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    <h1>
      THE MYSTERY OF CLOOMBER
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      By Arthur Conan Doyle
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE HEGIRA OF
        THE WESTS FROM EDINBURGH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II.
        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH A TENANT CAME TO CLOOMBER
        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OF OUR
        FURTHER ACQUAINTANCE WITH MAJOR-GENERAL J. B.HEATHERSTONE <br /><br /> <a
        href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OF A YOUNG MAN WITH A
        GREY HEAD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HOW
        FOUR OF US CAME TO BE UNDER THE SHADOW OF CLOOMBER <br /><br /> <a
        href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;HOW I CAME TO BE
        ENLISTED AS ONE OF THE GARRISON OF CLOOMBER <br /><br /> <a
        href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OF CORPORAL RUFUS
        SMITH AND HIS COMING TO CLOOMBER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008">
        CHAPTER VIII. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;STATEMENT OF ISRAEL STAKES <br /><br /> <a
        href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;NARRATIVE OF JOHN
        EASTERLING, F.R.C.P.EDIN. <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X.
        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OF THE LETTER WHICH CAME FROM THE HALL <br /><br /> <a
        href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OF THE CASTING AWAY OF
        THE BARQUE "BELINDA" <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII.
        </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OF THE THREE FOREIGN MEN UPON THE COAST <br /><br /> <a
        href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;IN WHICH
        I SEE THAT WHICH HAS BEEN SEEN BY FEW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014">
        CHAPTER XIV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;OF THE VISITOR WHO RAN DOWN THE ROAD IN THE
        NIGHT-TIME <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;THE
        DAY-BOOK OF JOHN BERTHIER HEATHERSTONE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016">
        CHAPTER XVI. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;AT THE HOLE OF CREE <br /><br />
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
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    </p>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER I. THE HEGIRA OF THE WESTS FROM EDINBURGH
    </h2>
    <p>
      I John Fothergill West, student of law in the University of St. Andrews,
      have endeavoured in the ensuing pages to lay my statement before the
      public in a concise and business-like fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is not my wish to achieve literary success, nor have I any desire by
      the graces of my style, or by the artistic ordering of my incidents, to
      throw a deeper shadow over the strange passages of which I shall have to
      speak. My highest ambition is that those who know something of the matter
      should, after reading my account, be able to conscientiously indorse it
      without finding a single paragraph in which I have either added to or
      detracted from the truth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Should I attain this result, I shall rest amply satisfied with the outcome
      of my first, and probably my last, venture in literature.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was my intention to write out the sequence of events in due order,
      depending on trustworthy hearsay when I was describing that which was
      beyond my own personal knowledge. I have now, however, through the kind
      cooperation of friends, hit upon a plan which promises to be less onerous
      to me and more satisfactory to the reader. This is nothing less than to
      make use of the various manuscripts which I have by me bearing upon the
      subject, and to add to them the first-hand evidence contributed by those
      who had the best opportunities of knowing Major-General J. B.
      Heatherstone.
    </p>
    <p>
      In pursuance of this design I shall lay before the public the testimony of
      Israel Stakes, formerly coachman at Cloomber Hall, and of John Easterling,
      F.R.C.P. Edin., now practising at Stranraer, in Wigtownshire. To these I
      shall add a verbatim account extracted from the journal of the late John
      Berthier Heatherstone, of the events which occurred in the Thul Valley in
      the autumn of '41 towards the end of the first Afghan War, with a
      description of the skirmish in the Terada defile, and of the death of the
      man Ghoolab Shah.
    </p>
    <p>
      To myself I reserve the duty of filling up all the gaps and chinks which
      may be left in the narrative. By this arrangement I have sunk from the
      position of an author to that of a compiler, but on the other hand my work
      has ceased to be a story and has expanded into a series of affidavits.
    </p>
    <p>
      My Father, John Hunter West, was a well known Oriental and Sanskrit
      scholar, and his name is still of weight with those who are interested in
      such matters. He it was who first after Sir William Jones called attention
      to the great value of early Persian literature, and his translations from
      the Hafiz and from Ferideddin Atar have earned the warmest commendations
      from the Baron von Hammer-Purgstall, of Vienna, and other distinguished
      Continental critics.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the issue of the <i>Orientalisches Scienzblatt</i> for January, 1861,
      he is described as <i>"Der beruhmte und sehr gelhernte Hunter West von
      Edinburgh"</i>&mdash;a passage which I well remember that he cut out and
      stowed away, with a pardonable vanity, among the most revered family
      archives.
    </p>
    <p>
      He had been brought up to be a solicitor, or Writer to the Signet, as it
      is termed in Scotland, but his learned hobby absorbed so much of his time
      that he had little to devote to the pursuit of his profession.
    </p>
    <p>
      When his clients were seeking him at his chambers in George Street, he was
      buried in the recesses of the Advocates' Library, or poring over some
      mouldy manuscript at the Philosophical Institution, with his brain more
      exercised over the code which Menu propounded six hundred years before the
      birth of Christ than over the knotty problems of Scottish law in the
      nineteenth century. Hence it can hardly be wondered at that as his
      learning accumulated his practice dissolved, until at the very moment when
      he had attained the zenith of his celebrity he had also reached the nadir
      of his fortunes.
    </p>
    <p>
      There being no chair of Sanscrit in any of his native universities, and no
      demand anywhere for the only mental wares which he had to dispose of, we
      should have been forced to retire into genteel poverty, consoling
      ourselves with the aphorisms and precepts of Firdousi, Omar Khayyam, and
      others of his Eastern favourites, had it not been for the kindness and
      liberality of his half-brother William Farintosh, the Laird of Branksome,
      in Wigtownshire.
    </p>
    <p>
      This William Farintosh was the proprietor of a landed estate, the acreage
      which bore, unfortunately, a most disproportional relation to its value,
      for it formed the bleakest and most barren tract of land in the whole of a
      bleak and barren shire. As a bachelor, however, his expenses had been
      small, and he had contrived from the rents of his scattered cottages, and
      the sale of the Galloway nags, which he bred upon the moors, not only to
      live as a laird should, but to put by a considerable sum in the bank.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had heard little from our kinsman during the days of our comparative
      prosperity, but just as we were at our wit's end, there came a letter like
      a ministering angel, giving us assurance of sympathy and succour. In it
      the Laird of Branksome told us that one of his lungs had been growing
      weaker for some time, and that Dr. Easterling, of Stranraer, had strongly
      advised him to spend the few years which were left to him in some more
      genial climate. He had determined, therefore to set out for the South of
      Italy, and he begged that we should take up our residence at Branksome in
      his absence, and that my father should act as his land steward and agent
      at a salary which placed us above all fear of want.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our mother had been dead for some years, so that there were only myself,
      my father, and my sister Esther to consult, and it may be readily imagined
      that it did not take us long to decide upon the acceptance of the laird's
      generous offer. My father started for Wigtown that very night, while
      Esther and I followed a few days afterwards, bearing with us two
      potato-sacksful of learned books, and such other of our household effects
      that were worth the trouble and expense of transport.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER II. OF THE STRANGE MANNER IN WHICH A TENANT CAME TO CLOOMBER
    </h2>
    <p>
      Branksome might have appeared a poor dwelling-place when compared with the
      house of an English squire, but to us, after our long residence in stuffy
      apartments, it was of regal magnificence.
    </p>
    <p>
      The building was broad-spread and low, with red-tiled roof, diamond-paned
      windows, and a profusion of dwelling rooms with smoke-blackened ceilings
      and oaken wainscots. In front was a small lawn, girt round with a thin
      fringe of haggard and ill grown beeches, all gnarled and withered from the
      effects of the sea-spray. Behind lay the scattered hamlet of
      Branksome-Bere&mdash;a dozen cottages at most&mdash;inhabited by rude
      fisher-folk who looked upon the laird as their natural protector.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the west was the broad, yellow beach and the Irish Sea, while in all
      other directions the desolate moors, greyish-green in the foreground and
      purple in the distance, stretched away in long, low curves to the horizon.
    </p>
    <p>
      Very bleak and lonely it was upon this Wigtown coast. A man might walk
      many a weary mile and never see a living thing except the white,
      heavy-flapping kittiwakes, which screamed and cried to each other with
      their shrill, sad voices.
    </p>
    <p>
      Very lonely and very bleak! Once out of sight of Branksome and there was
      no sign of the works of man save only where the high, white tower of
      Cloomber Hall shot up, like a headstone of some giant grave, from amid the
      firs and larches which girt it round.
    </p>
    <p>
      This great house, a mile or more from our dwelling, had been built by a
      wealthy Glasgow merchant of strange tastes and lonely habits, but at the
      time of our arrival it had been untenanted for many years, and stood with
      weather-blotched walls and vacant, staring windows looking blankly out
      over the hill side.
    </p>
    <p>
      Empty and mildewed, it served only as a landmark to the fishermen, for
      they had found by experience that by keeping the laird's chimney and the
      white tower of Cloomber in a line they could steer their way through the
      ugly reef which raises its jagged back, like that of some sleeping
      monster, above the troubled waters of the wind-swept bay.
    </p>
    <p>
      To this wild spot it was that Fate had brought my father, my sister, and
      myself. For us its loneliness had no terrors. After the hubbub and bustle
      of a great city, and the weary task of upholding appearances upon a
      slender income, there was a grand, soul-soothing serenity in the long
      sky-line and the eager air. Here at least there was no neighbour to pry
      and chatter.
    </p>
    <p>
      The laird had left his phaeton and two ponies behind him, with the aid of
      which my father and I would go the round of the estate doing such light
      duties as fall to an agent, or "factor" as it was there called, while our
      gentle Esther looked to our household needs, and brightened the dark old
      building.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was our simple, uneventful existence, until the summer night when an
      unlooked-for incident occurred which proved to be the herald of those
      strange doings which I have taken up my pen to describe.
    </p>
    <p>
      It had been my habit to pull out of an evening in the laird's skiff and to
      catch a few whiting which might serve for our supper. On this
      well-remembered occasion my sister came with me, sitting with her book in
      the stern-sheets of the boat, while I hung my lines over the bows.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sun had sunk down behind the rugged Irish coast, but a long bank of
      flushed cloud still marked the spot, and cast a glory upon the waters. The
      whole broad ocean was seamed and scarred with crimson streaks. I had risen
      in the boat, and was gazing round in delight at the broad panorama of
      shore and sea and sky, when my sister plucked at my sleeve with a little,
      sharp cry of surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "See, John," she cried, "there is a light in Cloomber Tower!".
    </p>
    <p>
      I turned my head and stared back at the tall, white turret which peeped
      out above the belt of trees. As I gazed I distinctly saw at one of the
      windows the glint of a light, which suddenly vanished, and then shone out
      once more from another higher up. There it flickered for some time, and
      finally flashed past two successive windows underneath before the trees
      obscured our view of it. It was clear that some one bearing a lamp or a
      candle had climbed up the tower stairs and had then returned into the body
      of the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who in the world can it be?" I exclaimed, speaking rather to myself than
      to Esther, for I could see by the surprise upon her face that she had no
      solution to offer. "Maybe some of the folk from Branksome-Bere have wanted
      to look over the place."
    </p>
    <p>
      My sister shook her head.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is not one of them would dare to set foot within the avenue gates,"
      she said. "Besides, John, the keys are kept by the house-agent at Wigtown.
