth anythiiin- I should like to stake it a;^:iiiist an equivalent/' " Very well ; it niij^lit he worth three pounds — |)erha]>9 nioie : but you can stake it for that if you will. Slull it he all at once?" " Ves, let nie have it over at once/' I said, and l)laec ^ '''^'^ ^".^" fj^cstcd an excursion up the river; thoufijlj, to tell tlie tnilli, this answi-r had conu' with tlie (juestion. Be that as it may, the afternoon of that same Sunday found me on the left bank of the Thames between Streatley and Pangbourne ; found me, with my boat moored idly by, stretched on my back amid tlie undergrowth, and easefully staring upward through a trellis-work of branches into the heavens. I had been lying there a full hour wondering vaguely of my last night's ad- venture, listening to the spring-time chorus of the birds, lazily and listlessly watching a bough that bent and waved its fan of foliage across my face, or the twinkle of the tireless kingfislier flashing down-stream in loops of light, when a blackbird lit on a branch hard by my left hand, and, all nnconscious of an audience, began to pour forth his rapture to the day. Lying there I conld spy his black body and yellow bill, and drink in his song with dreamy content. So sweetly and delicately was he fluting, that by degrees slumber crept gently and unj»erceived upon my tired 1 HEAR A VOICE. 2\S brain ; and as the health-giving distillation o£ the melody stole upon my parched senses, I fell into a deep sleep. ■K- * -x- -^ -x- What was that? Music? Yes, but not the song of my friend the black-bird, not the mellow note that had wooed me to slumber and haunted my dreams. Music ? Yes, but the voice was human, and the song articulate. I started, and rose upon my elbow to listen. The voice was human beyond a doubt — sweetly human : it was that of a girl singing. But where ? I looked around and saw nobody. Yet the singer could not be far off, for the words, though softly and gently sung, dwelt clearly and distinctly upon my ear. Still half asleep, I sank back again and listened. " Flower of the May, Saw ye oue pass ? ' Love passed to-day While the dawn was, O, but the eyes of him shone as a glass.' " The low, delicate notes came tremulous through the thicket. The blackbird was hushed, the trees overhead swayed soundlessly, and when the voice fell and paused, so deep was the silence that involuntarily I held my breath and waited. Presently it broke out again — " Bird of the thorn, What his attire ? ' Lo ! it was torn, Marred with the mire, And but tie eyes of him sparkled with fire.' " ~ I 1 liKAI) MAN S UOCK. Ai^aln the voice ditnl away in st>ft cadences, and ai^ain all was silence. I rose once moie upon my elbow, and j^azed into the tjjreen depths of the wcjod ; hut saw only the hlackbii\l j)erched upon a twi<^ and listenin<^ with hcai>sv and ti^ure tiuccnly Ix'yoiul Wolds. Under tlu' luiin ami down Oxford Street?'' I shook my head. " AVhat ! no revenue to-nij^Mit ? No thirst for l.luod?'' "Tom," I replied, solemnly, "neither to-nin^ht nor any other nio;ht. My revenj^e is dead/' "Dear me! when did it take phue? It must have l»«'»'ii very sudden." " It died to-day." " Jasper," said Tom, layino- his jiand on my shoul- der, " eitlu-r wealth has turned yo r brain, or most remarkably «^iven you sanity." 225 CHAPTER IV. TELLS HOW I SAW THE SHADOW OF THE EOCK ; AND HOW I TOLD AND HEARD NEWS. A WEEK passed^ and in the interval Tom and I made several discoveries. In the first place^ to our great relief, we discovered that the bank-notes were received in Threadneedle Street without question or demur. Secondly, we found our present lodgings narrow, and therefore moved westward to St. James's. Further, it struck us that our clothes would have to conform to the '' demands of more Occidental civilisation/' as Tom put it, and also that unless we intended to be medical students for ever it was necessary to become medical men. Lastly, it began to dawn upon Tom that '^ Francesca : a Tragedy'' was a somewhat turgid per- formance, and on me that a holiday on Sunday was demanded by six days of work. I do not know that we displayed any remarkable interest in the Materia Medica, or that the authorities of Guy's looked upon us as likely to do them any sin- gular credit. But Tom, who had now a writing-desk, made great alterations in " Francesca," while I consumed vast quantities of tobacco in the endeavour to reproduce a certain face in my note-book j and I am certain that p 226 DEAD man's rock. the resolution to take a holiday on Sunday was as strong at the end of the first week as though I had wrought my faculties to the verge of hrain fever. I did not see her on that Sunday, or the next, though twice my boat explored tlie river helween Goring ami Pangbourne from early morning until nightfall. JJut let me hasten over heart-aching and bitterness, and come to the blessed Sunday when for a second time I saw my love. Again the day was radiant with summer. Above, the vaulted blue arched to a capstone of noonday gold. Hardly a fleecy cloud troubled the height of heaven, or blotted the stream's clear mirror ; save here and there where the warm air danced and quivered over the still meadows, the season's colour lay equal u]K)n earth. Before me the river wound silently into the sunny solitude of space untroubled by sight of human form. But what was that speck of white far down the bank — that brighter s}K)t uj)on the universal brightness, moving, advancing ? My heart gave one great leap ; in a moment my boat's bows were high upon the crumbling bank, and I was gazing down the tow-path. Yes, it was she! From a thousand thousand I could tell that perfect form as it loitered — how slowly — up the river's verge. Along heaven's boundary the day was lit with glory for me, and all the glory but a golden frame for that white speck so carelessly approaching. Still and mute I stood as it drew nearer — so still, so mute, that a lazy pike thrust out its wolfisH jaw^s just under my A SECOND TIME. 227 feet and, seeing" me, splashed under again in great dis- composure ; so motionless that a blundering swallow all but darted against me, then swept curving to the "svater, and vanished down the stream. She had been gathering May-blossom, and held a cluster in one hand. As before, her gown was purest white, and, as before, a nodding hat guarded her fair face jealously. Nearer and nearer she came, glanced carelessly at me who stood bare-headed in the suu^s glare, was passing, and glanced again, hesitated for one agonising moment, and then, as our eyes met, shot out a kindly flash of remembrance, followed by the sweetest of little blushes. " So you are here again,^^ she said, as she gave her hand, and her voice made exquisite music in my ear. '^ Again ? '^ I said, slowly releasing her fingers as a miser might part with treasure. " Again ? I have been here every Sunday since.^'' " Dear me ! is it so long ago ? Only three weeks after all. I remember, because " The fleeting hope possessed me that it might be some recollection in which I had place, but my illusion was swiftly shattered. " Because,^' the pitiless sentence continued, " mother was not well that evening ; in fact, she has been ill ever since. So it is only three weeks.'" " Only three weeks ! '''' I echoed. "Yes," she nodded. " I have not seen the river for all that time. Is it changed ? " p 3 228 DEAD MAN^S ROCK. " Sadly chan^red/^ " Perhaps I have ehan<^ecl." "Well, I hoj)e so/' she lau^-hed, "after that wet- ting/' then, seeing an indignant Hash in my eyes, she added quiekly, "whieh you got by so kindly bringing baek my boat.'^ " You have not been rowing to-day?" "No; see, I have been gathering the last ot the May-blossom. May is all but dead." " And 'Flower of the May'? " " Please do not remind me of that foolish song. Had I known, I would not have sung it for worlds." " I would not for worlds have missed it." Again she frowned and ntnv turned to go. "And you, too, must make these speeches ! *' The world of reproach in her tone was at once gall and honey to me. (jiall, because the "you too" conjured up a host of jealous imaginings; honey, because it was revealed that of me she had hoped for better. And now like a fool I had Hung her good opinion away and she was leaving me. I made a half-step forward. " I must go now," she said, and the little hand was held out in token of farewell. " No ! no ! I have offended you. " No answer. " I have offended you," I insisted, still holding her hand. ''trust me/^ 229 " I forgive you. But, indeed, I must go/' The hand made a faint struggle to be free. "Why?" My voice came hard and unnatural. I still held the fingers, and as I did so, felt the embarrassment of utter shyness pass over the bridge of our two hands and settle chokingly upon my heart. " Why?^' 1 repeated, more hoarsely yet. " Because — because I must not neglect mother again. She is waiting. ""^ " Then let me go with you.''^ " Oh, no ! Some day — if we meet — I will introduce you." ''Why not now?" " Because she is not well.'''' Even my lately-acquired knowledge of the Materia Medica scarcely warranted me in offering to cure her. But I did. She laughed shyly and said, " How, sir ; are you a doctor?'' " Tinker, tailor, soldier, sailor, gentleman, apothe- cary,'' I said lightly, "neither one nor the other, but that curious compound of the two last — a medical student." " Then I will not trust you," she answered, smiling. "Better trust me," I said; and something in my words again made her look down. "You will trust me? " I pleaded, and the something in my words grew plainer. 230 DKAD man's hock. Still no answer. "Oh, trust me!" The hand quivorcil in niino an instant, the eyes looked up and lauj^hed once more. "I will trust you," she said — "not to move from this spot until I am out of si^'ht.'^ Then with a liiii-ht "Gooil-hyi.'" she was ^one, and I was left to vaij^uely comprehentl my loss. Before loui^ I had seen her a third time and yet once aiiinin. I had learnt her name to be Luttrell — Claire Luttrell; how often did I not say the words over to my- self? I had also eonlided in Tom and received his hearty condolence, Tom \)e'mcr in that staf»-e of youth which despises all of which it knows nothing — love esjiecially, as a thinf^ contrary to nature's uniformity. So Tom was youthfully cynical, and therefore by strange infer- ence put on the airs of superior age ; was also sceptical of my description, especially a certain comparison of her eyes to stars, though a very similar trope occurred somewhere in the tragedy. Indeed therein Francesca's eyes were likened to the Pleiads, being apparently (as I pointed out with some asperity) seven in number, and one of them lost. I had also seen Mrs. Luttrell, a worn and timid woman, with weak blue eyes and all the manner of the professional invalid. I say this now, but in those days she was in ray eyes a celestial being mysteriously clothed in earth's infirmities — as how should the mother of Claire be anything else ? Somehow I won the favour of this A GOLDEN SUMMER. £'31 faded creature — chieflyj I suspect, because she liked so well to be left alone. All day long she would sit con- tentedly watcliing" the river and waiting for Claire, yet only anxious that Claire should be happy. All her heart centred on her child, and often, in spite of our friendli- ness, I caught her glancing from Claire to me with a jealous look, as though the mother guessed what the child suspected but dimly, if at all. So the summer slipped away, all too fleetly — to me, as I look back after these weary years, in a day. But nevertheless much happened : not much that need be written down in bald and pitiless prose, but much to me who counted and treasured every moment that held my darling near me. So the Loves through that golden season wound us round with their invisible chains and hovered smiling and waiting. So we drifted week after week upon the river, each time nearer and nearer to the harbour of confession. The end was surely coming, and at last it came. It was a gorgeous August evening. A week before she had told me that Saturday would be a holiday for her, and had, when pressed, admitted a design of spend- ing it upon the river. Need it be confessed that Saturday saw me also in my boat, expectant? And when she came and feigned pretty astonishment at meeting me, and scepticism as to my doing any work throughout the week, need I say the explanation took time and seemed to me best delivered in a boat ? At any rate, so it was ; and somehow, the explanation took 'Z-iZ DEAD man's ItOCK. such a vast amount of time, that the sun was already plungiugf clown the western sloiie of heaven when we stei)i)ecl asliore almost on the very spot where lirst I had heard her voice. As the first film of evening came creepiiij]^ over earth, there fell a hush between us. A hlackhird — the same, I verily believe — took the opportunity to wel- come us. His note was no lon<^er full and unstudied as in May. The summer was nearly over, and witli it his voice was failing-; but he did his best, and something in the hosj)itality of his song jndnipted me to break the silence. " This is the very spot on which we met for the first time — do you remember?'' "Of course I remember," was the simjilc answer. ''You do?" I foolishly burned to hear the assur- ance again. "Of coiuse — it was such a lovely day.'' "A blessed day," I answered, "the most blessed of my life." There was a long pause here, and even the blackbird could hardly fill it up. "Do you regret it?" (Why does man on these occasions ask such a heap of questions ?) "Why should I?" (Why does woman invariably answer his query with another ?) "I hope there is no reason," I answered, "and yet — I AM CHANGED. 233 oh, can you not see o£ what that day was the beginning ? Can you not see whither these last four months have carried me? ^^ The sun struck slanting on the water and ran in tajDering lustre to our feet. The gilded ripple slipped and murmured below us ; the bronzed leaves overhead bent carefully to veil her answer. The bird within the covert uttered an anxious note. " They have carried you, it seems," she answered, with eyes gently lowered, "back to the same place. '^ " They have carried me," I echoed, '' from spring to summer. If they have brought me back to this spot, it is because the place and I have changed — Claire ! " As I called her by her Christian name she gave one quick glance, and then turned her eyes away again. I could see the soft rose creeping over her white neck and cheek. Had I offended? Between hope and despera- tion, I continued — "Claire — I will call you Claire, for that was the name you told me just four months ago — lam changed, oh, changed past all remembrance ! Are you not changed at all ? Am I still nothing to you ? " She put up her hand as if to ward off further speech, but spoke no word herself. "Answer me, Claire; give me some answer if only a word. Am I still no more than the beggar who rescued your boat that day ? " "Of course, you are my friend — now. Please for- get that I took you for a beggar.''^ 231- DEAD man's ItOCK. The words came with effort. Within the bushes the hlackbird still chirped expectant, and the ripple below murnuired to the bunk, "The old story — the old story." " But I am a beggtir," I broke out. " Claire, I am always a beg-gar on my knees before you. Oh, Claire ! " Her face was yet more averted — the sun kissed her wavinf^ locks with soft lips of j^old, the breeze half stirred the delicate draperies around her. The black- bird's note was broken and halting as my own speech. " Claire, have you not guessed ? will you never guess? Oh, have pity on me ! " I could see the soft bosom heaving now. The little hand was pulling at the gown. Iltr whole sweet shape drooped away from me in vague alarm — but still no answer came. ''Courage! Courage!'' chirped the bird, and the river murmured responsive, "Courage!" "Claire!" — and now there was a ring of agony in the voice; the tones came alien and scarcely recognised — "Claire, I have watched and waited for this day, and now that it has come, for good or for evil, answer me — I love you ! " O time-honoured and most simple of propositions ! " I love you ! " Night after night had I lain upon my bed rehearsing speeches, tender, passionate and florid, and lo ! to this had it all come — to these three words, which, as my lips uttered them, made my heart leap in awe of their crude and naked daring. And she ? The words, as though they smote her, " CLAIRE ! " 235 chased for an instant the rich blood from her cheek. For a moment the bosom heaved wildly, then the colour came slowly back, and ebbed again. A soft tremor shook the bending form, the little hand clutched the gown, but she made no answer. " Speak to me, Claire ! I love you ! With my life and soul I love you. Can you not care for me ? ^' I took the little hand. " Claire, my heart is in jowv hands — do with it what you will, but speak to me. Can you not — do you not — care for me ? " The head drooped lower yet, the warm fingers quivered within mine, then tightened, and — What was that whisper, that less than whisper, for which I bent my head ? Had I heard aright ? Or why was it that the figure drooped closer, and the bird's note sprang up jubilant ? '' Claire ! " A moment — one tremulous, heart-shaking moment — and then her form bent to me, abandoned, conquered ; her face looked up, then sank upon my breast ; but before it sank I read upon it a tenderness and a passion infinite, and caught in her eyes the perfect light of love. As the glory of delight came flooding on my soul, the sun's disc dropjjed, and the first cold shadow of night fell upon earth. The blackbird uttered a broken " Amen,'^ and was gone no man knew whither. The golden ripple passed up the river, and vanished in a leaden grey. One low shuddering sigh swept through 236 DEAD man's rock. the trees, then all was dumb. I looked westward. Towards the horizon the blue of day was fading down- wards throui^h indistinguishable zones of purple, ame- thyst, and palest rose, the whole heaven arching in one perfect rainbow of love. l^ut while T looked and listened to the beating of that beloved heart girdled with my arm, there grew a something on the western sky that well-nigh turned my own heart to marble. At first, a lightest shadow — a mere breath uj)on heaven's mirror, no more. Then as I gazed, it deeiiened, gathering all shadows from around the pole, heaping, massing, wreathing them around one spot in the troubled west — a shape that grew and threatened and still grew, until I looked on — what ? Up from the calm sea of air rose one solitary island, black and looming, rose and took shape and stood out — the very form and semblance of Dead Man's Rock ! Sable and real as death it towered there ajjainst the pale evening, until its shadow, falling on my heart itself and on the soft brown head that bent and nestled there, lay round us clasped so, and with its frown cursed the morning of our love. Something in my heart's beat, or in the stiffening of my arm, must have startled my darling, for as I gazed I felt her stir, and, looking down, caught her eyes turned wistfully upwards. My lips bent to hers. '^ Mine, Claire ! Mine for ever ! '' And there, beneath the shadow of the Rock, our lips drew closer, met, and were locked in their first kiss. THE SHADOW OF THE ROCK. :l'i7 When I looked up again the shadow had vanished^ and the west was grey and clear. So in the tranquil evening we rowed homewards, our hearts too full for speech. The wan moon rose and trod the waters, but we had no thoughts, no eyes for her. Our eyes were looking into each other's depths, our thoughts no thoughts at all, but rather a dazzled and wondering awe. Only as a light or two gleamed out, and Streatley twinkled in the distance, Claire said — " Can it be true ? You know nothing of me.''' " I know you love me. What more should I know, or wish to know ? " The red lips were pursed in a manner that spoke whole tomes of wisdom. "You do not know that I work for my living all the week ? " " When you are mine you shall work no more.'''' " ' But sit on a cushion and sew a gold seam ' ? All, no ; I have to work. It is strange,''"' she said, musingly, " so strange" " What is strange, Claire ? " " That you have never seen me except on my holi- days — that we have never met. What have you done since you have been in London ? ''' I thought of my walks and tireless quest in Oxford Street with a kind of shame. That old life was severed from the present by whole worlds. 238 DEAD man's rock. " 1 liave lived very quietly/^ I answered. " liut is it so strange that we have never met ? " She laug-hed a low and musical laui^h, and as the boat drew shoreward and grounded, replied — "Perhaps not. Come, let us go to mother — Jasi>er.'' O sweet sound from sweetest lips ! We stepped ashore, and hand-in-hand entered the room where her mother sat. As she looked up and saw us standing there to- gether, she knew the truth in a moment. Her blue eyes fdled with sudden fear, her worn hand went up- wards to her heart. Until that instant she had not known of my presence there that day, and in a flash divined its meaning. " I feared it,'' she answered at length, as I told my story and stood waiting for an answer. '' I feared it, and fur long have been expecting it. Claire, my love, are you sure ? Oh, be quite sure before you leave me." For answer, Claire only knelt and Hung her white arms round her mother's neck, and hid iier face u])on her mother's bosom. " You love him now, you think ; but, oh, be careful. Search your heart before you rob me of it. I have known love, too, Claire, or thought I did ; and indeed it can fade — and then, what anguish, what anguish ! " " Mother, mother ! I will never leave you." Mrs. Tiuttrell siffhed. MRS. LUTTRELL. 239 " Ah, child, it is your happiness I am thinking oi." " I will never leave you, mother/' " And you, sir, " continued Mrs. Luttrell, " are you sure ? I am giving" you what is dearer than life itself ; and as you value her now, treat her worthily hereafter. Swear this to me, if my gift is worth so much in your eyes. Sir, do you know " " Mother ! " Claire drew her mother's head down towards her and whispered in her ear. Mrs. Luttrell frowned, hesi- tated, and finally said — " Well, it shall be as you wish — though I doubt if it be wise. God bless you, Claire — and you, sir ; but oh, be certain, be certain ! '' What incoherent speech I made in answer I know not, but my heart was sore for this poor soul. Claire turned her eyes to me and rose, smoothing her mother's grey locks. " We will not leave her, will we ? Tell her that we will not." I echoed her words, and stepping to Mrs. Luttrell, took the frail, white hand. " Sir,-'' she said, '' 3'ou who take her from me should be my bitterest foe. Yet see, I take you for a son.'' Still rapt with the glory of my great triumph, and drunk with the passion of that farewell kiss, I walked into our lodgings and laid my hand on Tom's shoulder. •2-tO DEAD man's rock. " Tom, I have news for you/' Tom started up. " Ami so have I for you." " Great news." " Glorious news ! " " Tom, listen : I am accepted." " Bless my soul ! Jasper, so am I." " You ? " " Yes.'' " When ? Where ? " " This afternoon. Jasper, our success has come at last : for you the Loves, for me the Muses ; for you the rose, for me the bay. Jasper, dear boy, they have learnt her worth at last." "Her! Who?" " Francesea. Jasper, in three months 1 shall he famous; for next November " Francesca : a Trag^edy " will be produced at the Coliseum. 