      Were they ever so curious, none of our people could find their way in."
    </p>
    <p>
      When I reflected upon the massive door and ponderous shutters which
      guarded the lower storey of Cloomber, I could not but admit the force of
      my sister's objection. The untimely visitor must either have used
      considerable violence in order to force his way in, or he must have
      obtained possession of the keys.
    </p>
    <p>
      Piqued by the little mystery, I pulled for the beach, with the
      determination to see for myself who the intruder might be, and what were
      his intentions. Leaving my sister at Branksome, and summoning Seth
      Jamieson, an old man-o'-war's-man and one of the stoutest of the
      fishermen, I set off across the moor with him through the gathering
      darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It hasna a guid name after dark, yon hoose," remarked my companion,
      slackening his pace perceptibly as I explained to him the nature of our
      errand. "It's no for naething that him wha owns it wunna gang within a
      Scotch mile o't."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, Seth, there is some one who has no fears about going into it," said
      I, pointing to the great, white building which flickered up in front of us
      through the gloom.
    </p>
    <p>
      The light which I had observed from the sea was moving backwards and
      forward past the lower floor windows, the shutters of which had been
      removed. I could now see that a second fainter light followed a few paces
      behind the other. Evidently two individuals, the one with a lamp and the
      other with a candle or rushlight, were making a careful examination of the
      building.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let ilka man blaw his ain parritch," said Seth Jamieson doggedly, coming
      to a dead stop. "What is it tae us if a wraith or a bogle minds tae tak' a
      fancy tae Cloomber? It's no canny tae meddle wi' such things."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, man," I cried, "you don't suppose a wraith came here in a gig? What
      are those lights away yonder by the avenue gates?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The lamps o' a gig, sure enough!" exclaimed my companion in a less
      lugubrious voice. "Let's steer for it, Master West, and speer where she
      hails frae."
    </p>
    <p>
      By this time night had closed in save for a single long, narrow slit in
      the westward. Stumbling across the moor together, we made our way into the
      Wigtown Road, at the point where the high stone pillars mark the entrance
      to the Cloomber avenue. A tall dog-cart stood in front of the gateway, the
      horse browsing upon the thin border of grass which skirted the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a' richt!" said Jamieson, taking a close look at the deserted
      vehicle. "I ken it weel. It belongs tae Maister McNeil, the factor body
      frae Wigtown&mdash;him wha keeps the keys."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then we may as well have speech with him now that we are here," I
      answered. "They are coming down, if I am not mistaken."
    </p>
    <p>
      As I spoke we heard the slam of the heavy door and within a few minutes
      two figures, the one tall and angular, the other short and thick came
      towards us through the darkness. They were talking so earnestly that they
      did not observe us until they had passed through the avenue gate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good evening, Mr. McNeil," said I, stepping forward and addressing the
      Wigtown factor, with whom I had some slight acquaintance.
    </p>
    <p>
      The smaller of the two turned his face towards me as I spoke, and showed
      me that I was not mistaken in his identity, but his taller companion
      sprang back and showed every sign of violent agitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is this, McNeil?" I heard him say, in a gasping, choking voice. "Is
      this your promise? What is the meaning of it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't be alarmed, General! Don't be alarmed!" said the little fat factor
      in a soothing fashion, as one might speak to a frightened child. "This is
      young Mr. Fothergill West, of Branksome, though what brings him up here
      tonight is more than I can understand. However, as you are to be
      neighbours, I can't do better than take the opportunity to introduce you
      to each other. Mr. West, this is General Heatherstone, who is about to
      take a lease of Cloomber Hall."
    </p>
    <p>
      I held out my hand to the tall man, who look it in a hesitating,
      half-reluctant fashion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I came up," I explained, "because I saw your lights in the windows, and I
      bought that something might be wrong. I am very glad I did so, since it
      has given me the chance of making the general's acquaintance."
    </p>
    <p>
      Whilst I was talking, I was conscious that the new tenant of Cloomber Hall
      was peering at me very closely through the darkness. As I concluded, he
      stretched out a long, tremulous arm, and turned the gig-lamp in such a way
      as to throw a flood of light upon my face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good Heavens, McNeil!" he cried, in the same quivering voice as before,
      "the fellow's as brown as chocolate. He's not an Englishman. You're not an
      Englishman&mdash;you, sir?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'm a Scotchman, born and bred," said I, with an inclination to laugh,
      which was only checked by my new acquaintance's obvious terror.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A Scotchman, eh?" said he, with a sigh of relief. "It's all one nowadays.
      You must excuse me, Mr.&mdash;Mr. West. I'm nervous, infernally nervous.
      Come along, McNeil, we must be back in Wigtown in less than an hour.
      Good-night, gentlemen, good-night!"
    </p>
    <p>
      The two clambered into their places; the factor cracked his whip, and the
      high dog-cart clattered away through the darkness, casting a brilliant
      tunnel of yellow light on either side of it, until the rumble of its
      wheels died away in the distance.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you think of our new neighbour, Jamieson?" I asked, after a long
      silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Deed, Mr. West, he seems, as he says himsel', to be vera nervous. Maybe
      his conscience is oot o' order."
    </p>
    <p>
      "His liver, more likely," said I. "He looks as if he had tried his
      constitution a bit. But it's blowing chill, Seth, my lad, and it's time
      both of us were indoors."
    </p>
    <p>
      I bade my companion good-night, and struck off across the moors for the
      cheery, ruddy light which marked the parlour windows of Branksome.
    </p>
    <p>
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    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER III. OF OUR FURTHER ACQUAINTANCE WITH MAJOR-GENERAL J. B.
      HEATHERSTONE
    </h2>
    <p>
      There was, as may well be imagined, much stir amongst our small community
      at the news that the Hall was to be inhabited once more, and considerable
      speculation as to the new tenants, and their object in choosing this
      particular part of the country for their residence.
    </p>
    <p>
      It speedily became apparent that, whatever their motives might be, they
      had definitely determined upon a lengthy stay, for relays of plumbers and
      of joiners came down from Wigtown, and there was hammering and repairing
      going on from morning till night.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was surprising how quickly the signs of the wind and weather were
      effaced, until the great, square-set house was all as spick-and-span as
      though it had been erected yesterday. There were abundant signs that money
      was no consideration to General Heatherstone, and that it was not on the
      score of retrenchment that he had taken up his abode among us.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be that he is devoted to study," suggested my father, as we
      discussed the question round the breakfast table. "Perhaps he has chosen
      this secluded spot to finish some magnum opus upon which he is engaged. If
      that is the case I should be happy to let him have the run of my library."
    </p>
    <p>
      Esther and I laughed at the grandiloquent manner in which he spoke of the
      two potato-sacksful of books.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It may be as you say," said I, "but the general did not strike me during
      our short interview as being a man who was likely to have any very
      pronounced literary tastes. If I might hazard a guess, I should say that
      he is here upon medical advice, in the hope that the complete quiet and
      fresh air may restore his shattered nervous system. If you had seen how he
      glared at me, and the twitching of his fingers, you would have thought it
      needed some restoring."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I do wonder whether he has a wife and a family," said my sister. "Poor
      souls, how lonely they will be! Why, excepting ourselves, there is not a
      family that they could speak to for seven miles and more."
    </p>
    <p>
      "General Heatherstone is a very distinguished soldier," remarked my
      father.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, papa, however came you to know anything about him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, my dears," said my father, smiling at us over his coffee-cup, "you
      were laughing at my library just now, but you see it may be very useful at
      times." As he spoke he took a red-covered volume from a shelf and turned
      over the pages. "This is an Indian Army List of three years back," he
      explained, "and here is the very gentleman we want-'Heatherstone, J. B.,
      Commander of the Bath,' my dears, and 'V.C.', think of that, 'V.C.'&mdash;'formerly
      colonel in the Indian Infantry, 41st Bengal Foot, but now retired with the
      rank of major-general.' In this other column is a record of his services&mdash;'capture
      of Ghuznee and defence of Jellalabad, Sobraon 1848, Indian Mutiny and
      reduction of Oudh. Five times mentioned in dispatches.' I think, my dears,
      that we have cause to be proud of our new neighbour."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It doesn't mention there whether he is married or not, I suppose?" asked
      Esther.
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said my father, wagging his white head with a keen appreciation of
      his own humour. "It doesn't include that under the heading of 'daring
      actions'&mdash;though it very well might, my dear, it very well might."
    </p>
    <p>
      All our doubts, however, upon this head were very soon set at rest, for on
      the very day that the repairing and the furnishing had been completed I
      had occasion to ride into Wigtown, and I met upon the way a carriage which
      was bearing General Heatherstone and his family to their new home. An
      elderly lady, worn and sickly-looking, was by his side, and opposite him
      sat a young fellow about my own age and a girl who appeared to be a couple
      of years younger.
    </p>
    <p>
      I raised my hat, and was about to pass them, when the general shouted to
      his coachman to pull up, and held out his hand to me. I could see now in
      the daylight that his face, although harsh and stern, was capable of
      assuming a not unkindly expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How are you, Mr. Fothergill West?" he cried. "I must apologise to you if
      I was a little brusque the other night&mdash;you will excuse an old
      soldier who has spent the best part of his life in harness&mdash;All the
      same, you must confess that you are rather dark-skinned for a Scotchman."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have a Spanish strain in our blood," said I, wondering at his
      recurrence to the topic.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That would, of course, account for it," he remarked. "My dear," to his
      wife, "allow me to introduce Mr. Fothergill West to you. This is my son
      and my daughter. We have come here in search of rest, Mr. West&mdash;complete
      rest."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you could not possibly have come to a better place," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, you think so?" he answered. "I suppose it is very quiet indeed, and
      very lonely. You might walk through these country lanes at night, I dare
      say, and never meet a soul, eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, there are not many about after dark," I said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And you are not much troubled with vagrants or wandering beggars, eh? Not
      many tinkers or tramps or rascally gipsies&mdash;no vermin of that sort
      about?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I find it rather cold," said Mrs. Heatherstone, drawing her thick
      sealskin mantle tighter round her figure. "We are detaining Mr. West,
      too."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So we are, my dear, so we are. Drive on, coachman. Good-day, Mr. West."