341 CHAPTER V. TELLS HOW THE CURTAIN HOSE UPON '' PRANCESCA : A TRAGEDY.-''' Again my story may hurry, for on tlie enchanted weeks that followed it would weary all bvit lovers to dwell, and lovers for the most part find their own matters sufficient food for pondering. Tom was busy with the rehearsals at the Coliseum, and I, being* left alone, had little taste for the Materia Medica. On Sundays only did I see Claire ; for this Mrs. Luttrell had stipulated, and my love, too, most mysteriously professed herself busy during the week. As for me, it was clear that before marriage could be talked of I must at least have gained my diplomas, so that the more work I did during the week the better. The result of this was a goodly sowing of resolutions and very little harvest. In the evenings, Tom and I would sit to- gether — he tirelessly polishing and pruning the tragedy, and I for the most part smoking and giving advice which I am bound to say in duty to the author (^' Fran- cesca " having gained some considerable fame since those days) was invariably rejected. Tom had been growing silent and moody of late — a change for which I could find no cause. He would answer my questions at random, pause in his w^ork to Q 242 DEAD man's rock. gaze long and intently on the ceiling, and altogether behave in ways nnaccountaMo and strange. Tlic i)lay had been written at white-hot speed : the corrections ])ro- cecded at a snaiFs pace. The author had also fallen into a habit of bolting his meals in silence, and, when rebuked, of slowly bringing his eyes to Itear upon me as a person whose presence was until the moment unsus])ected. All this I saw in mild wonder, but I rellected on certain moods of my own of late, and held my peace. The explanation came without my seeking. We were seated together one evening, he over his everlasting corrections, and I in some especially herbaceous nook of the Materia Med'ica, when Tom looked up and said — " Jasper, I want your opinion on a i)assage. Listen to this.'-' Sick of my flowery solitude, I gave him my atten- tion while he read : — '• She is uo violet to veil nutl hide Before the lusty sun, but as tlie tlowcr, His best-named bride, that leaneth to the light And images Ills look of lordly love — Yet liow I wrong lier. Slie is more a queen Than he a king ; and whoso looks must kneel And worsliip, conscious of a Sovranty Undreamt in nature, save it be the Heaven That minist'ring to all is queen of all, And wears the proud sun's self but as a gem To grace her girdle, one among the stars. Heaven is Francesca, and Francesca Heaven. Without her. Heaven is dispossessed of Heaven, And Earth, discro^vned and disinherited, Shall bog in black eclipse, mitil her eyes " TOM STATES HIS VIEWS. 343 " Stay/"" I interrupted^ ^"^ unless I am mistaken her eyes are like tlie Pleiads, a simile to which I have more than once objected/' '' If you would only listen you would find those lines cut out/^ said Tom, pettishly. " In that case I apologise : nevertheless, if that is your idea of a Francesca, I confess she seems to me a trifle — shall we say? — massive." " Your Claire, I suppose, is stumpy ? " '^ My Claire/' I replied with dignity, " is neither stumpy nor stupendous." " In fact, just the right height." " Well, yes, just the right height." Tom paid no attention, but went on in full career — '' I hate your Griseldas, your Jessamys, your Mary Anns; give me Semiramis, Dido, Joan of " " My dear Tom, not all at once, I hope." " Bah ! you are so taken up with your own choice, that you must needs 'scoff at anyone who happens to differ. I tell you, woman should be imperial, majestic; should walk as a queen and talk as a goddess. You scoff because you have never seen such ; you shut your eyes and go about saying, 'There is no such woman.' By heaven, Jasper, if you could only see " At this point Tom suddenly pulled up and blushed like any child. " Go on — whom shall I see ? " Tom's blush was beautiful to look upon. " The Lambert, for instance ; I meant " Q 3 244 DEAD man's kock. "Who is the Lambert?" " Do you -mean to say yoii have never heard of Charissa Lambert, the most ulaekbird*s note had lt»n<; eeased utterly. I plaei-d my arm aruund her for support, but my darliny- uidoeked it after a moment, stru^-y^led with her i)allor, and said — " No, no; I am better. It was a little faintness, but is passing' ofl". CJo on, and tell me about Mr. Loveday.'' " T am afraid I bored you. But that is all. Do yuu know this Clarissa Lambert ? Have you seen her?" " Yes — I have seen her." " I suppose she is very famous ; at least, Tom says so. He also says she is divine ; but I expeet, from his description, that she is of the usual stamp of Tragedy Queen, tall and loud, with a big voice.'' " Did he tell you that ? " " No, of course Tom raves about her. But there is no accounting for what a lover will say." This state- ment was made with all the sublime assurance of an accepted man. " But you have seen her," I went on, "and can tell me how far his description is true. I suppose she is much the same as other actresses, is she not ? " CLAIRE HAS SEEN CLARISSA. 249 '* Jasper/^ said Claire^ very gently^ after a pause, " do you ever go to a theatre ? " " Very seldom ; iu fact, about twice only since I have been in London/^ '' I suppose you were taught as a boy to hate such things ? " " Well/' I laughed, " I do not expect Uncle Loveday would have approved of Tom's choice, if that is what you mean. But that does not matter, I fear, as Tom swears that his case is hopeless. He worships from afar, and says that she is as cold as ice. In fact, he has never told his love, but lets concealment like a " '' That is not what I meant. Do you — do you think all actors and actresses wicked ? " " Of course not. Why should I ? '' '' You are going to see " " ' Francesca' ? Oh, yes, on the opening night.'' " Then possibly we shall meet. Will you look out for me ? " " Let me take you, Claire. Oh, I am glad indeed ! You will see Tom there, and, I hope, be able to congra- tulate him on his triumph. So let me take you." She shook her head. " No, no." " Why ? " '' Because that is impossible — really. I shall see you there, and you will see me. Is not that enough ? " " If you say so, it must be," I answered sadly. ''But " 250 DKAD man's rock. " ' But me no huts/ " she (juoted. '' See, it is getting late ; we must be going/' A most strange silence fell uj)on us on the way hack to Sti-eatley. Claire's face had not yet wholly regained its colour, and she seemed disinclined to talk. So I had to solace myself l)y drinking in long draughts of her loveliness, and hy whisitcrini^ to my soul how poorly Tom's Queen of Tragedy W(nild show beside my sweetheart. O fool and blind ! Presently my love asked inusini^ly — " Jasper, do you think that you could cease to love me?'' " Claire, how can you ask it ? " '' You arc (juite sure ? You remember what mother said?" ''Claire, love is strong as death. How does the text run ? ' Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it : if a man would give all the substance of his house for love, it would utterly be con- temned.' Claire, you must believe that ! " " ' Strong as death,' " she murmured. " Yes, I be- lieve it. AVhat a lovely text that is ! " The boat touched shore at Streatley, and we stepped out. " Jasper," she said again at parting that night, " you have no doubt, no grain of doubt, about my question, and the answer? ' Strong as death,' you are sure ? " IN THE COLISEUM. 351 For answer I strained her to my heart. O fool and blind ! O fool and blind ! ^ -K- ^ ^ * The night that was big" with Tom^s fate had come. The Coliseum was crowded as we entered. In those days the theatre had no stalls, so we sat in the front row of the dress circle, Tom having in his modesty refused a box. He was behind the scenes until some five minutes before the play began, so that before he joined me I had ample time to study the house and look about for some sign of Claire. Certainly, the sedulous manner in which the new tragedy had been advertised was not without result. To me, unused as I was to theatre-going, the host of people, the hot air, the glare of the gas-lights were intoxicating. In a flutter of anxiety for Tom's success, of sweet perturbation at the prospect of meet- ing Claire, at first I could grasp but a confused image of the scene. By degrees, however, I began to look about me, and then to scan the audience narrowly for sight of my love. Surely I should note her at once among thousands. Yet my first glance was fruitless. I looked again, examined the house slowly face by face, and again was baffled. I could see all but a small portion of the pit, the upper boxea and gallery. Pit and gallery were out of the question. She might, though it was hardly likely, be in the tier just above, and I determined to satisfy myself after the end of Act I. Meantime I 252 DEAD man's hock. scanned the boxes. There were twelve on either side of the house, and all were full. By degrees I satis- fied myself that strangers occupied all of them, ex- cept the box nearest the stage on the right of the tier where I was sitting. The occupants of this were out of sight. Only a large yellow and black fan was swaying slowly backwanls and forwards to toll me that somebody sat there. Somehow, the slow, ceaseless motion of this pricked my curiosity. Its pace, as it waved to and fro, was unaltered ; the hand that moved it seemingly tireless ; but even the hand was hidden. Not a linger could I gain a glimpse of. By some silly freak of fancy I was positively burning with eagerness to see the fan's owner, when Toui returned and took his seat be- side me. " It begins in five minutes ; everything is ready," said he, and his voice had a nervous tremor which he sought in vain to hide. " Courage ! " I said ; " at least the numbers here should Hatter you.'' " They frighten me ! What shall I do if it fails ? " The overture was drawing to its close. Tom looked anxiously around the house. " Yes/' he said, " it is crowded, indeed. By the way, was not Claire to have been here ? Point her out to me." " She was ; but I cannot see her anywhere. Per- haps she is late." THE CURTAIN RISES. 253 " If SO, I cannot see where she is to find a place. Hush ! they are ending.-" As he spoke, the last strains o£ the orchestra died slowly and mournfully away, and the curtain rose upon " Francesca : a Tragedy." This play has since gained such a name, not only from its own merits (which are considerable), but in consequence also of certain circumstances which this story will relate, that it would be not only tedious but unnecessary to follow its action in detail. For the benefit, however, of those who did not see it at the Coliseum, I here subjoin a short sketch of the plot, which the better-informed reader may omit. Francesca is the daughter of Sebastian, at one time Duke of Bologna, but deposed and driven from his palace by the intrigues of his younger brother Charles. At the time when the action begins, Sebastian is chief of a band of brigands, the remains of his faithful adherents, whom he has taken with him to the fast- nesses of the Apennines. Charles, who has already usurped the duchy for some sixteen years, is travelling with his son Valentine, a youth of twenty, near the haunt of his injured brother. Separated from their escort, they are wandering up a pass, when Valentine stops to admire the view, promising his father to join him at the summit. While thus occupied, he is startled by the entrance of Francesca, and, struck with her beauty, accosts her. She, sympathising for so noble a youth, warns him of the banditti, and he hastens on 254 DEAD man's rock. only to fiii'l liis fatlu-i' lyini; at the foot of a )>recii)itou8 rock, (lead. lie supposes him t<> have fallen, has the body conveyed back t(» Bolorevails on her to leave her father ami come with him. She con- sents, and Hies with him, but after some time finds that he is deserting her for Julia, dauf::hter of the Duke of Ferrara. Slied opposite that labelled *' No. 7." As I did so, it struck me that this, from its position, must be the one which contained the black and yellow fan. By this time thoroughly curious, I knocked. " Come in," said a low voice which I seemed to remember. I entered and found myself face to face with the yellow woman — the mistress of the gambling-hell. She was seated there alone, slightly retired from the view of the house and in the shadow; but her arm, as it rested on the cushion, still swayed the black and yellow fan, and her diamonds sparkled lustrously as ever in the glare that beat into the box. Her dress, as if to emphasise the hideousness of her skin and form a staring contrast with her wrinkled face and white hair, was of black and yellow, in which she seemed some grisly corpse masquerading as youth. THE OWNER OF THE FAX. 261 Struck dumb by this apparition, I took the seat into which she motioned me, while her wonderful eyes regarded my face with stony impassiveness. I could hear the hoarse murmurs of the house and feel the stifling- heat as it swept upwards from the pit. The strange woman did not stir except to keej) up the ceaseless motion of her wrist. For a full five minutes, as it seemed to me, we sat there silently regarding each other. Then at last she spoke, and the soft voice was as musically sympathetic as ever. '' You seem astonished to see me, Mr. Trenoweth, and yet I have been looking for you for a long time.''' I bowed. " I have been expecting you to give me a chance of redeeming my defeat. '^ " I am sorry,'' stammered I, not fully recovered from my surprisCj " but that is not likely." " No ? From my point of view it was extremely likely. But somehow I had a suspicion that you would be different from the rest. Perhaps it was because I had set my heart upon your coming." '' I hope/' said I, '' that the money " She smiled and waved her hand slightly. " Do not trouble about that. Had I chosen, I could have gone on losing to you until this moment. No, perhaps it was simply because you were least likely to do so, that I wished you to come back as all other young men would come back. I hope you reached H'tZ DKAD MAX's ItOCK. home sutVly with what you won; l>ut I need not ask that;' " Indeed you need. I was attaeked as I left the room, and hut for a hieky accident, sliouM now be dead." "Ah/* she said phieidly; "you suspect me. Don't say * no/ for I can see you do. Nevertheless you are entirely wn>n^. ^Vhy, Mr. Tn-noweth, had I chosen, do you think I could not have had you rohl)i'd hffore you had g-one three paces from the house ? " This was said with such composure, and her eyes were so absolutely void of emotion, that I could but sit and gasp. Once more I recalled the moment when, as I fled down the dark passage, I had seen her sitting motionless and calm in the light of her countless caudles. " But do you think I sent for you to tell you that ? " she continued. " I sent for you because you interested me, and because I want a talk with you. Hush ! the curtain is rising for the second act. Let us resume when it has finished ; you will not deny me that favour at least." I bowed again, and was silent as the curtain rose — and once more Claire's superb voice thrilled the house. Surely man was seldom more strangely placed than was I, between the speech of my love and the eyes of this extraordinary woman. As I sat in the shadow and listened, I felt those blazing fires burning into my very soul; yet whenever I looked up and met them, their icy THE YELLOW WOMAN. 263 g-litter baffled all interpretation. Still as I sat there, the voice of Claire came to me as though beseeching and praying for my judgment, and rising with the blaze of light and heated atmosphere of the house, swept into the box until I could bear the oppression no longer. She must have looked for me, and seeing my place empty, have guessed that I condemned her. Mad with the thought, I rose to my feet and stood for a minute full in the light of the theatre. It may not have been even a minute, but she saw me, and once more, as our gaze met, faltered for an instant. Then the voice rang out clear and true again, and I knew that all was well between us. Yet in her look there was something which I could not well interpret. As I sank back in my seat, I met the eyes of my companion still impenetrably regarding me. But as the curtain fell she said quietly — " So you know Clarissa Lambert ?^^ I stammered an affirmative. '' Well ? You admire her acting ? '' " I never saw it until to-night.^'' " That is strange ; and yet you know her ? "" I nodded. " She is a great success — on which I congratulate myself, for I discovered her.'" " You ! " I could only exclaim. "Yes, I. Is it so extraordinary? She and I are connected, so to speak; which makes it the more odd that she should never have mentioned } ou.^' 201. DEAD man's mock. The eyes seemed now to be reading me as a book. I summoned all my couratife and tried to return their steady stare. There was a pause, broken only by the light //-ow -/Vow of the fan, as it still waved slowly back- wards and forwards. Amon<^ all the discoveries of this night, it was hard enough to summon reason, harder to utter sj)eech. "But you will bo leaving me again if I do not explain why I sent for y«>u. Vnu arc wondering now on my reasons. They arc very simi)1c — professional even, in part. In the first place, I wished to have a good look at you. Do you wonder why an old woman should wish to look upon a comely youth ? Driof foimd consolation in the thouj^ht of Colliver's impotent rage when he should come to examine his prize. 1 had de- scribed the face and figure of my enemy and had even idontilled him with the long-missing sailor Goorgio Rhodojani, so that they promised to lay hands on him in a very short space. But the public knew nothing of this. The only effect of the newspapers' version of the murder was to send the town crowding in greater num- bers than ever to see the dead man's play. Since the first night of " Francesca," Claire and I had only met by Tom's bedside and at his funeral. But as I entered the gloomy cemetery that afternoon I spied a figure draped in black beside the yet unsettled mound, and as I drew near knew it to be Claire. So we stood there facing one another for a full minute, at a loss for words. A wreath of immortelles lay upon the grave. In my heart I thanked her for the gift, but could not speak. It seemed as though the hillock that parted us were some impassable barrier to words. Had I but guessed the truth I should have known that, unseen and unsuspected, across that foot or two of turf was stretched a gulf we were never more to cross : between our lives lay the body of my friend ; and not his only, but many a pallid corpse that with its mnte lips cnrsed our loves. Presently Claire raised her head and spoke. THE CEMKTERY. 279 " Jasper^ you have much to forgive me, and I hardly dare ask your forgiveness. It is too late to ask for- giveness of a dead man, but could he hear now I would entreat him to pardon the folly that wrought this cruel mistake/^ *' Claire, you could not know. How was it possible to guess ? " " That is true, but it is no less cruel. And I de- ceived you. Can you ever forgive ? " " Forgive ! forgive what ? That I found my love peerless among women ? Oh, Claire, Claire, ' forgive ' ? " " Yes; what matters it that for the moment I have what is called fame ? I deceived you — yet, believe me, it was only because I thought to make the surprise more pleasant. I thought — but it is too late. Only believe I had no other thought, no other wish. My poor scheme seemed so harmless at first : then as the days went on I began to doubt. But until you told me, as we stood beside the river, of — Jiim, I never guessed ; — oh, believe me, I never guessed ! " " Love, do not accuse yourself in this way. It hurts me to hear you speak so. If there was any 'fault it was mine ; but the Fates blinded us. If you had known Tom, you would know that he would forgive could he hear us now. For me, Claire, what have I to pardon ? '' Claire did not answer for a moment. There was still a trouble in her face, as though something yet remained to be said and she had not the courag-e to utter it. 280 DEAD man's hock. " Jasper, tliore is sumcthiiig besides, which you have to j)ardon if you can." " My love ! " "Do you remember what I asked ymi tliat nij^ht, when you first tuUl me about him / " '' ViMi asked me a foolish (juestion, if I remember rij^htly. You asked if 1 could ever cease to love you." " No, not foolish ; I really meant it seriously, and I believed you when you answered me. Are you of the same mind now? Helieve me, I am not askint; lif^htly." " I answer you as 1 answered you then : * Love is strong as death.' My love, put away these thoughts and be sure that 1 love you as my (>wn soul." " But perhaj)s, even so, you might be so angiy that — Oh, Jasper, how can I tell you ? " "Tell me all, Claire." " I told you I was called, or that they called me Claire. Were you not surprised when you saw my name as Clarissa Lambert ? " " Is that all ? " I cried. " Why, of course, I knew how common it is for actresses to take another name. I was even glad of it ; for the name I know, your own name, is now a secret, and all the sweeter so. All the world admires Clarissa Lambert, but I alone love Claire Luttrell, and know that Claire Luttrell loves me." " But that is not all," she expostulated, whilst the trouble in her eyes grew deeper. " Oh, why will you make it so hard for me to explain ? I never thought. EXPLANATIONS. ^81 when I told you so carelessly on that night when we met for the first time^ that you would grow to care for me at all. And it was the same afterwards, when I introduced you to my mother ; I gave you the name Luttrell, without ever dreaming " " Was Luttrell not your mother's name ? " I asked, perplexed. " That is the name by which she is always called now ; and I am always called Claire ; in fact, it is my name, but I have another, and I ought to have told you.''' " Why, as Claire I know you, and as Claire 1 shall always love you. What does it matter if your real name be Lambert? You will change it, love, soon, I trust.'' But my poor little jest woke no mirth in her eyes. " No, it is not Lambert. That is only the name I took when I went on the stage. Nor am I called Luttrell. It is a sad story ; but let me tell it now, and put an end to all deception. I meant to do so long ago; but lately I thought I would wait until after you had seen me on the stage ; I thought I would explain all together, not knowing that he but it has all gone wrong. Jasper, I know you will pity poor mother, even though she had allowed you to be de- ceived. She has been so unhappy. But let me tell it first, and then yo.u will judge. She calls herself Lut- trell to avoid persecution ; to avoid a man who is " " A villain, I am sure." ''A villain, yes ; but worse. He is her husband; 282 DKAD man's nocK. not my father, but a second husband. My father died when I was quite a little child, and she married again. Ever since that day she has been miserable. I remember her face — oh, so well ! when she lirst discovered tlie real character of the m;iM. For years she suffered — we were abroad then — until at last she could bear it no longer, so she tied — fled back to Ei)t;lan(l, and took me with her. I think, but I am not sure, that her husband did not dare to follow her to England, because he had done something against the laws. I