    </p>
    <p>
      The carriage rattled away towards the Hall, and I trotted thoughtfully
      onwards to the little country metropolis.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I passed up the High Street, Mr. McNeil ran out from his office and
      beckoned to me to stop.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our new tenants have gone out," he said. "They drove over this morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I met them on the way," I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I looked down at the little factor, I could see that his face was
      flushed and that he bore every appearance of having had an extra glass.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Give me a real gentleman to do business with," he said, with a burst of
      laughter. "They understand me and I understand them. 'What shall I fill it
      up for?' says the general, taking a blank cheque out o' his pouch and
      laying it on the table. 'Two hundred,' says I, leaving a bit o' a margin
      for my own time and trouble."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought that the landlord had paid you for that," I remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aye, aye, but it's well to have a bit margin. He filled it up and threw
      it over to me as if it had been an auld postage stamp. That's the way
      business should be done between honest men&mdash;though it wouldna do if
      one was inclined to take an advantage. Will ye not come in, Mr. West, and
      have a taste of my whisky?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, thank you," said I, "I have business to do."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, business is the chief thing. It's well not to drink in the
      morning, too. For my own part, except a drop before breakfast to give me
      an appetite, and maybe a glass, or even twa, afterwards to promote
      digestion, I never touch spirits before noon. What d'ye think o' the
      general, Mr. West?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, I have hardly had an opportunity of judging," I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. McNeil tapped his forehead with his forefinger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's what I think of him," he said in a confidential whisper, shaking
      his head at me. "He's gone, sir, gone, in my estimation. Now what would
      you take to be a proof of madness, Mr. West?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, offering a blank cheque to a Wigtown house-agent," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, you're aye at your jokes. But between oorsel's now, if a man asked ye
      how many miles it was frae a seaport, and whether ships come there from
      the East, and whether there were tramps on the road, and whether it was
      against the lease for him to build a high wall round the grounds, what
      would ye make of it, eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should certainly think him eccentric," said I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If every man had his due, our friend would find himsel' in a house with a
      high wall round the grounds, and that without costing him a farthing,"
      said the agent.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where then?" I asked, humouring his joke.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, in the Wigtown County Lunatic Asylum," cried the little man, with a
      bubble of laughter, in the midst of which I rode on my way, leaving him
      still chuckling over his own facetiousness.
    </p>
    <p>
      The arrival of the new family at Cloomber Hall had no perceptible effect
      in relieving the monotony of our secluded district, for instead of
      entering into such simple pleasures as the country had to offer, or
      interesting themselves, as we had hoped, in our attempts to improve the
      lot of our poor crofters and fisherfolk, they seemed to shun all
      observation, and hardly ever to venture beyond the avenue gates.
    </p>
    <p>
      We soon found, too, that the factor's words as to the inclosing of the
      grounds were founded upon fact, for gangs of workmen were kept hard at
      work from early in the morning until late at night in erecting a high,
      wooden fence round the whole estate.
    </p>
    <p>
      When this was finished and topped with spikes, Cloomber Park became
      impregnable to any one but an exceptionally daring climber. It was as if
      the old soldier had been so imbued with military ideas that, like my Uncle
      Toby, he could not refrain even in times of peace from standing upon the
      defensive.
    </p>
    <p>
      Stranger still, he had victualled the house as if for a siege, for Begbie,
      the chief grocer of Wigtown, told me himself in a rapture of delight and
      amazement that the general had sent him an order for hundreds of dozens of
      every imaginable potted meat and vegetable.
    </p>
    <p>
      It may be imagined that all these unusual incidents were not allowed to
      pass without malicious comment. Over the whole countryside and as far away
      as the English border there was nothing but gossip about the new tenants
      of Cloomber Hall and the reasons which had led them to come among us.
    </p>
    <p>
      The only hypothesis, however, which the bucolic mind could evolve, was
      that which had already occurred to Mr. McNeil, the factor&mdash;namely,
      that the old general and his family were one and all afflicted with
      madness, or, as an alternative conclusion, that he had committed some
      heinous offence and was endeavouring to escape the consequences of his
      misdeeds.
    </p>
    <p>
      These were both natural suppositions under the circumstances, but neither
      of them appeared to me to commend itself as a true explanation of the
      facts.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is true that General Heatherstone's behaviour on the occasion of our
      first interview was such as to suggest some suspicion of mental disease,
      but no man could have been more reasonable or more courteous than he had
      afterwards shown himself to be.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, again, his wife and children led the same secluded life that he did
      himself, so that the reason could not be one peculiar to his own health.
    </p>
    <p>
      As to the possibility of his being a fugitive from justice, that theory
      was even more untenable. Wigtownshire was bleak and lonely, but it was not
      such an obscure corner of the world that a well-known soldier could hope
      to conceal himself there, nor would a man who feared publicity set every
      one's tongue wagging as the general had done.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the whole, I was inclined to believe that the true solution of the
      enigma lay in his own allusion to the love of quiet, and that they had
      taken shelter here with an almost morbid craving for solitude and repose.
      We very soon had an instance of the great lengths to which this desire for
      isolation would carry them.
    </p>
    <p>
      My father had come down one morning with the weight of a great
      determination upon his brow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must put on your pink frock to-day, Esther," said he, "and you, John,
      you must make yourself smart, for I have determined that the three of us
      shall drive round this afternoon and pay our respects to Mrs. Heatherstone
      and the general."
    </p>
    <p>
      "A visit to Cloomber," cried Esther, clapping her hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am here," said my father, with dignity, "not only as the laird's
      factor, but also as his kinsman. In that capacity I am convinced that he
      would wish me to call upon these newcomers and offer them any politeness
      which is in our power. At present they must feel lonely and friendless.
      What says the great Firdousi? 'The choicest ornaments to a man's house are
      his friends.'"
    </p>
    <p>
      My sister and I knew by experience that when the old man began to justify
      his resolution by quotations from the Persian poets there was no chance of
      shaking it. Sure enough that afternoon saw the phaeton at the door, with
      my father perched upon the seat, with his second-best coat on and a pair
      of new driving-gloves.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Jump in, my dears," he cried, cracking his whip briskly, "we shall show
      the general that he has no cause to be ashamed of his neighbours."
    </p>
    <p>
      Alas! pride always goes before a fall. Our well-fed ponies and shining
      harness were not destined that day to impress the tenants of Cloomber with
      a sense of our importance.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had reached the avenue gate, and I was about to get out and open it,
      when our attention was arrested by a very large wooden placard, which was
      attached to one of the trees in such a manner that no one could possibly
      pass without seeing it. On the white surface of this board was printed in
      big, black letters the following hospitable inscription:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
                      GENERAL AND MRS. HEATHERSTONE
                              HAVE NO WISH
                              TO INCREASE
                    THE CIRCLE OF THEIR ACQUAINTANCE.
</pre>
    <p>
      We all sat gazing at this announcement for some moments in silent
      astonishment. Then Esther and I, tickled by the absurdity of the thing,
      burst out laughing, but my father pulled the ponies' heads round, and
      drove home with compressed lips and the cloud of much wrath upon his brow.
      I have never seen the good man so thoroughly moved, and I am convinced
      that his anger did not arise from any petty feeling of injured vanity upon
      his own part, but from the thought that a slight had been offered to the
      Laird of Branksome, whose dignity he represented.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IV. OF A YOUNG MAN WITH A GREY HEAD
    </h2>
    <p>
      If I had any personal soreness on account of this family snub, it was a
      very passing emotion, and one which was soon effaced from my mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      It chanced that on the very next day after the episode I had occasion to
      pass that way, and stopped to have another look at the obnoxious placard.
      I was standing staring at it and wondering what could have induced our
      neighbours to take such an outrageous step, when I became suddenly aware
      of a sweet, girlish face which peeped out at me from between the bars of
      the gate, and of a white hand which eagerly beckoned me to approach. As I
      advanced to her I saw that it was the same young lady whom I had seen in
      the carriage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mr. West," she said, in a quick whisper, glancing from side to side as
      she spoke in a nervous, hasty manner, "I wish to apologise to you for the
      indignity to which you and your family were subjected yesterday. My
      brother was in the avenue and saw it all, but he is powerless to
      interfere. I assure you, Mr. West, that if that hateful thing," pointing
      up at the placard, "has given you any annoyance, it has given my brother
      and myself far more."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Miss Heatherstone," said I, putting the matter off with a laugh,
      "Britain is a free country, and if a man chooses to warn off visitors from
      his premises there is no reason why he should not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is nothing less than brutal," she broke out, with a petulant stamp of
      the foot. "To think that your sister, too, should have such a unprovoked
      insult offered to her! I am ready to sink with shame at the very thought."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pray do not give yourself one moment's uneasiness upon the subject," said
      I earnestly, for I was grieved at her evident distress. "I am sure that
      your father has some reason unknown to us for taking this step."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Heaven knows he has!" she answered, with ineffable sadness in her voice,
      "and yet I think it would be more manly to face a danger than to fly from
      it. However, he knows best, and it is impossible for us to judge. But who
      is this?" she exclaimed, anxiously, peering up the dark avenue. "Oh, it is
      my brother Mordaunt. Mordaunt," she said, as the young man approached us.
      "I have been apologising to Mr. West for what happened yesterday, in your
      name as well as my own."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am very, very glad to have the opportunity of doing it in person," said
      he courteously. "I only wish that I could see your sister and your father
      as well as yourself, to tell them how sorry I am. I think you had better
      run up to the house, little one, for it's getting near tiffin-time. No&mdash;don't
      you go Mr. West. I want to have a word with you."
    </p>
    <p>
      Miss Heatherstone waved her hand to me with a bright smile, and tripped up
      the avenue, while her brother unbolted the gate, and, passing through,
      closed it again, locking it upon the outside.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll have a stroll down the road with you, if you have no objection. Have
      a manilla." He drew a couple of cheroots from his pocket and handed one to
      me. "You'll find they are not bad," he said. "I became a connoisseur in
      tobacco when I was in India. I hope I am not interfering with your
      business in coming along with you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not at all," I answered "I am very glad to have your company."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll tell you a secret," said my companion. "This is the first time that
      I have been outside the grounds since we have been down here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And your sister?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "She has never been out, either," he answered. "I have given the governor
      the slip to-day, but he wouldn't half like it if he knew. It's a whim of
      his that we should keep ourselves entirely to ourselves. At least, some
      people would call it a whim, for my own part I have reason to believe that
      he has solid grounds for all that he does&mdash;though perhaps in this
      matter he may be a little too exacting."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must surely find it very lonely," said I. "Couldn't you manage to
      slip down at times and have a smoke with me? That house over yonder is
      Branksome."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed, you are very kind," he answered, with sparkling eyes. "I should
      dearly like to run over now and again. With the exception of Israel
      Stakes, our old coachman and gardener, I have not a soul that I can speak
      to."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And your sister&mdash;she must feel it even more," said I, thinking in my
      heart that my new acquaintance made rather too much of his own troubles
      and too little of those of his companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; poor Gabriel feels it, no doubt," he answered carelessly, "but it's
      a more unnatural thing for a young man of my age to be cooped up in this
      way than for a woman. Look at me, now. I am three-and-twenty next March,
      and yet I have never been to a university, nor to a school for that
      matter. I am as complete an ignoramus as any of these clodhoppers. It
      seems strange to you, no doubt, and yet it is so. Now, don't you think I
      deserve a better fate?"
    </p>
    <p>
      He stopped as he spoke, and faced round to me, throwing his palms forward
      in appeal.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I looked at him, with the sun shining upon his face, he certainly did
      seem a strange bird to be cooped up in such a cage. Tall and muscular,
      with a keen, dark face, and sharp, finely cut features, he might have
      stepped out of a canvas of Murillo or Velasquez. There were latent energy
      and power in his firm-set mouth, his square eyebrows, and the whole pose
      of his elastic, well-knit figure.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is the learning to be got from books and the learning to be got
      from experience," said I sententiously. "If you have less of your share of
      the one, perhaps you have more of the other. I cannot believe you have
      spent all your life in mere idleness and pleasure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Pleasure!" he cried. "Pleasure! Look at this!" He pulled off his hat, and
      I saw that his black hair was all decked and dashed with streaks of grey.