only guess this, for T never dare to ask mother about him. I did so once, and shall never forget the look of terror that came into her eyes. I only guess he has some strong reason for avoiding England, for I remember we went abroad hastily, almost directly after that night when mother first discovered that she had been deceived. However that may be, we came to England, mother and I, and changed our name to Luttrell, which was her maiden name. After this, our life became one |)erpetual dread of discovery. We were miserably poor, of course, and I was unable to do anything to help for many years. Mother was so careful ; why, she even called me by my second name, so desperately anxious was she to hide all traces from that man. Then suddenly we were dis- covered — not by him, but by his mother, whom he set to search for us, and she — for she was not wholly bad — promised to make my fortune on the single condition that half my earnings were sent to him. Otherwise, she threatened that mother should have no rest. AVhat CLAIRE SEES THE GOLDEN CLASP, 283 could I do ? It was the only way to save ourselves. Well, I j^romised to go upon the stage, for this woman fancied she discovered some talent in me. Why, Jasper, how strangely you are looking ! " " Tell me — tell me/' I cried, '^ who is this woman? ^' " You ought to know that, for you were in the hox with her during most of the first night of ' Francesca.'''' A horrible, paralysing dread had seized me. " Her name, and his ? Quick — tell me, for God's sake ! '' " Colliver. He is called Simon Colliver. But, Jasper, what is it ? What " I took the chain and Golden Clasp and handed them to Claire without speech. " Why, what is this ? " she cried. " He has a piece exactly like this, the fellow to it ; I remember seeing it when I was quite small. Oh, speak ! what new mystery, Avhat new trouble is this ? " " Claire, Colliver is here in London, or was but a week ago." '' Here ! " " Yes, Claire ; and it was he that murdered Thomas Loveday.'''' " Murdered Thomas Loveday ! I do not understand. '^ She had turned a deathly white, and sj)read out her hands as if for support. " Tell me " " Yes, Claire,'^ I said, as I stepped to her, and put my arm about her ; '' it is truth, as I stand here. Colliver, your motlier's husband, foully murdered my 284 DF.AD man's rock. innocent friend for the sake of that piece of gold ; and more, Simon Collivcr, for the sake of this same accursed token, murdered my father ! " " Your father ! " She sh(j()k I'll my arm, ami stood facinj]^ mo there, ])y Tom's grave, with a look of utter horror that froze my blood. "Yes, my father; or stay, I am wroiiij^. Though Colliver ])romi>ted, his was not the hand that did the deed. That he left to a poor wretch whom ho after- wards slew himself — one Railton — John Railton/' "What!'' " Why, Claire, Claire ! What is it ? Speak ! " '* I am Janet Railton ! " 285 CHAPTER VIII. TELLS HOW THE CURTAIN FELL UPON " FKANCESCA : A TRAGEDY." For a moment I staggered back as though buffeted in the face, then^ as our eyes met and read in each other the desperate truths I sprang forward just in time to catch her as she fell. Blindly^ as if in some hideous trance, reeling and stumbling over the graves, I carried her in my arms to the cemetery gate and stood there panting and bewildered. Cold and white as marble she lay in my arms, so that for one terrible moment I thought her dead. " Better so,'" my heart had cried, and then I laughed aloud (God forgive me !) at the utter cruelty of it all. But she was not dead. As I watched the lovely ashen face, the slow blood came trickling back and throbbed faintly at her temples, the light breath flickered and went and came once more. Feebly and with wonder the dark eyes opened to the light of day, then closed again as the lips parted in a moaning whisj)er. '' Claire ! " I cried, and my voice seemed to come from far away, so hollow and unnatural was it, " I must take you to your home ; are you well enough to go ? " I had laid her on the stone upon which the bearers 286 DKAP man's hock. were used to set down the coffins when weary. Seareoly a week ago, poor Tom's corpse hud rested fur a moment upon this grim stone. As I bent to catch the answer, and saw how like to death her face was, I thought how wi'll it were for both of us, sliould we be resting there so together; not leaving the acre of the dead, but entering it as rightful heirs of its oblivion. After a while, as I repeated my question, the lips again parted and 1 lu-ard. I looked down the road. The cemetery lay far out in one of the northern suburbs, and just now the neigh- bourhoud seemed utterly deserted. By good chance, however, I spied an old four-wheeler crawling along in the distance. I ran after it, hailed it, brought it back, and with the help of the wonilering driver, jilaced my love inside ; then I gave the man the address, and bid- ding him drive with all speed, sprang in beside Claire. Still faint, she was lying back against the cushion. The cab crawled along at a snail's pace, but long as the journey was, it was passed in utter silence. She never opened her eyes, and as for me, what comfortable words could I speak? Yet as I saw the soft rise and fall of her breast, I longed for words. Heaven knows how madly ! But none came, and in silence we drew up at length before a modest doorway in Old Kensington. Here Claire summoned all her strength lest her mother should be frightened. Still keeping her eyes averted, she stepped as bravely as she could from the cab, and laid her hand upon the door-handle. IN TORTURE. 287 I made as if to follow. '' No; no/^ she said hastily^ " leave me to myself — I will write to-morrow and perhaps see you; but^ oh, pray, not to-day ! " Before I could answer she had passed into the house. * ^ * ^ ^ Twenty-four hours had passed and left me as they found me, in torture. Despite my doubt, I swore she should not cast me off; then knelt and prayed as I had never prayed before, that Heaven would deny some of its cruelty to my darling. In the abandonment of my supplication, I was ready to fling" the secret from me and forgive all, to forgive my father's murderer, my life-long enemy, and let him go unsought, rather than give up Claire. Yet as I prayed, my entreaties and my tears went up to no compassionate God, but beat them- selves uj)on the adamantine face of Dead Man's Rock that still rose inexorable between me and Heaven. That night the crowd that gathered in the Coliseum to see the new play, went away angry and disappointed j for Clarissa Lambert was not acting. Another actress took her part — but how differently ! And all the while she, for whose sake they had come, was on her knees wrestling with a grimmer tragedy than '^ Francesca," with no other audience than the augels of pity. Twenty-four hours had passed, and found me hasten- ing towards Old Kensington; for in my pocket lay a note bearing only the words "Come at 3.30 — Claire," and on my heart rested a load of suspense unbearable. 288 DKAD man's rock. For many minutes beforehand, I paced up and down outside the house in an a<>'ony, and as my watch jwinted to the half-hour, knocked and was admitted. ^Irs. Luttrell met me in the passa^jj-e. She seemed most terribly white and worn, so that I was astonished when she simply said, " Claire is slightly unwell, and in fact could not act last nij^ht, but she wishes to see you for some reason." Wondering why Claire's mother should look so strangely if she guessed nothing of what had happened, but supposing ilhiess to be the reason, I stopped for an instant to ask. "Am I pale?'' she answered. "It is nothing — nothing — do not take any notice of it. 1 am rather weaker than usual to-day, that is all — a mere nothing. You will find Claire in the drawing-room there." And so she left me. I knocked at the drawing-room door, and hearing a faint voice inside, entered. As I did so, Claire rose to meet me. She was very pale, and the dark circles around her eyes told of a long vigil ; but her manner at iirst was composed and even cold. " Claire ! " I cried, and stretched out my hands. " Not yet," she said, and motioned me to a chair. " I sent for you because I have been thinking of — of — what happened yesterday, and I want you to tell me all ; the whole story from beginning to end." « But " " There is no ' but ' in the case, Jasper. I am Janet I TELL MY STOEY. 289 Railton, and you say that my father killed yours. Tell me how it was/^ Her manner was so calm that I hesitated at first, bewildered. Then, finding that she waited for me to speak, I sat down facing her and began my story. I tokl it through, without suppression or conceal- ment, from the time when my father started to seek the treasure, down to the cowardly blow that had taken my friend^s life. During the whole narrative she never took her eyes from my face for more than a moment. Her very lips were bloodless, but her manner was as quiet as though I were reading her some story of people who had never lived. Once only she interrupted me. I was repeating the conversation between her father and Simon Colliver upon Dead Man^s Rock. " You are quite sure,^^ she asked, " of the words ? You are positive he said, ' Captain, it was your knife ' ? " '^ Certain,'^ I answered sadly. " You are giving the very words they both used ? " " As well as I can remember ; and I have cause for a good memory. ^^ " Go on,"" she replied simply. So I unrolled the whole chronicle of our unhappy fates, and even read to her Lucy Railton's letter which I had brought with me. Then, as I ceased, for full a minute we sat in absolute silence, reading each other^s gaze. " Let me see the letter,"" she said^ and held out her hand for it. T 'Z9U DEAD man's rock. I <4'avo it to her. She read it slowly throunly answer — "Claire, I will not p^ive you up; not thouc^h you went [on your knees and implored it. Death alone can divide us now; and even death will never kill my love." " Death ! " she answered. " Think, then, that I am dead ; think of me as under the mould. Ah, love, hearts do not break so easily. You would grieve at first, but in a little while I should be forgotten.'' "Claire!" " Forgive me, love ; not forgotten. I wronged you when I said the word. Believe me, Jasper, that if there be any gleam of day in the blackness that surrounds me it is the thought that you so love me ; and yet it would have been far easier otherwise — far easier." Little by little my hope was slipping from me ; but still I strove with her as a man battles for his life, I raved, protested, called earth and heaven to witness her cruelty ; but all in vain. " It would be a sin — a horrible sin ! " she kept saying. " God would never forgive it. No, no ; do not try to persuade me — it is horrible ! " and she shuddered. Utterly beaten at last by her obstinacy, I said — " FAREWELL.-" 293 '^ I will leave you now to think it over. Let me call again and hear that you repent.''^ " No^ love ; we must never meet again. This must be our last good-bye. Stay ! '^ and she smiled for the first time since that meeting in the cemetery. " Come to ' Francesca ■* to-night ; I am going to act.""^ " What ! to-night ?'" " Yes. One must live^ you see^ even though one suffers. See, I have a ticket for you — for a box. You will come ? Promise me.^'' " Never, Claire.'' " Yes, promise me. Do me this last favour ; I shall never ask another.'' I took the card in silence. " And now/' she said, " you may kiss me. Kiss me on the lips for the last time, and may God bless you, my love." Quite calmly and gently she lifted her lips to mine, and on her face was the glory of unutterable tenderness. " Claire ! My love, my love ! " My arms were round her, her whole form yielded helplessly to mine, and as our lips met in that one passionate, shuddering caress, sank on my breast. " You will not leave me ? " I cried. And through her sobs came the answer — " Yes, yes ; it must be, it must be." Then drawing herself uj), she held out her hand and said — '^ To-night, remember, and so — -farewell." 