      "Do you imagine that this came from pleasure?" he asked, with a bitter
      laugh.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You must have had some great shock," I said, astonished at the sight,
      "some terrible illness in your youth. Or perhaps it arises from a more
      chronic cause&mdash;a constant gnawing anxiety. I have known men as young
      as you whose hair was as grey."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor brutes!" he muttered. "I pity them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you can manage to slip down to Branksome at times," I said, "perhaps
      you could bring Miss Heatherstone with you. I know that my father and my
      sister would be delighted to see her, and a change, if only for an hour or
      two, might do her good."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It would be rather hard for us both to get away together," he answered,
      "However, if I see a chance I shall bring her down. It might be managed
      some afternoon perhaps, for the old man indulges in a siesta
      occasionally."
    </p>
    <p>
      We had reached the head of the winding lane which branches off from the
      high road and leads to the laird's house, so my companion pulled up.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must go back," he said abruptly, "or they will miss me. It's very kind
      of you, West, to take this interest in us. I am very grateful to you, and
      so will Gabriel be when she hears of your kind invitation. It's a real
      heaping of coals of fire after that infernal placard of my father's."
    </p>
    <p>
      He shook my hand and set off down the road, but he came running after me
      presently, calling me to stop.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was just thinking," he said, "that you must consider us a great mystery
      up there at Cloomber. I dare say you have come to look upon it as a
      private lunatic asylum, and I can't blame you. If you are interested in
      the matter, I feel it is unfriendly upon my part not to satisfy your
      curiosity, but I have promised my father to be silent about it. And indeed
      if I were to tell you all that I know you might not be very much the wiser
      after all. I would have you understand this, however&mdash;that my father
      is as sane as you or I, and that he has very good reasons for living the
      life which he does. I may add that his wish to remain secluded does not
      arise from any unworthy or dishonourable motives, but merely from the
      instinct of self-preservation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is in danger, then?" I ejaculated.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; he is in constant danger."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why does he not apply to the magistrates for protection?" I asked.
      "If he is afraid of any one, he has only to name him and they will bind
      him over to keep the peace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear West," said young Heatherstone, "the danger with which my father
      is threatened is one that cannot be averted by any human intervention. It
      is none the less very real, and possibly very imminent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You don't mean to assert that it is supernatural," I said incredulously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, hardly that, either," he answered with hesitation. "There," he
      continued, "I have said rather more than I should, but I know that you
      will not abuse my confidence. Good-bye!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He look to his heels and was soon out of sight round a curve in the
      country road.
    </p>
    <p>
      A danger which was real and imminent, not to be averted by human means,
      and yet hardly supernatural&mdash;here was a conundrum indeed!
    </p>
    <p>
      I had come to look upon the inhabitants of the Hall as mere eccentrics,
      but after what young Mordaunt Heatherstone had just told me, I could no
      longer doubt that some dark and sinister meaning underlay all their
      actions. The more I pondered over the problem, the more unanswerable did
      it appear, and yet I could not get the matter out of my thoughts.
    </p>
    <p>
      The lonely, isolated Hall, and the strange, impending catastrophe which
      hung over its inmates, appealed forcibly to my imagination. All that
      evening, and late into the night, I sat moodily by the fire, pondering
      over what I had heard, and revolving in my mind the various incidents
      which might furnish me with some clue to the mystery.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER V. HOW FOUR OF US CAME TO BE UNDER THE SHADOW OF CLOOMBER
    </h2>
    <p>
      I trust that my readers will not set me down as an inquisitive busybody
      when I say that as the days and weeks went by I found my attention and my
      thoughts more and more attracted to General Heatherstone and the mystery
      which surrounded him.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was in vain that I endeavoured by hard work and a strict attention to
      the laird's affairs to direct my mind into some more healthy channel. Do
      what I would, on land or on the water, I would still find myself puzzling
      over this one question, until it obtained such a hold upon me that I felt
      it was useless for me to attempt to apply myself to anything until I had
      come to some satisfactory solution of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could never pass the dark line of five-foot fencing, and the great iron
      gate, with its massive lock, without pausing and racking my brain as to
      what the secret might be which was shut in by that inscrutable barrier.
      Yet, with all my conjectures and all my observations, I could never come
      to any conclusion which could for a moment be accepted as an explanation
      of the facts.
    </p>
    <p>
      My sister had been out for a stroll one night, visiting a sick peasant or
      performing some other of the numerous acts of charity by which she had
      made herself beloved by the whole countryside.
    </p>
    <p>
      "John," she said when she returned, "have you seen Cloomber Hall at
      night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," I answered, laying down the book which I was reading. "Not since
      that memorable evening when the general and Mr. McNeil came over to make
      an inspection."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, John, will you put your hat on and come a little walk with me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I could see by her manner that something had agitated or frightened her.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, bless the girl!" cried I boisterously, "what is the matter? The old
      Hall is not on fire, surely? You look as grave as if all Wigtown were in a
      blaze."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not quite so bad as that," she said, smiling. "But do come out, Jack. I
      should very much like you to see it."
    </p>
    <p>
      I had always refrained from saying anything which might alarm my sister,
      so that she knew nothing of the interest which our neighbours' doings had
      for me. At her request I took my hat and followed her out into the
      darkness. She led the way along a little footpath over the moor, which
      brought us to some rising ground, from which we could look down upon the
      Hall without our view being obstructed by any of the fir-trees which had
      been planted round it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look at that!" said my sister, pausing at the summit of this little
      eminence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Cloomber lay beneath us in a blaze of light. In the lower floors the
      shutters obscured the illumination, but above, from the broad windows of
      the second storey to the thin slits at the summit of the tower, there was
      not a chink or an aperture which did not send forth a stream of radiance.
      So dazzling was the effect that for a moment I was persuaded that the
      house was on fire, but the steadiness and clearness of the light soon
      freed me from that apprehension. It was clearly the result of many lamps
      placed systematically all over the building.
    </p>
    <p>
      It added to the strange effect that all these brilliantly illuminated
      rooms were apparently untenanted, and some of them, so far as we could
      judge, were not even furnished. Through the whole great house there was no
      sign of movement or of life&mdash;nothing but the clear, unwinking flood
      of yellow light.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was still lost in wonder at the sight when I heard a short, quick sob at
      my side.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it, Esther, dear?" I asked, looking down at my companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I feel so frightened. Oh, John, John, take me home, I feel so
      frightened!"
    </p>
    <p>
      She clung to my arm, and pulled at my coat in a perfect frenzy of fear.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's all safe, darling," I said soothingly. "There is nothing to fear.
      What has upset you so?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid of them, John; I am afraid of the Heatherstones. Why is their
      house lit up like this every night? I have heard from others that it is
      always so. And why does the old man run like a frightened hare if any one
      comes upon him. There is something wrong about it, John, and it frightens
      me."
    </p>
    <p>
      I pacified her as well as I could, and led her home with me, where I took
      care that she should have some hot port negus before going to bed. I
      avoided the subject of the Heatherstones for fear of exciting her, and she
      did not recur to it of her own accord. I was convinced, however, from what
      I had heard from her, that she had for some time back been making her own
      observations upon our neighbours, and that in doing so she had put a
      considerable strain upon her nerves.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could see that the mere fact of the Hall being illuminated at night was
      not enough to account for her extreme agitation, and that it must have
      derived its importance in her eyes from being one in a chain of incidents,
      all of which had left a weird or unpleasant impression upon her mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      That was the conclusion which I came to at the time, and I have reason to
      know now that I was right, and that my sister had even more cause than I
      had myself for believing that there was something uncanny about the
      tenants of Cloomber.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our interest in the matter may have arisen at first from nothing higher
      than curiosity, but events soon look a turn which associated us more
      closely with the fortunes of the Heatherstone family.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mordaunt had taken advantage of my invitation to come down to the laird's
      house, and on several occasions he brought with him his beautiful sister.
      The four of us would wander over the moors together, or perhaps if the day
      were fine set sail upon our little skiff and stand off into the Irish Sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      On such excursions the brother and sister would be as merry and as happy
      as two children. It was a keen pleasure to them to escape from their dull
      fortress, and to see, if only for a few hours, friendly and sympathetic
      faces round them.
    </p>
    <p>
      There could be but one result when four young people were brought together
      in sweet, forbidden intercourse. Acquaintance-ship warmed into friendship,
      and friendship flamed suddenly into love.
    </p>
    <p>
      Gabriel sits beside me now as I write, and she agrees with me that, dear
      as is the subject to ourselves, the whole story of our mutual affection is
      of too personal a nature to be more than touched upon in this statement.
      Suffice it to say that, within a few weeks of our first meeting Mordaunt
      Heatherstone had won the heart of my dear sister, and Gabriel had given me
      that pledge which death itself will not be able to break.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have alluded in this brief way to the double tie which sprang up between
      the two families, because I have no wish that this narrative should
      degenerate into anything approaching to romance, or that I should lose the
      thread of the facts which I have set myself to chronicle. These are
      connected with General Heatherstone, and only indirectly with my own
      personal history.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is enough if I say that after our engagement the visits to Branksome
      became more frequent, and that our friends were able sometimes to spend a
      whole day with us when business had called the general to Wigtown, or when
      his gout confined him to his room.
    </p>
    <p>
      As to our good father, he was ever ready to greet us with many small jests
      and tags of Oriental poems appropriate to the occasion, for we had no
      secrets from him, and he already looked upon us all as his children.
    </p>
    <p>
      There were times when on account of some peculiarly dark or restless fit
      of the general's it was impossible for weeks on end for either Gabriel or
      Mordaunt to get away from the grounds. The old man would even stand on
      guard, a gloomy and silent sentinel, at the avenue gate, or pace up and
      down the drive as though he suspected that attempts had been made to
      penetrate his seclusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      Passing of an evening I have seen his dark, grim figure flitting about in
      the shadow of the trees, or caught a glimpse of his hard, angular, swarthy
      face peering out suspiciously at me from behind the bars.
    </p>
    <p>
      My heart would often sadden for him as I noticed his uncouth, nervous
      movements, his furtive glances and twitching features. Who would have
      believed that this slinking, cowering creature had once been a dashing
      officer, who had fought the battles of his country and had won the palm of
      bravery among the host of brave men around him?
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of the old soldier's vigilance, we managed to hold communication
      with our friends.
    </p>
    <p>
      Immediately behind the Hall there was a spot where the fencing had been so
      carelessly erected that two of the rails could be removed without
      difficulty, leaving a broad gap, which gave us the opportunity for many a
      stolen interview, though they were necessarily short, for the general's
      movements were erratic, and no part of the grounds was secure from his
      visitations.
    </p>
    <p>
      How vividly one of these hurried meetings rises before me! It stands out
      clear, peaceful, and distinct amid the wild, mysterious incidents which
      were destined to lead up to the terrible catastrophe which has cast a
      shade over our lives.
    </p>
    <p>
      I can remember that as I walked through the fields the grass was damp with
      the rain of the morning, and the air was heavy with the smell of the
      fresh-turned earth. Gabriel was waiting for me under the hawthorn tree
      outside the gap, and we stood hand-in-hand looking down at the long sweep
      of moorland and at the broad blue channel which encircled it with its
      fringe of foam.
    </p>
    <p>
      Far away in the north-west the sun glinted upon the high peak of Mount
      Throston. From where we stood we could see the smoke of the steamers as
      they ploughed along the busy water-way which leads to Belfast.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it not magnificent?" Gabriel cried, clasping her hands round my arm.
      "Ah, John, why are we not free to sail away over these waves together, and
      leave all our troubles behind us on the shore?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And what are the troubles which you would leave behind you, dear one?" I
      asked. "May I not know them, and help you to bear them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no secrets from you, John," she answered, "Our chief trouble is,
      as you may guess, our poor father's strange behaviour. Is it not a sad
      thing for all of us that a man who has played such a distinguished part in
      the world should skulk from one obscure corner of the country to another,
      and should defend himself with locks and barriers as though he were a
      common thief flying from justice? This is a trouble, John, which it is out
      of your power to alleviate."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But why does he do it, Gabriel?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I cannot tell," she answered frankly. "I only know that he imagines some
      deadly danger to be hanging over his head, and that this danger was
      incurred by him during his stay in India. What its nature may be I have no
      more idea than you have."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then your brother has," I remarked. "I am sure from the way in which he
      spoke to me about it one day that he knows what it is, and that he looks
      upon it as real."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, he knows, and so does my mother," she answered, "but they have
      always kept it secret from me. My poor father is very excited at present.
      Day and night he is in an agony of apprehension, but it will soon be the
      fifth of October, and after that he will be at peace."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you know that?" I asked in surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By experience," she answered gravely. "On the fifth of October these
      fears of his come to a crisis. For years back he has been in the habit of
      locking Mordaunt and myself up in our rooms on that date, so that we have
      no idea what occurs, but we have always found that he has been much
      relieved afterwards, and has continued to be comparatively in peace until
      that day begins to draw round again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you have only ten days or so to wait," I remarked, for September was
      drawing to a close. "By the way, dearest, why is it that you light up all
      your rooms at night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have noticed it, then?" she said. "It comes also from my father's
      fears. He does not like to have one dark corner in the whole house. He
      walks about a good deal at night, and inspects everything, from the attics
      right down to the cellars. He has large lamps in every room and corridor,
      even the empty ones, and he orders the servants to light them all at
      dusk."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am rather surprised that you manage to keep your servants," I said,
      laughing. "The maids in these parts are a superstitious class, and their
      imaginations are easily excited by anything which they don't understand."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The cook and both housemaids are from London, and are used to our ways.
      We pay them on a very high scale to make up for any inconvenience to which
      they may be put. Israel Stakes, the coachman, is the only one who comes
      from this part of the country, and he seems to be a stolid, honest fellow,
      who is not easily scared."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor little girl," I exclaimed, looking down at the slim, graceful figure
      by my side. "This is no atmosphere for you to live in. Why will you not
      let me rescue you from it? Why won't you allow me to go straight and ask
      the general for your hand? At the worst he could only refuse."
    </p>
    <p>
      She turned quite haggard and pale at the very thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For Heaven's sake, John," she cried earnestly, "do nothing of the kind.
      He would whip us all away in the dead of the night, and within a week we
      should be settling down again in some wilderness where we might never have
      a chance of seeing or hearing from you again. Besides, he never would
      forgive us for venturing out of the grounds."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't think that he is a hard-hearted man," I remarked. "I have seen a
      kindly look in his eyes, for all his stern face."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He can be the kindest of fathers," she answered. "But he is terrible when
      opposed or thwarted. You have never seen him so, and I trust you never
      will. It was that strength of will and impatience of opposition which made
      him such a splendid officer. I assure you that in India every one thought
      a great deal of him. The soldiers were afraid of him, but they would have
      followed him anywhere."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And had he these nervous attacks then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Occasionally, but not nearly so acutely. He seems to think that the
      danger&mdash;whatever it may be&mdash;becomes more imminent every year.
      Oh, John, it is terrible to be waiting like this with a sword over our
      heads&mdash;and all the more terrible to me since I have no idea where the
      blow is to come from."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dear Gabriel," I said, taking her hand and drawing her to my side, "look
      over all this pleasant countryside and the broad blue sea. Is it not all
      peaceful and beautiful? In these cottages, with their red-tiled roofs
      peeping out from the grey moor, there live none but simple, God-fearing
      men, who toil hard at their crafts and bear enmity to no man. Within seven
      miles of us is a large town, with every civilised appliance for the
      preservation of order. Ten miles farther there is a garrison quartered,
      and a telegram would at any time bring down a company of soldiers. Now, I
      ask you, dear, in the name of common-sense, what conceivable danger could
      threaten you in this secluded neighbourhood, with the means of help so
      near? You assure me that the peril is not connected with your father's
      health?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I am sure of that. It is true that Dr. Easterling, of Stranraer. has
      been over to see him once or twice, but that was merely for some small
      indisposition. I can assure you that the danger is not to be looked for in
      that direction."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then I can assure you," said I, laughing, "that there is no danger at
      all. It must be some strange monomania or hallucination. No other
      hypothesis will cover the facts."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Would my father's monomania account for the fact of my brother's hair
      turning grey and my mother wasting away to a mere shadow?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Undoubtedly," I answered, "The long continued worry of the general's
      restlessness and irritability would produce those effects on sensitive
      natures."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no!" said she, shaking her head sadly, "I have been exposed to his
      restlessness and irritability, but they have had no such effect upon me.
      The difference between us lies in the fact that they know this awful
      secret and I do not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear girl," said I, "the days of family apparitions and that kind of
      thing are gone. Nobody is haunted nowadays, so we can put that supposition
      out of the question. Having done so, what remains? There is absolutely no
      other theory which could even be suggested. Believe me, the whole mystery
      is that the heat of India has been too much for your poor father's brain."
    </p>
    <p>
      What she would have answered I cannot tell, for at that moment she gave a
      start as if some sound had fallen upon her ear. As she looked round
      apprehensively, I suddenly saw her features become rigid and her eyes
      fixed and dilated.
    </p>
    <p>
      Following the direction of her gaze, I felt a sudden thrill of fear pass
      through me as I perceived a human face surveying us from behind one of the
      trees&mdash;a man's face, every feature of which was distorted by the most
      malignant hatred and anger. Finding himself observed, he stepped out and
      advanced towards us, when I saw that it was none other than the general
      himself. His beard was all a-bristle with fury, and his deepset eyes
      glowed from under their heavily veined lids with a most sinister and
      demoniacal brightness.
    </p>
    <p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER VI. HOW I CAME TO BE ENLISTED AS ONE OF THE GARRISON OF CLOOMBER
    </h2>
    <p>
      "To your room, girl!" he cried in a hoarse, harsh voice, stepping in
      between us and pointing authoritatively towards the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      He waited until Gabriel, with a last frightened glance at me, had passed
      through the gap, and then he turned upon me with an expression so
      murderous that I stepped back a pace or two, and tightened my grasp upon
      my oak stick.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You-you&mdash;" he spluttered, with his hand twitching at his throat, as
      though his fury were choking him. "You have dared to intrude upon my
      privacy! Do you think I built this fence that all the vermin in the
      country might congregate round it? Oh, you have been very near your death,
      my fine fellow! You will never be nearer until your time comes. Look at
      this!" he pulled a squat, thick pistol out of his bosom. "If you had
      passed through that gap and set foot on my land I'd have let daylight into
      you. I'll have no vagabonds here. I know how to treat gentry of that sort,
      whether their faces are black or white."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sir," said I, "I meant no harm by coming here, and I do not know how I
      have deserved this extraordinary outburst. Allow me to observe, however,
      that you are still covering me with your pistol, and that, as your hand is
      rather tremulous, it is more than possible that it may go off. If you
      don't turn the muzzle down I shall be compelled in self-defence to strike
      you over the wrist with my stick."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What the deuce brought you here, then?" he asked, in a more composed
      voice, putting his weapon back into his bosom. "Can't a gentleman live
      quietly without your coming to peep and pry? Have you no business of your
      own to look after, eh? And my daughter? how came you to know anything of
      her? and what have you been trying to squeeze out of her? It wasn't chance
      that brought you here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No," said I boldly, "it was not chance which brought me here. I have had
      several opportunities of seeing your daughter and of appreciating her many
      noble qualities. We are engaged to be married to each other, and I came up
      with the express intention of seeing her."
    </p>
    <p>
      Instead of blazing into a fury, as I had expected, the general gave a long
      whistle of astonishment, and then leant up against the railings, laughing
      softly to himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      "English terriers are fond of nosing worms," he remarked at last. "When we
      brought them out to India they used to trot off into the jungle and begin
      sniffing at what, they imagined to be worms there. But the worm turned out
      to be a venomous snake, and so poor doggy played no more. I think you'll
      find yourself in a somewhat analogous position if you don't look out."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You surely don't mean to cast an aspersion upon your own daughter?" I
      said, flushing with indignation.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh, Gabriel is all right," he answered carelessly. "Our family is not
      exactly one, however, which I should recommend a young fellow to marry
      into. And pray how is it that I was not informed of this snug little
      arrangement of yours?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We were afraid, sir, that you might separate us," I replied, feeling that
      perfect candour was the best policy under the circumstances. "It is
      possible that we were mistaken. Before coming to any final decision, I
      implore you to remember that the happiness of both of us is at stake. It
      is in your power to divide our bodies, but our souls shall be for ever
      united."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My good fellow," said the general, in a not unkindly tone, "you don't
      know what you are asking for. There is a gulf between you and any one of
      the blood of Heatherstone which can never be bridged over."
    </p>
    <p>
      All trace of anger had vanished now from his manner, and given place to an
      air of somewhat contemptuous amusement.
    </p>
    <p>
      My family pride took fire at his words. "The gulf may be less than you
      imagine," I said coldly. "We are not clodhoppers because we live in this
      out-of-the-way place. I am of noble descent on one side, and my mother was
      a Buchan of Buchan, I assure you that there is no such disparity between
      us as you seem to imagine."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You misunderstand me," the general answered. "It is on our side that the
      disparity lies. There are reasons why my daughter Gabriel should live and
      die single. It would not be to your advantage to marry her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But surely, sir," I persisted, "I am the best judge of my own interests
      and advantages. Since you take this ground all becomes easy, for I do
      assure you that the one interest which overrides all others is that I
      should have the woman I love for my wife. If this is your only objection
      to our match you may surely give us your consent, for any danger or trial
      which I may incur in marrying Gabriel will not weigh with me one
      featherweight."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Here's a young bantam!" exclaimed the old soldier, smiling at my warmth.
      "It's easy to defy danger when you don't know what the danger is."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it, then?" I asked, hotly. "There is no earthly peril which will
      drive me from Gabriel's side. Let me know what it is and test me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no. That would never do," he answered with a sigh, and then,
      thoughtfully, as if speaking his mind aloud: "He has plenty of pluck and
      is a well-grown lad, too. We might do worse than make use of him."
    </p>
    <p>
      He went on mumbling to himself with a vacant stare in his eyes as if he
      had forgotten my presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look here, West," he said presently. "You'll excuse me if I spoke hastily
      a little time ago. It is the second time that I have had occasion to
      apologise to you for the same offence. It shan't occur again. I am rather
      over-particular, no doubt, in my desire for complete isolation, but I have
      good reasons for insisting on the point. Rightly or wrongly, I have got it
      into my head that some day there might be an organised raid upon my
      grounds. If anything of the sort should occur I suppose I might reckon
      upon your assistance?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "With all my heart."