294 DEAD MAN S ROCK. And SO, in the fading- light of tliat grey December afternoon I left her standing- there. •X- ■}<■•»(••)«• ^f- Mad and distraught with the passion of that parting, I sat that evening in the shadow of my box and waited for the curtain to rise upon *' Francesca.^^ The Coliseum was crowded to the roof, for it was known that Clarissa Lambert's illness had been merely a slight indisposition, and to-night she would again be acting. I was too busy with my own hard thoughts to pay much attention at lirst, but I noticed that my box was the one nearest to the stage, in the tier next above it. So that once more I should hear my darling's voice, and see her form close to me. Once or twice I vaguely scanned the audience. The boxes opposite were full ; but, of course, I could see nothing of my own side of the theatre. After a moment's listless glance, I leaned back in the shadow and waited. I do not know who composed the overture. It is haunted by one exquisite air, repeated, fading into varia- tions, then rising once more only to sink into the tender sorrow of a minor key. I have heard it but twice in my life, but the music of it is with me to this day. Then, as I heard it, it carried me back to the hour when Tom and I sat expectant in this same theatre, he trembling for his play's success, I for the sight of my love. Poor Tom ! The sad melody wailed upwards as though it were the voice of the wind playing about his grave, every note breathing pathos or suspiring in tremulous anguish. I WATCH THE PLAY. 295 Poor Tom ! Yet your love was happier than mhie ; better to die with Claire^s kiss warm upon the lips than to live with but the memory of it. The throbbing music had ended, and the play began. As before, the audience were without enthusiasm at first, but to-nig-ht they knew they had but to wait, and they did so patiently; so that when at last Claire^s voice died softly away at the close of her opening song, the hushed house was suddenly shaken to its roof with the storm and tumult of applause. There she stood, serene and glowing, as one that had never known pain. My very eyes doubted. On her face was no sign of suffering, no trace of a tear. Was she, then, utterly without heart ? In my memory I retraced the scene of that afternoon, and all my reason acquitted her. Yet, as she stood there in her glorious epiphany, illumined with the blazing lights, and radiant in the joy and freshness of youth, I could have doubted whether, after all, Clarissa Lambert and Claire Luttrell were one and the same. There was one thing which I did not fail, however, to note as strange. She did not once glance in the direction of my box, but kept her eyes steadily averted. And it then suddenly dawned upon me that she must be playing with a purpose ; but what that purpose was I could not guess. Whatever it was, she was acting magnificently and had for the present completely surrendered herself to her art. Grand as that art had been on the first nifflit of 296 DEAD man's rock. " Francesca, " the power of that performance was utterly eclipsed to-night. Once between the acts I heard two voices in the i)assag-e outside my box — " What do you think of it ? " said the first. " What can I ? '' answered the other. " And how can I tell you ? It is altogether above words." He was right. It was not so much admiration as awe and worship that held the house that night. I have heard a man say since that he wonders how the jilay could ever have raised anything beyond a laugh. lie should have heard the sobs that every now and then would \n\'A\<. uncontrollably forth, even whilst Claire was speaking. He should have felt the hush that followed every scene before the audience could recollect itself and pay its thunderous tribute. Still she never looked towards lue^ though all the while my eyes were following my lost love. Her pur- pose — and somehow in my heart I grew more and more convinced that some purpose lay beneath this transcen- dent display — was waiting for its accomplishment, and in the ringing triumph of her voice I felt it coming nearer — nearer — until at last it came. The tragedy was nearly over. Franeesca had dis- missed her old lover and his new bride from their captivity and was now left alone uj)on the stage. The last expectant hush had fallen upon the house. Then she stepped slowly forward in the dead silence, and as she spoke the opening lines, for the first time om* eyes met. THE CURTAIN FALLS. 297 '• Here tlien .all ends : — all love, all hate, all vows, All vain reproaches. Aye, 'tis better so. So shall he best forgive and I forget, Who else had chained him to a life-long curse, Who else had sought forgiveness, given in vain While life remained that made forgiveness dear. Far better to release him — loving more Now love denies its love and he is free, Than should it by enjoyment wreck his joy, Blighting his life for whom alone I lived. " No, no. As God is just, it could not be. Tet, oh, my love, be happy in the days I may not share, with her whose present lips Usurp the rights of my lost sovranty. I would not have thee think — save now and then As in a dream that is not all a dream — On her whose love was sunshine for an hour. Then died or e'er its beams could blast thy life. Be happy and forget what might have been. Forget my dear embraces in her arms, My lips in hers, my children in her sous. While I Dear love, it is not hard to die Now once the path is plain. See, I accept And step as gladly to the sacrifice As any maid upon her bridal morn — One little stroke — one tiny touch of pain And I am quit of pain for evermore. It needs no bravery. Wert thou here to see, I would not have thee weep, but look — one stroke. And thus " What was that shriek far back there in the house ? What was that at sight of which the audience rose white and ao:hast from their seats ? What was it that made Sebastian as he entered rush suddenly forward and fall with awful cry before Francesca's body ? What was 298 DKAD man's uock. that tiickliiig iluun the I'uKls ol" hor white dress ? Blood ? \os, l)lood ! In ail instant 1 put my hand upon the cusliictn of the hux, vaulttnl down to the sta;^e and was kneelinf^" beside my dy iii^ h)ve. IJut as the elamorous hell rau^ down the eurtain, 1 heard above its noise a lij^ht and silvery laufjjh, and lookinj:^ up saw in the box next to mine the coal-black devilish eyes of the yellow woman. Then the curtain fell. •299 CHAPTER IX. TELLS HOW TWO VOICES LED ME TO BOARD A SCHOONER; AND WHAT BEFELL THERE. She died without speech. Only, as I knelt beside her and strove to staunch that cruel stream of blood, her beautiful eyes sought mine in utter love and, as the last agony shook her frame, strove to rend the filmy veil of death and speak to me still. Then, with one long, con- tented sigh, my love was dead. It was scarcely a minute before all was over. I pressed one last kiss vipon the yet warm lips, tenderly drew her white mantle across the pallid face, and staggered from the theatre. I had not raved or protested as I had done that same afternoon. Fate had no power to make me feel now ; the point of anguish was passed, and in its place succeeded a numb stupidity more terrible by far, though far more blessed. My love was dead. Then I was dead for any sensi- bility to suffering that I possessed. Hatless and cloak- less I stepped out into the freezing night air, and regardless of the curious looks of the passing throng I turned and walked rapidly westward up the Strand. There was a large and eager crowd outside the Coliseum, 'iOO DEAD man's ROCK. tor alivady the nows was spreading-; but something in my face made them give room^ aiul 1 i)assetl through them as a man in a trance. The white orb of the moon was high in heaven ; the frozen pavement sounded hollow under-foot ; the lung street stood out, for all its yellow gas-light, white and distinct against the clear air; but I marked nothing of this. I went westward because my home lay westward, and some instinct took my hurrying feet thither. I had no purpose, no sensation. For aught I know, that night London might have been a city of the dead. Suddenly I halted beneath a lamp-post and began dimly to think. .My love was dead : — that was the one fact that tilled my thoughts at first, and so I strove to image it upon my brain, but could not. But as I stood there feebly struggling with the thought another took its place. Why should I live ? Of course not ; better end it all at once — and possessed with this idea I started off once more. By degrees, as I walked, a plan shaped itself before me. I would go home, get my grandfather's key, to- gether with the tin box containing my father's Journal, and then make for the river. That would be an easy death, and I could sink for ever, before I perished, all trace of the black secret which had pursued my life. I and the mystery would end together — so best. Then, without pain, almost with ghastly merriment, I thought that this was the same river which had murmured so sweetly to my love. Well, no doubt its voice would be " MANY WATERS." 301 just as musical over my grave. The same river : — but nearer the sea now — nearer the infinite sea. As I reflected, the idea took yet stronger possession of me. Yes J it was in all respects the best. The curse should end now. " Even as the Heart o£ the Ruby is Blood and its Eyes a Flaming Fire, so shall it be for them that would possess it : Fire shall be their portion and Blood their inheritance for ever.'-* For ever? No : the river should wash the blood away and quench the fire. Then arose another text and hammered at the door of my remembrance. " Many waters cannot quench love, neither can the floods drown it." " Many waters " — " many waters " : — the words whispered appealingly, invitingly, in my ears. '' Many waters.^"" My feet beat a tune to the words. I reached my lodgings, ran upstairs, took out the key and the tin box, and descended again into the hall. My landlord was slipping down the latch. He stared at seeing me. " Do not latch the door just yet : I am going out again,^' I said simply. " Going out ! I thought, sir, it was you as just now come in.''