    </p>
    <p>
      "So that if ever you got a message such as 'Come up,' or even 'Cloomber,'
      you would know that it was an appeal for help, and would hurry up
      immediately, even if it were in the dead of the night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Most certainly I should," I answered. "But might I ask you what the
      nature of the danger is which you apprehend?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "There would be nothing gained by your knowing. Indeed, you would hardly
      understand it if I told you. I must bid you good day now, for I have
      stayed with you too long. Remember, I count upon you as one of the
      Cloomber garrison now."
    </p>
    <p>
      "One other thing, sir," I said hurriedly, for he was turning away, "I hope
      that you will not be angry with your daughter for anything which I have
      told you. It was for my sake that she kept it all secret from you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right," he said, with his cold, inscrutable smile. "I am not such an
      ogre in the bosom of my family as you seem to think. As to this marriage
      question, I should advise you as a friend to let it drop altogether, but
      if that is impossible I must insist that it stand over completely for the
      present. It is impossible to say what unexpected turn events may take.
      Good-bye."
    </p>
    <p>
      He plunged into the wood and was quickly out of sight among the dense
      plantation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus ended this extraordinary interview, in which this strange man had
      begun by pointing a loaded pistol at my breast and had ended, by partially
      acknowledging the possibility of my becoming his future son-in-law. I
      hardly knew whether to be cast down or elated over it.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the one hand he was likely, by keeping a closer watch over his
      daughter, to prevent us from communicating as freely as we had done
      hitherto. Against this there was the advantage of having obtained an
      implied consent to the renewal of my suit at some future date. On the
      whole, I came to the conclusion as I walked thoughtfully home that I had
      improved my position by the incident.
    </p>
    <p>
      But this danger&mdash;this shadowy, unspeakable danger&mdash;which
      appeared to rise up at every turn, and to hang day and night over the
      towers of Cloomber! Rack my brain as I would, I could not conjure up any
      solution to the problem which was not puerile and inadequate.
    </p>
    <p>
      One fact struck me as being significant. Both the father and the son had
      assured me, independently of each other, that if I were told what the
      peril was, I would hardly realise its significance. How strange and
      bizarre must the fear be which can scarcely be expressed in intelligible
      language!
    </p>
    <p>
      I held up my hand in the darkness before I turned to sleep that night, and
      I swore that no power of man or devil should ever weaken my love for the
      woman whose pure heart I had had the good fortune to win.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER VII. OF CORPORAL RUFUS SMITH AND HIS COMING TO CLOOMBER
    </h2>
    <p>
      In making this statement I have purposely couched it in bald and simple
      language, for fear I should be accused of colouring my narrative for the
      sake of effect. If, however, I have told my story with any approach to
      realism, the reader will understand me when I say that by this time the
      succession of dramatic incidents which had occurred had arrested my
      attention and excited my imagination to the exclusion of all minor topics.
    </p>
    <p>
      How could I plod through the dull routine of an agent's work, or interest
      myself in the thatch of this tenant's bothy or the sails of that one's
      boat, when my mind was taken up by the chain of events which I have
      described, and was still busy seeking an explanation for them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Go where I would over the countryside, I could see the square, white tower
      shooting out from among the trees, and beneath that tower this ill-fated
      family were watching and waiting, waiting and watching&mdash;and for what?
      That was still the question which stood like an impassable barrier at the
      end of every train of thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      Regarded merely as an abstract problem, this mystery of the Heatherstone
      family had a lurid fascination about it, but when the woman whom I loved a
      thousandfold better than I did myself proved to be so deeply interested in
      the solution, I felt that it was impossible to turn my thoughts to
      anything else until it had been finally cleared up.
    </p>
    <p>
      My good father had received a letter from the laird, dated from Naples,
      which told us that he had derived much benefit from the change, and that
      he had no intention of returning to Scotland for some time. This was
      satisfactory to all of us, for my father had found Branksome such an
      excellent place for study that it would have been a sore trial to him to
      return to the noise and tumult of a city. As to my dear sister and myself,
      there were, as I have shown, stronger reasons still to make us love the
      Wigtownshire moors.
    </p>
    <p>
      In spite of my interview with the general&mdash;or perhaps I might say on
      account of it&mdash;I took occasion at least twice a day to walk towards
      Cloomber and satisfy myself that all was well there. He had begun by
      resenting my intrusion, but he had ended by taking me into a sort of
      half-confidence, and even by asking my assistance, so I felt that I stood
      upon a different footing with him than I had done formerly, and that he
      was less likely to be annoyed by my presence. Indeed, I met him pacing
      round the inclosure a few days afterwards, and his manner towards me was
      civil, though he made no allusion to our former conversation.
    </p>
    <p>
      He appeared to be still in an extreme state of nervousness, starting from
      time to time, and gazing furtively about him, with little frightened,
      darting glances to the right and the left. I hoped that his daughter was
      right in naming the fifth of October as the turning point of his
      complaint, for it was evident to me as I looked at his gleaming eyes and
      quivering hands, that a man could not live long in such a state of nervous
      tension.
    </p>
    <p>
      I found on examination that he had had the loose rails securely fastened
      so as to block up our former trysting-place, and though I prowled round
      the whole long line of fencing, I was unable to find any other place where
      an entrance could be effected.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here and there between the few chinks left in the barrier I could catch
      glimpses of the Hall, and once I saw a rough-looking, middle-aged man
      standing at a window on the lower floor, whom I supposed to be Israel
      Stakes, the coachman. There was no sign, however, of Gabriel or of
      Mordaunt, and their absence alarmed me. I was convinced that, unless they
      were under some restraint, they would have managed to communicate with my
      sister or myself. My fears became more and more acute as day followed day
      without our seeing or hearing anything of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      One morning&mdash;it was the second day of October&mdash;I was walking
      towards the Hall, hoping that I might be fortunate enough to learn some
      news of my darling, when I observed a man perched upon a stone at the side
      of the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I came nearer to him I could see that he was a stranger, and from his
      dusty clothes and dilapidated appearance he seemed to have come from a
      distance. He had a great hunch of bread on his knee and a clasp-knife in
      his hand, but he had apparently just finished his breakfast, for he
      brushed the crumbs off his lap and rose to his feet when he perceived me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Noticing the great height of the fellow and that he still held his weapon,
      I kept well to the other side of the road, for I knew that destitution
      makes men desperate and that the chain that glittered on my waistcoat
      might be too great a temptation to him upon this lonely highway. I was
      confirmed in my fears when I saw him step out into the centre of the road
      and bar my progress.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, my lad," I said, affecting an ease which I by no means felt, "what
      can I do for you this morning?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The fellow's face was the colour of mahogany with exposure to the weather,
      and he had a deep scar from the corner of his mouth to his ear, which by
      no means improved his appearance. His hair was grizzled, but his figure
      was stalwart, and his fur cap was cocked on one side so as to give him a
      rakish, semi-military appearance. Altogether he gave me the impression of
      being one of the most dangerous types of tramp that I had ever fallen in
      with.
    </p>
    <p>
      Instead of replying to my question, he eyed me for some time in silence
      with sullen, yellow-shot eyes, and then closed his knife with a loud
      snick.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You're not a beak," he said, "too young for that, I guess. They had me in
      chokey at Paisley and they had me in chokey at Wigtown, but by the living
      thunder if another of them lays a hand on me I'll make him remember
      Corporal Rufus Smith! It's a darned fine country this, where they won't
      give a man work, and then lay him by the heels for having no visible means
      of subsistence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry to see an old soldier so reduced," said I. "What corps did you
      serve in?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "H Battery, Royal Horse Artillery. Bad cess to the Service and every one
      in it! Here I am nigh sixty years of age, with a beggarly pension of
      thirty-eight pound ten&mdash;not enough to keep me in beer and baccy."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should have thought thirty-eight pound ten a year would have been a
      nice help to you in your old age," I remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Would you, though?" he answered with a sneer, pushing his weather-beaten
      face forward until it was within a foot of my own.
    </p>
    <p>
      "How much d'ye think that slash with a tulwar is worth? And my foot with
      all the bones rattling about like a bagful of dice where the trail of the
      gun went across it. What's that worth, eh? And a liver like a sponge, and
      ague whenever the wind comes round to the east&mdash;what's the market
      value of that? Would you take the lot for a dirty forty pound a year&mdash;would
      you now?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are poor folk in this part of the country," I answered. "You would
      pass for a rich man down here."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are fool folk and they have fool tastes," said he, drawing a black
      pipe from his pocket and stuffing it with tobacco. "I know what good
      living is, and, by cripes! while I have a shilling in my pocket I like to
      spend it as a shilling should be spent. I've fought for my country and my
      country has done darned little for me. I'll go to the Rooshians, so help
      me! I could show them how to cross the Himalayas so that it would puzzle
      either Afghans or British to stop 'em. What's that secret worth in St.
      Petersburg, eh, mister?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am ashamed to hear an old soldier speak so, even in jest," said I
      sternly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Jest, indeed!" He cried, with a great, roaring oath. "I'd have done it
      years ago if the Rooshians had been game to take it up. Skobeloff was the
      best of the bunch, but he's been snuffed out. However, that's neither here
      nor there. What I want to ask you is whether you've ever heard anything in
      this quarter of a man called Heatherstone, the same who used to be colonel
      of the 41st Bengalis? They told me at Wigtown that he lived somewhere down
      this way."
    </p>
    <p>
      "He lives in that large house over yonder," said I, pointing to Cloomber
      Tower. "You'll find the avenue gate a little way down the road, but the
      general isn't over fond of visitors."
    </p>
    <p>
      The last part of my speech was lost upon Corporal Rufus Smith; for the
      instant that I pointed out the gate he set off hopping down the road.
    </p>
    <p>
      His mode of progression was the most singular I have ever seen, for He
      would only put his right foot to the ground once in every half-dozen
      strides, while he worked so hard and attained such a momentum with the
      other limb that he got over the ground at an astonishing speed.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was so surprised that I stood in the roadway gazing after this hulking
      figure until the thought suddenly struck me that some serious result might
      come from a meeting between a man of such blunt speech and the choleric,
      hot-headed general. I therefore followed him as he hopped along like some
      great, clumsy bird, and overtook him at the avenue gate, where he stood
      grasping the ironwork and peering through at the dark carriage-drive
      beyond.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He's a sly old jackal," he said, looking round at me and nodding his head
      in the direction of the Hall. "He's a deep old dog. And that's his
      bungalow, is it, among the trees?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That is his house," I answered; "but I should advise you to keep a more
      civil tongue in your head if you intend to speak with the general. He is
      not a man to stand any nonsense."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Right you are. He was always a hard nut to crack. But isn't this him
      coming down the avenue?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked through the gate and saw that it was indeed the general, who,
      having either seen us or been attracted by our voices, was hurrying down
      towards us. As he advanced he would stop from time to time and peer at us
      through the dark shadow thrown by the trees, as if he were irresolute
      whether to come on or no.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He's reconnoitering!" whispered my companion with a hoarse chuckle. "He's
      afraid&mdash;and I know what he's afraid of. He won't be caught in a trap
      if he can help it, the old 'un. He's about as fly as they make 'em, you
      bet!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Then suddenly standing on his tip-toes and waving his hand through the
      bars of the gate, he shouted at the top of his voice:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come on, my gallant commandant! Come on! The coast's clear, and no enemy
      in sight."