^ " Yes, but I must go out again : — it is important." He evidently thought me mad ; and so indeed I was. '^ What,. sir, in that dress? YouVe got no hat — no " I had forgotten. '' True,^^ I said ; '^ get me a hat and coat.''"' SO'Z DEAD man's nocK. He stared and then ran npstairs for them. Return- ing he said, " I have got you these, sir ; but I can't find them as you usually wears/' "Those will do,'' I answered. "I must have left the others at the theatre." This I'educed him to utter speechlessness. Mutely he helped me to don the cloak over my thin evening dress. I slipped the tin box and the key into the pockets. As I stepped out once more into the night, my landlord found his speech. ''When will you he hack, sir?" The (piestion startled nie for a moment ; for a second or two I hesitated. " I asked because you have no latch-key, as I suppose you left it in your other coat. So that " " It does not matter," I answered. " Do not sit up. I shall not be back before morning ; " and with that I left him still standing at the door, and listening to my footsteps as they hurried down the street. " Before morning ! " Before morning I should be in another world, if there were another world. And then it struck me that Claire and I might meet. She had taken her own life and so should I. But no, no — Heaven would forgive her that ; it could not condemn my saint to the pit where I should lie : it could not be so kindly cruel ; and then I laughed a loud and bitter laugh. Still in my dull stupor I found myself neariug the river. I have not mentioned it before, but I must MY BOAT. 303 explain now, that during the summer I had purchased a boat, in which my Claire and I were used to row idly between Streatley and Pangbourne, or whithersoever love g-uided our oars. This boat, with the approach of win- ter, I had caused to be broug-ht down the river and had housed in a waterman's shed just above Westminster, until the return of spring should bring back once more the happy days of its employment. In my heart I blessed the chance that had stored it ready to my hand. Stumbling through dark and tortuous streets where the moon's frosty brilliance was almost completely hid- den, I came at last to the waterman's door and knocked. He was in bed and for some time my summons was in vain. At last I heard a sound in the room above, the window was let down and a sulky voice said, ''Who's there ? " " Is that you, Bagnell ? " I answered. '' Come down. It is I, Mr. Trenoweth, and I want you." There was a low cursing, a long pause broken by a muttered dispute upstairs^ and then the street door opened and Bagnell appeared with a lantern. '' Bagnell, I want my boat." " To-night, sir ? And at this hour ? " ''Yes, to-night. 1 want it particularly." " But it is put away behind a dozen others, and can't be got." " Never mind. I will help if you want assistance, biit I must have it." .'iOt DKAD man's rock. Bagnell looked at me for a minute and I could see that he was cursing- under ins breath. " Is it serious, sir ? You're not " "I am not drunk, if that is what you mean, l)ut perfectly serious, and I must have my boat." " \V(>n't aiintluT do as well?" "No, it will not." I felt in my pockets and found two sovereijLifns and a few shilliuf^s. " Tjook here," I .'vaid, "I will j^ive you two i)ounds if you i^et this boat out for me." This conquered his reluctance. He stared for a moment as I mentioned the amount, and then hastily dccidin«^ that I was stark mad, but that it was none of his business, put on his hat and led the way down to his boat-yard. Stumblini^ in the uncertain light over innumerable timbers, spars, and old oars, we reached the shed at length and together managed, after much delay, to get out the light boat and let her down to the water. I gave him the two sovereigns as well as the few shillings that remained in my pocket, and as I descended, reflected grimly that after all they were better in his possession ; the man who should find my body would have so much the less spoil. We had scarcely spoken whilst we were getting the boat out, and what words we used were uttered in that whisper which night always enforces; but as I clambered down (for the tide was now far out) and Bagnell passed down tlie sculls, he asked — " When will you be back, sir?'' DOWN THE RIVER. 305 The same question ! I gave it the same answer. " Not before morning/^ I said, and with a few strokes was out upon the tide and pulling down the river. I saw him standing there above in the moonlight^ still wondering, xintil he faded in the dim haze behind. My boat was a light Thames dingey, so that although]! felt the tide running up against me, it nevertheless made fair progress. "What decided me to pull against' the tide rather than float quietly upwards I do not know to this day. So deadened and vague was all my thought, that it probably never occurred to me to correct the direction in which the first few strokes had taken me. I was conscious of nothing but a row of lights gliding past me on either hand, of here and there a tower or tall building, that stood up for an instant against the sky and then swam slowly out of sight, of the creaking of my sculls in the ungreased rowlocks, and, above all, the white shimmer of the moon following my boat as it swung downwards. I remember now that, in a childish way, I tried to escape this persistent brilliance that still clung to my boat^s side with every stroke I took ; that somehow a dull triumph possessed me when for a moment I slipped beneath the shadow of a l^ridge, or crept behind a black and silent hull. All this I can recall now, and wonder at the trivial- nature of the thought. Then I eauffht the scent of white rose, and fell to wonderino- how it came there. There had been the same scent in the drawing-room that afternoon, I remembered, when Claire U •306 DKAD man's T^OCK. had said good-bye for ever. How had it followed me ? After this I set myself aimlessly to count the lights that passed, lost count, and began again. And all the time the white glimmer hung at my side. I was still wrapped up in my cloak, though the cape was flung back to give my arms free play. Rowing soj I must quickly have been warm ; but I felt it no more than I had felt the cold as I walked home from the theatre. My boat was creeping along the Middlesex shore, by the old Temple stairs, and presently threaded its way through more crowded channels, and passed under the blackness of London Bridge. How far below this I went, I cannot clearly call to mind ; of distance, as well as of time, I had lost all calculation. I recollect making a circuit to avoid the press of boats waiting for the early dawn by Billingsgate Market, and have a vision of the White Tower against the heavens. But my next impression of any clearness is that of rowing under the shadow of a black three-masted schooner that lay close under shore, tilted over on her port side in the low water. As my dingey floated out again from beneath the overhanging hull, I looked up and saw the words, Water-Witch, painted in white upon her pitch-dark bows. By this time I was among the tiers of shipping. I looked back over my shoulder, and saw their countless masts looming up as far as eye could see in the dim light, and their lamps flickering and wavering upon the water. I rowed about a score of strokes, and then I MAKE SUEE. 307 stopped. Why go further ? This place would serve as well as any other. No one was likely to hear my splash as I went overboard, and even i£ heard it would not be interpreted. I was still near enough to the Middlesex bank to be out of the broad moonlight that lit up the middle of the river. I took the tin box out of my cloak and stowed it for a moment in the stern. I would sink it with the key before I flung myself in. So, pulling the key out of the other pocket, I took off the cloak, then my dress-coat and waistcoat, folded them carefully, and placed them on the stern seat. This done, I slipped the key into one pocket of my trousers, my watch and chain into the other. I would do all quietly and in order, I reflected. I was silently kicking off my shoes, when a thought struck me. In my last struggles it was possible that the desire of life would master me, and almost unconsciously I might take to swimming. In the old days at Lizard Town swimming had been as natural to me as walk- ing, and I had no doubt that as soon as in the water I should begin to strike out. Could I count upon determination enough to withhold my arms and let myself slowly drown ? Here was a difiicultyj but I resolved to make everything sure. I took my handkerchief out of the coat pocket, and bent do^^^l to tie my feet firmly together. All this I did quite calmly and mechanically. As far as one can be certain of anything at this distance of time, I am certain of this, that no thought of hesitation came u 2 308 DEAD man's rock. into my head. It was not that I overcame any doubts j they never occurred to me. I was stooping- down, and had already hound the handkerchief once around my ankles, when my boat grated softly against something. I looked up, and saw once more above me a dark ship's hull, and right above my head the white letters. Water- Witch. This would never do. My boat had drifted up the river again with the tide, stern foremost, but a little aslant, and had run against the warp by the schooner's bows. I must pull out again, for otherwise the people on board would hear me. I pushed gently off from the warp and took the sculls, when suddenly I heard voices back towards the stern. My first impulse was to get away with all speed, and I had already taken half a stroke, when something caused my hands to drop and my heart to give one mid leap. What was it ? Something in the voices ? Yes ; something that brushed my stupor from me as though it were a cobweb ; something that made me hush my breath, and strain with all my ears to listen. The two voices were those of man and woman. They were slightly raised, as if in a quarrel; the woman's pleading and entreating, the man's threatening and stern. But that was not the reason that suddenly set my heart uncontrollably beating and all the blood rushing and surging to my temples. For in those two voices I recognised Mrs. Luttrell and Simon Colliver ! TWO YOKES. 309 '^ Have you not done enough ? " the woman^s voice was saying. " Has your cruelty no end, that you must pursue me so ? Take this money, and let me go.'" " I must have more/^ was the answer. '' Indeed, I have no more just now. Go, only go, and I will send you some. I swear it." '' I cannot go," said the man. '^Why?" ''Never mind. I am watched." Here the voice muttered some words which I could not catch. " So that unless you wush to see your husband swing — and believe me, my confession and last dying speech would not omit to mention the kind aid I had received from you and Clar " " Hush ! oh, hush ! If I get you this money, will you leave us in peace for a time ? Knowing your nature, I will not ask for pity — only for a short respite. I must tell Claire, poor girl ; she does not know j^et — " Quite softly my boat had drifted once more across the schooner's bows. I pulled it round until its nose touched the anchor chain, and made the painter fast. Then slipping my hand up the chain, I stood with my shoeless feet upon the gunwale by the bows. Still grasping the chain, I sprang and swung myself out to the jibboom that, with the cant of the vessel, was not far above the water : then pressed my left foot in between the stay and the brace, while I hung for a moment to listen. They had not heard, for I could still catch the 310 DEAD man's rock. murmur o£ their voices. The creak of the jibboom aud the swish of my own boat beneath had frightened me at first. It seemed impossible that it should not disturb them. But after a moment my coui'age returned, and I pulled myself up on to the bowsprit, and lying almost at full length along it, for fear of being spied, crawled slowly along, and dropped noiselessly on to the deck. They were standing together by the mizzen-mast, he with his back turned full towards me, she less entirely averted, so that I could see a part of her face in the moonlight, and the silvery gleam of her grey hair. Yes, it was they, surely enough ; and they had not seen me. My revenge, long waited for, was in my grasp at last. Suddenly, as I stood there watching them, I remem- bered my knife — the blade which had slain my father. I IukI left it below — fool that I was ! — in the tin box. Could I creep back again, and return without attracting their attention ? Should 1 hazard the attempt for the sake of planting that piece of steel in Simon CoUiver's black heart ? It was a foolish thought, but my whole soul was set upon murder now, and the chance of slaying him with the very knife left in my father's wound seemed too dear to be lightly given up. Most likely he was armed now, whilst I had no weapon but the naked hand. Yet I did not think of this. It never even occurred to me that he would defend himself. Still, the thought of that knife was sweet to me as I crouched I CLIMB ON BOARD. 