    </p>
    <p>
      This familiar address had the effect of reassuring the general, for he
      came right for us, though I could tell by his heightened colour that his
      temper was at boiling point.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, you here, Mr. West?" he said, as his eye fell upon me. "What is it
      you want, and why have you brought this fellow with you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have not brought him with me, sir," I answered, feeling rather
      disgusted at being made responsible for the presence of the
      disreputable-looking vagabond beside me. "I found him on the road here,
      and he desired to be directed to you, so I showed him the way. I know
      nothing of him myself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you want with me, then?" the general asked sternly, turning to my
      companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you please, sir," said the ex-corporal, speaking in a whining voice,
      and touching his moleskin cap with a humility which contrasted strangely
      with the previous rough independence of his bearing, "I'm an old gunner in
      the Queen's service, sir, and knowing your name by hearing it in India I
      thought that maybe you would take me as your groom or gardener, or give me
      any other place as happened to be vacant."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry that I cannot do anything for you, my man," the old soldier
      answered impressively.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you'll give me a little just to help me on my way, sir," said the
      cringing mendicant. "You won't see an old comrade go to the bad for the
      sake of a few rupees? I was with Sale's brigade in the Passes, sir, and I
      was at the second taking of Cabul."
    </p>
    <p>
      General Heatherstone looked keenly at the supplicant, but was silent to
      his appeal.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I was in Ghuznee with you when the walls were all shook down by an
      earthquake, and when we found forty thousand Afghans within gunshot of us.
      You ask me about it, and you'll see whether I'm lying or not. We went
      through all this when we were young, and now that we are old you are to
      live in a fine bungalow, and I am to starve by the roadside. It don't seem
      to me to be fair."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are an impertinent scoundrel," said the general. "If you had been a
      good soldier you would never need to ask for help. I shall not give you a
      farthing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "One word more, sir," cried the tramp, for the other was turning away,
      "I've been in the Tarada Pass."
    </p>
    <p>
      The old soldier sprang round as if the words had been a pistol-shot.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What&mdash;what d'ye mean?" he stammered. "I've been in the Tarada Pass,
      sir, and I knew a man there called Ghoolab Shah."
    </p>
    <p>
      These last were hissed out in an undertone, and a malicious grin
      overspread the face of the speaker.
    </p>
    <p>
      Their effect upon the general was extraordinary. He fairly staggered back
      from the gateway, and his yellow countenance blanched to a livid, mottled
      grey. For a moment he was too overcome to speak. At last he gasped out:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ghoolab Shah' Who are you who know Ghoolab Shah?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Take another look," said the tramp, "your sight is not as keen as it was
      forty years ago."
    </p>
    <p>
      The general took a long, earnest look at the unkempt wanderer in front of
      him, and as he gazed I saw the light of recognition spring up in his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "God bless my soul!" he cried. "Why, it's Corporal Rufus Smith."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You've come on it at last," said the other, chuckling to himself. "I was
      wondering how long it would be before you knew me. And, first of all, just
      unlock this gate, will you? It's hard to talk through a grating. It's too
      much like ten minutes with a visitor in the cells."
    </p>
    <p>
      The general, whose face still bore evidences of his agitation, undid the
      bolts with nervous, trembling fingers. The recognition of Corporal Rufus
      Smith had, I fancied, been a relief to him, and yet he plainly showed by
      his manner that he regarded his presence as by no means an unmixed
      blessing.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Corporal," he said, as the gate swung open, "I have often wondered
      whether you were dead or alive, but I never expected to see you again. How
      have you been all these long years?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "How have I been?" the corporal answered gruffly. "Why, I have been drunk
      for the most part. When I draw my money I lay it out in liquor, and as
      long as that lasts I get some peace in life. When I'm cleaned out I go
      upon tramp, partly in the hope of picking up the price of a dram, and
      partly in order to look for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You'll excuse us talking about these private matters, West," the general
      said, looking round at me, for I was beginning to move away. "Don't leave
      us. You know something of this matter already, and may find yourself
      entirely in the swim with us some of these days."
    </p>
    <p>
      Corporal Rufus Smith looked round at me in blank astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "In the swim with us?" he said. "However did he get there?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Voluntarily, voluntarily," the general explained, hurriedly sinking his
      voice. "He is a neighbour of mine, and he has volunteered his help in case
      I should ever need it."
    </p>
    <p>
      This explanation seemed, if anything, to increase the big stranger's
      surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, if that don't lick cock-fighting!" he exclaimed, contemplating me
      with admiration. "I never heard tell of such a thing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And now you have found me, Corporal Smith," said the tenant of Cloomber,
      "what is it that you want of me?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, everything. I want a roof to cover me, and clothes to wear, and food
      to eat, and, above all, brandy to drink."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I'll take you in and do what I can for you," said the general
      slowly. "But look here, Smith, we must have discipline. I'm the general
      and you are the corporal; I am the master and you are the man. Now, don't
      let me have to remind you of that again."
    </p>
    <p>
      The tramp drew himself up to his full height and raised his right hand
      with the palm forward in a military salute.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can take you on as gardener and get rid of the fellow I have got. As to
      brandy, you shall have an allowance and no more. We are not deep drinkers
      at the Hall."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't you take opium, or brandy, or nothing yourself, sir?" asked
      Corporal Rufus Smith.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nothing," the general said firmly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, all I can say is, that you've got more nerve and pluck than I shall
      ever have. I don't wonder now at your winning that Cross in the Mutiny. If
      I was to go on listening night after night to them things without ever
      taking a drop of something to cheer my heart&mdash;why, it would drive me
      silly."
    </p>
    <p>
      General Heatherstone put his hand up, as though afraid that his companion
      might say too much.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I must thank you, Mr. West," he said, "for having shown this man my door.
      I would not willingly allow an old comrade, however humble, to go to the
      bad, and if I did not acknowledge his claim more readily it was simply
      because I had my doubts as to whether he was really what he represented
      himself to be. Just walk up to the Hall, Corporal, and I shall follow you
      in a minute."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor fellow!" he continued, as he watched the newcomer hobbling up the
      avenue in the ungainly manner which I have described. "He got a gun over
      his foot, and it crushed the bones, but the obstinate fool would not let
      the doctors take it off. I remember him now as a smart young soldier in
      Afghanistan. He and I were associated in some queer adventures, which I
      may tell you of some day, and I naturally feel sympathy towards him, and
      would befriend him. Did he tell you anything about me before I came?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a word," I replied.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Oh," said the general carelessly, but with an evident expression of
      relief, "I thought perhaps he might have said something of old times.
      Well, I must go and look after him, or the servants will be frightened,
      for he isn't a beauty to look at. Good-bye!"
    </p>
    <p>
      With a wave of the hand the old man turned away from me and hurried up the
      drive after this unexpected addition to his household, while I strolled on
      round the high, black paling, peering through every chink between the
      planks, but without seeing a trace either of Mordaunt or of his sister.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have now brought this statement down to the coming of Corporal Rufus
      Smith, which will prove to be the beginning of the end.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have set down soberly and in order the events which brought us to
      Wigtownshire, the arrival of the Heatherstones at Cloomber, the many
      strange incidents which excited first our curiosity and finally our
      intense interest in that family, and I have briefly touched upon the
      circumstances which brought my sister and myself into a closer and more
      personal relationship with them. I think that there cannot be a better
      moment than this to hand the narrative over to those who had means of
      knowing something of what was going on inside Cloomber during the months
      that I was observing it from without.
    </p>
    <p>
      Israel Stakes, the coachman, proved to be unable to read or write, but Mr.
      Mathew Clark, the Presbyterian Minister of Stoneykirk, has copied down his
      deposition, duly attested by the cross set opposite to his name. The good
      clergyman has, I fancy, put some slight polish upon the narrator's story,
      which I rather regret, as it might have been more interesting, if less
      intelligible, when reported verbatim. It still preserves, however,
      considerable traces of Israel's individuality, and may be regarded as an
      exact record of what he saw and did while in General Heatherstone's
      service.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER VIII. STATEMENT OF ISRAEL STAKES
    </h2>
    <p>
      (Copied and authenticated by the Reverend Mathew Clark, Presbyterian
      Minister of Stoneykirk, in Wigtownshire)
    </p>
    <p>
      Maister Fothergill West and the meenister say that I maun tell all I can
      aboot General Heatherstone and his hoose, but that I maunna say muckle
      aboot mysel' because the readers wouldna care to hear aboot me or my
      affairs. I am na sae sure o' that, for the Stakes is a family weel kenned
      and respecked on baith sides o' the Border, and there's mony in Nithsdale
      and Annandale as would be gey pleased to hear news o' the son o' Archie
      Stakes, o' Ecclefechan.
    </p>
    <p>
      I maun e'en do as I'm tauld, however, for Mr. West's sake, hoping he'll no
      forget me when I chance to hae a favour tae ask.(1) I'm no able tae write
      mysel' because my feyther sent me oot to scare craws instead o' sendin' me
      tae school, but on the ither hond he brought me up in the preenciples and
      practice o' the real kirk o' the Covenant, for which may the Lord be
      praised!
    </p>
    <p>
      It way last May twel'month that the factor body, Maister McNeil, cam ower
      tae me in the street and speered whether I was in want o' a place as a
      coachman and gairdner. As it fell oot I chanced tae be on the look oot for
      something o' the sort mysel' at the time, but I wasna ower quick to let
      him see that I wanted it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ye can tak it or leave it," says he sharp like. "It's a guid place, and
      there's mony would be glad o't. If ye want it ye can come up tae my office
      at twa the morn and put your ain questions tae the gentleman."
    </p>
    <p>
      That was a' I could get frae him, for he's a close man and a hard one at a
      bargain&mdash;which shall profit him leetle in the next life, though he
      lay by a store o' siller in this. When the day comes there'll be a hantle
      o' factors on the left hand o' the throne, and I shouldna be surprised if
      Maister McNeil found himsel' amang them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Weel, on the morn I gaed up to the office and there I foond the factor and
      a lang, thin, dour man wi' grey hair and a face as brown and crinkled as a
      walnut. He looked hard at me wi' a pair o' een that glowed like twa
      spunks, and then he says, says he:
    </p>
    <p>
      "You've been born in these pairts, I understan'?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aye," says I, "and never left them neither."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never been oot o' Scotland?" he speers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Twice to Carlisle fair," says I, for I am a man wha loves the truth; and
      besides I kenned that the factor would mind my gaeing there, for I
      bargained fur twa steers and a stirk that he wanted for the stockin' o'
      the Drumleugh Fairm.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I learn frae Maister McNeil," says General Heatherstone&mdash;for him it
      was and nane ither&mdash;"that ye canna write."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na," says I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nor read?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na," says I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It seems tae me," says he, turnin' tae the factor, "that this is the vera
      man I want. Servants is spoilt noo-a-days," says he, "by ower muckle
      eddication. I hae nae doobt, Stakes, that ye will suit me well enough.
      Ye'll hae three pund a month and a' foond, but I shall resairve the right
      o' givin' ye twenty-four hoors' notice at any time. How will that suit
      ye?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's vera different frae my last place," says I, discontented-like.