311 there beneath the shadow of the bulwarks. Should I go, or not? I paused for a moment, undecided; then rose slowly erect. As I did so Mrs. Luttrell turned for an instant and saw me. As I stood there, bareheaded, with the moonlight shining" full upon ray white shirt-sleeves, I miist have seemed a very ghost ; for a look of abject terror swept across her face ; her voice broke off and both her hands were flung up for mercy — '' Oh, God ! Look ! look ! " As I rushed forward he turned, and then, with the spring of a wild cat, was upon me. Even as he leapt, my foot slipped upon the greasy deck ; I staggered backward one step — two steps — and then fell with a crash down the unguarded forecastle ladder. 312 CHAPTER X. TELLS IN WHAT MANNER I LEARNT THE SECRET OF THE GREAT KEY. As my senses came gradually back I could distin- guish a narrow^ dingy cabin^ dimly lit by one flickering oil-lamp which swung from a rafter above. Its faint ray just revealed the furniture of the room, which con- sisted of a seaman's chest standing in the middle, and two gaunt stools. On one of these I was seated, propped against the cabin wall, or rather partition, and as I attempted to move I learnt that I was bound hand and foot. On the other stool opposite me and beside the chest, sat Simon Colliver, silently eyeing me. The lamplight as it flared and wavered cast grotesque and dancing shadows of the man uj^on the wall behind, made of his matted hair black eaves under which his eyes gleamed red as fire, and glinted lastly upon something bright lying on the chest before him. For a minute or so after my eyes first opened no word was said. Still dizzy with my fall, I stared for a moment at the man, then at the chest, and saw that the bright objects gleaming there were my grandfather's key and ray watch-chain, at the end of which hung the EXTUAPPED. 813 Golden Clasp. But now the clasp was fitted to its fellow and the whole buckle lay united upon the board. Though the bonds around my arms, wrists, and ankles caused me intolerable pain, yet my first feeling was rather of abject humiliation. To be caught thus easily, to be lying here like any rat in a gin ! this was the agonising thought. Nor was this all. There on the chest lay the Golden Clasp united at last — the work completed which was begun with that unholy massacre on board the Belle Fortune. I had played straight into Colliver's hand. He was in no hurry, but sat and watched me there with those intolerably evil eyes. His left hand was thrust carelessly into his pocket, and as he tilted back upon the stool and surveyed me, his right was playing with the clasp upon the chest. As I painfully turned my head a drop of blood came trickling down into my eyes from a cut in my forehead ; I saw, however, that the door was bolted. An empty bottle and a plate of broken victuals lay carelessly thrust in a corner, and a villainous smell from the lamp filled the whole room and almost choked me ; but the only sound in the dead stillness of the place was the monotonous tick- tick of my watch as it lay upon the chest. How long I had lain there I could not guess, but I noticed that the floor slanted much less than when I first scrambled on deck, so guessed that the tide must have risen considerably. Then having exhausted my wonder 314 DE\D man's rock. I looked again at Colliver^ and began to speculate how- he would kill me and how long he would take about it. I found his wolfish eyes still regarding me, and for a minute or two we studied each other in silence. Then without removing his gaze he tilted his stool forward, slowly drew a short heavy knife from his waist-band, slipped it out of its sheath — still without taking his left hand from his pocket — laid it on the table and leant back again. " I suppose, ""^ he said at last and very deliberately as if chewing his words, "you know that if you attempt to cry out or summon help, you are a dead man that instant.''^ " Well, well,^' he continued, after waiting a moment for my reply, " as long as you understand that, it does not matter. I confess I should have preferred to talk with you and not merely to you. However, before I kill you — and I suppose you guess that I am going to kill you as soon as We done with you — I wish to have just a word. Master Jasper Trenoweth.-" From the tone in which he said the words he might have been congratulating me on some great good for- tune. He paused awhile as if to allow the full force of them to sink in, and then took up the Golden Clasp. Holding the pieces together with the fore-finger and thumb of his right hand, he advanced and thrust it right under my sight — " Do you see that ? Can you read it ? " THE BUCKLE IS UNITED. 815 As I was still mute he walked back to the chest and laid the clasp down again. '' Aha ! " he exclaimed with a short laugh horrible to hear, "you won't speak. But there have been times, Mr. Jasper Trenoweth, when you would have given your soul to lay hands upon this piece o£ gold and read what is written upon it. It is a pity your hands are tied — a thousand pities. But I do not wish to be hard on you, and so I don't mind reading out what is written here. The secret will be safe with you, don't you see ? Quite — safe — with — you." He rolled out these last words, one by one, with in- finite relish ; and the mockery in the depths of those eyes seared me far more than my bonds. After watching the effect of his taunt he resumed his seat upon the stool, pulled the clasf) towards him and said — " People might call me rash for entrusting these confidences to you. But I do not mind admitting that I owe you some reparation — some anterior reparation. So, as I don't wish you to die cursing me, I will be generous. Listen ! " He held the buckle down upon the table and read out the inscription as follows : — START AT . FULL . MOON . END . SOUTH, POINT . 27 , FEET . N.N.W. . 22 . FEET, W. OP . RING . NORTH , . SIDE , , 4. FEET • 6 , INCHES. DEEP . , AT . POINT. OP MEETING . LOW . WATER , . 11 . , HOURS, 316 DEAD man's rock. He read it through twice very slowly, and each time as he ceased looked up to see how I took it. "It does not seem to make much sense, does it?'* he asked. " But wait a moment and let me parcel it out into sentences. I should not like you to miss any of its meaning. Listen again.'' He divided the writing up thus : — '' Start at full moon. End South Point 27 feet N.N.W. 22 feet W. of Ring. North Side. 4 feet 6 inches deep at point of meeting. Low water 1| hours." " You still seem puzzled, Mr. Trenoweth. Very well, I will even go on to explain further. The person who engraved this clasp meant to tell us that something — let us say treasure, for sake of argument — coukl be found by anyone who drew two lines from some place unknown : one 27 feet in length in direction N.N.W. from the South Point of that place ; the other 22 feet due West of a certain Ring on the North side of that same place. So far I trust I make my meaning clear. That which we have agreed to call the treasure lies buried at a depth of 4 feet 6 inches on the spot where these two lines intersect. But the person (you or I, for the sake of argument) who seeks this treasure must start at full moon. W^hy ? Obviously because the spring tides occur with a full moon, consequently the low ebb. We must expect, then, to find our treasure MY ENEMY EXPLAINS. 317 burit'd in a spot which is only uncovered at dead low water ; and to this conclusion I am also helped by the last sentence, which says^ " Low water 1 J hours/'' It is then, I submit, Mr. Trenoweth, in some such place that we must look for our treasure ; the only question being-, ' AVhere is that place ? ' " I was waiting- for this, and a great tide of joy swept over me as I reflected that after all he had not solved the mystery. The clasp told nothing, the key told no- thing. The secret was safe as yet. He must have read my thoughts, for he looked steadily at me out of those dark eyes of his, and then said very slowly and deliberately — " Mr. Trenowethj it grieves me to taunt your miser- able case ; but do you mind my saying that you are a fool?^' I simply stared in answer. *' Your father was a fool — a pitiful fool j and you are a fool. Which would lead me, did 1 not know bet- ter, to believe that your grandfather, Amos Trenoweth, was a fool also. I should wrong him if I called him that. He was a villain, a black-hearted, murderous, cold-blooded, damnable villain ; but he was only a fool for once in his life, and that was when he trusted in the sense of his descendants.''^ His voice, as he spoke of my grandfather, grew suddenly shrill and discordant, while his eyes blazed up in furious wrath. In a second or two, however, he calmed himself again and went on quietly as before. 318 DEAD man's rock. " You wonder, perhaps, why I call you a fool. It is because you have lived for fourteen years with your hand upon riches that would make a king* jealous, and have never had the sense to grasp them ; it is because you have shut your eyes when you might have seen, have been a beggar when you might have ridden in a carriage.- Upon my word, Mr. Jasper Trenoweth, when I think of your folly I have half a mind to be dog-sick with you myself.^^ What could the man mean ? What was this clue which I had never found ? "And all the time it was written upon this key here, as large as life ; not only that, but, to leave you no excuse, Amos Trenoweth actually told you that it was written here.^^ "What do you mean?''^ stammered I, forced into speech at last. " Ah ! so you have found your voice, have you ? What do I mean? Do you mean to say you do not guess even now ? Upon my word, I am loth to kill so fair a fool.^^ He regarded me for a moment with pitying contempt, then stretched out his hand and took up my grandfather's key. " I read here," he said, " written very clearly and distinctly, certain words. You must know those words ; but I will repeat them to you to refresh your memory : — ^^m €m^ m®^*i?^ ^^ a jB^nm mm"' "dead man's rock!'' 319 " Well ? " I asked, for — fool that I was — even yet I did not understand. '' Mr, Jasper Trenoweth, did you ever hear tell of such a place as Dead Man's Rock ? " The truth, the whole horrible certainty of it, struck nie as one great wave, and rushed over my bent head as with the whirl and roar of many waters. " Dead Man's Rock ! " '' Dead Man's Rock ! " it sang- in my ears as it swept me off my feet for a moment and passed, leaving me to sink and battle in the gulf of bottomless despair. And then, as if I really drowned, my past life with all its follies, mistakes, wrecked hopes and baseless dreams, shot swiftly past in one long train. Again I saw my mother's patient, anxious smile, my father's drowned face with the salt drops trickling from his golden hair, the struggle on the rock, the inquest, the awful face at the window, the corpses of my parents stretched side by side upon the bed, the scene in the gambling-hell with all its white and desperate faces, Claire, my lost love, the river, the theatre, Tom's death, and that last dreadful scene, Fran- cesca with the dark blood soaking her white dress and trickling down upon the boards. I tried to put my hands before my eyes, but the cords held and cut my arms like burning steel. Then in a flash I seemed to be striding madly up and down Oxford Street, while still in front of me danced and flew the yellow woman, her every diamond flashing in the gas-light, her cold black eyes, as they turned and mocked me, blazing marsh- 320 DKAD man's rock. liglits of doom. Then came the ririf^ing of many bells in my cars, mingled witii silvery lau<^hter, asthou[AN's rock. by this friend's aid — after, with this friend's help, he had laid hands on the secret of tlic Great Rul)y for wliieh for many a year lie had thirstc