    </p>
    <p>
      And the words were true enough, for auld Fairmer Scott only gave me a pund
      a month and parritch twice a day.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Weel, weel," says he, "maybe we'll gie ye a rise if ye suit. Meanwhile
      here's the han'sel shillin' that Maister McNeil tells me it's the custom
      tae give, and I shall expec' tae see ye at Cloomber on Monday."
    </p>
    <p>
      When the Monday cam roond I walked oot tae Cloomber, and a great muckle
      hoose it is, wi' a hunderd windows or mair, and space enough tae hide awa'
      half the parish.
    </p>
    <p>
      As tae gairdening, there was no gairden for me tae work at, and the horse
      was never taken oot o' the stables frae week's end tae week's end. I was
      busy enough for a' that, for there was a deal o' fencing tae be put up,
      and one thing or anither, forbye cleanin' the knives and brushin' the
      boots and such-like jobs as is mair fit for an auld wife than for a grown
      man.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was twa besides mysel' in the kitchen, the cook Eliza, and Mary the
      hoosemaid, puir, benighted beings baith o' them, wha had wasted a' their
      lives in London, and kenned leetle aboot the warld or the ways o' the
      flesh.
    </p>
    <p>
      I hadna muckle tae say to them, for they were simple folk who could scarce
      understand English, and had hardly mair regard for their ain souls than
      the tods on the moor. When the cook said she didna think muckle o' John
      Knox, and the ither that she wouldna give saxpence tae hear the discourse
      o' Maister Donald McSnaw o' the true kirk, I kenned it was time for me tae
      leave them tae a higher Judge.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was four in family, the general, my leddy, Maister Mordaunt, and
      Miss Gabriel, and it wasna long before I found that a' wasna just exactly
      as it should be. My leddy was as thin and as white as a ghaist, and many's
      the time as I've come on her and found her yammerin' and greetin' all by
      hersel'. I've watched her walkin' up and doon in the wood where she
      thought nane could see her and wringin' her honds like one demented.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was the young gentleman, tae, and his sister&mdash;they baith seemed
      to hae some trouble on their minds, and the general maist of a', for the
      ithers were up ane day and down anither; but he was aye the same, wi' a
      face as dour and sad as a felon when he feels the tow roond his neck.
    </p>
    <p>
      I speered o' the hussies in the kitchen whether they kenned what was amiss
      wi' the family, but the cook she answered me back that it wasna for her
      tae inquire into the affairs o' her superiors, and that it was naething to
      her as long as she did her work and had her wages. They were puir,
      feckless bodies, the twa o' them, and would scarce gie an answer tae a
      ceevil question, though they could clack lood eneugh when they had a mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      Weel, weeks passed into months and a' things grew waur instead o' better
      in the Hall. The general he got mair nairvous, and his leddy mair
      melancholy every day, and yet there wasna any quarrel or bickering between
      them, for when they've been togither in the breakfast room I used often
      tae gang round and prune the rose-tree alongside o' the window, so that I
      couldna help hearin' a great pairt o' their conversation, though sair
      against the grain.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the young folk were wi' them they would speak little, but when they
      had gone they would aye talk as if some waefu' trial ere aboot to fa' upon
      them, though I could never gather from their words what it was that they
      were afeared o'.
    </p>
    <p>
      I've heard the general say mair than ance that he wasna frighted o' death,
      or any danger that he could face and have done wi', but that it was the
      lang, weary waitin' and the uncertainty that had taken a' the strength and
      the mettle oot o' him. Then my leddy would console him and tell him that
      maybe it wasna as bad as he thocht, and that a' would come richt in the
      end&mdash;but a' her cheery words were clean throwed away upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      As tae the young folks, I kenned weel that they didna bide in the groonds,
      and that they were awa' whenever they got a chance wi' Maister Fothergill
      West tae Branksome, but the general was too fu' o' his ain troubles tae
      ken aboot it, and it didna seem tae me that it was pairt o' my duties
      either as coachman or as gairdner tae mind the bairns. He should have
      lairnt that if ye forbid a lassie and a laddie to dae anything it's just
      the surest way o' bringin' it aboot. The Lord foond that oot in the
      gairden o' Paradise, and there's no muckle change between the folk in Eden
      and the folk in Wigtown.
    </p>
    <p>
      There's ane thing that I havena spoke aboot yet, but that should be set
      doon.
    </p>
    <p>
      The general didna share his room wi' his wife, but slept a' alane in a
      chamber at the far end o' the hoose, as distant as possible frae every one
      else. This room was aye lockit when he wasna in it, and naebody was ever
      allowed tae gang into it. He would mak' his ain bed, and red it up and
      dust it a' by himsel', but he wouldna so much as allow one o' us to set
      fut on the passage that led tae it.
    </p>
    <p>
      At nicht he would walk a' ower the hoose, and he had lamps hung in every
      room and corner, so that no pairt should be dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many's the time frae my room in the garret I've heard his futsteps comin'
      and gangin', comin' and gangin' doon one passage and up anither frae
      midnight till cockcraw. It was weary wark to lie listenin' tae his clatter
      and wonderin' whether he was clean daft, or whether maybe he'd lairnt
      pagan and idolatrous tricks oot in India, and that his conscience noo was
      like the worm which gnaweth and dieth not. I'd ha' speered frae him
      whether it wouldna ease him to speak wi' the holy Donald McSnaw, but it
      might ha' been a mistake, and the general wasna a man that you'd care tae
      mak' a mistake wi'.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ane day I was workin' at the grass border when he comes up and he says,
      says he:
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did ye ever have occasion tae fire a pistol, Israel?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Godsakes!" says I, "I never had siccan a thing in my honds in my life."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then you'd best not begin noo," says he. "Every man tae his ain weepon,"
      he says. "Now I warrant ye could do something wi' a guid crab-tree
      cudgel!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Aye, could I," I answered blithely, "as well as ony lad on the Border."
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is a lonely hoose," says he, "and we might be molested by some
      rascals. It's weel tae be ready for whatever may come. Me and you and my
      son Mordaunt and Mr. Fothergill West of Branksome, who would come if he
      was required, ought tae be able tae show a bauld face&mdash;what think
      ye?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Deed, sir," I says, "feastin' is aye better than fechtin'&mdash;but if
      ye'll raise me a pund a month, I'll no' shirk my share o' either."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We won't quarrel ower that," says he, and agreed tae the extra twal' pund
      a year as easy as though it were as many bawbees. Far be it frae me tae
      think evil, but I couldna help surmisin' at the time that money that was
      so lightly pairted wi' was maybe no' so very honestly cam by.
    </p>
    <p>
      I'm no' a curious or a pryin' mun by nature, but I was sair puzzled in my
      ain mind tae tell why it was that the general walked aboot at nicht and
      what kept him frae his sleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      Weel, ane day I was cleanin' doon the passages when my e'e fell on a great
      muckle heap o' curtains and auld cairpets and sic' like things that were
      piled away in a corner, no vera far frae the door o' the general's room.
      A' o' a sudden a thocht came intae my heid and I says tae mysel':
    </p>
    <p>
      "Israel, laddie," says I, "what's tae stop ye frae hidin' behind that this
      vera nicht and seein' the auld mun when he doesna ken human e'e is on
      him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The mair I thocht o't the mair seemple it appeared, and I made up my mind
      tae put the idea intae instant execution.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the nicht cam roond I tauld the women-folk that I was bad wi' the
      jawache, and would gang airly tae my room. I kenned fine when ance I got
      there that there was na chance o' ony ane disturbin' me, so I waited a wee
      while, and then when a' was quiet, I slippit aff my boots and ran doon the
      ither stair until I cam tae the heap o' auld clothes, and there I lay doon
      wi' ane e'e peepin' through a kink and a' the rest covered up wi' a great,
      ragged cairpet.
    </p>
    <p>
      There I bided as quiet as a mouse until the general passed me on his road
      tae bed, and a' was still in the hoose.
    </p>
    <p>
      My certie! I wouldna gang through wi' it again for a' the siller at the
      Union Bank of Dumfries, I canna think o't noo withoot feelin' cauld a' the
      way doon my back.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was just awfu' lyin' there in the deid silence, waitin' and waitin' wi'
      never a soond tae break the monotony, except the heavy tickin' o' an auld
      clock somewhere doon the passage.
    </p>
    <p>
      First I would look doon the corridor in the one way, and syne I'd look
      doon in t'ither, but it aye seemed to me as though there was something
      coming up frae the side that I wasna lookin' at. I had a cauld sweat on my
      broo, and my hairt was beatin' twice tae ilka tick o' the clock, and what
      feared me most of a' was that the dust frae the curtains and things was
      aye gettin' doon intae my lungs, and it was a' I could dae tae keep mysel'
      frae coughin'.
    </p>
    <p>
      Godsakes! I wonder my hair wasna grey wi' a' that I went through. I
      wouldna dae it again to be made Lord Provost o' Glasgie.
    </p>
    <p>
      Weel, it may have been twa o'clock in the mornin' or maybe a little mair,
      and I was just thinkin' that I wasna tae see onything after a'&mdash;and I
      wasna very sorry neither&mdash;when all o' a sudden a soond cam tae my
      ears clear and distinct through the stillness o' the nicht.
    </p>
    <p>
      I've been asked afore noo tae describe that soond, but I've aye foond that
      it's no' vera easy tae gie a clear idea o't, though it was unlike any
      other soond that ever I hearkened tae. It was a shairp, ringin' clang,
      like what could be caused by flippin' the rim o' a wineglass, but it was
      far higher and thinner than that, and had in it, tae, a kind o' splash,
      like the tinkle o' a rain-drop intae a water-butt.
    </p>
    <p>
      In my fear I sat up amang my cairpets, like a puddock among gowan-leaves,
      and I listened wi' a' my ears. A' was still again noo, except for the dull
      tickin' o' the distant clock.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly the soond cam again, as clear, as shrill, as shairp as ever, and
      this time the general heard it, for I heard him gie a kind o' groan, as a
      tired man might wha has been roosed oot o' his sleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      He got up frae his bed, and I could make oot a rustling noise, as though
      he were dressin' himsel', and presently his footfa' as he began tae walk
      up and doon in his room.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mysakes! it didna tak lang for me tae drap doon amang the cairpets again
      and cover mysel' ower. There I lay tremblin' in every limb, and sayin' as
      mony prayers as I could mind, wi' my e'e still peepin' through the
      keek-hole, and' fixed upon the door o' the general's room.
    </p>
    <p>
      I heard the rattle o' the handle presently, and the door swung slowly
      open. There was a licht burnin' in the room beyond, an' I could just catch
      a glimpse o' what seemed tae me like a row o' swords stuck alang the side
      o' the wa', when the general stepped oot and shut the door behind him. He
      was dressed in a dressin' goon, wi' a red smokin'-cap on his heid, and a
      pair o' slippers wi' the heels cut off and the taes turned up.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a moment it cam into my held that maybe he was walkin' in his sleep,
      but as he cam towards me I could see the glint o' the licht in his e'en,
      and his face was a' twistin', like a man that's in sair distress o' mind.
      On my conscience, it gies me the shakes noo when I think o' his tall
      figure and his yelley face comin' sae solemn and silent doon the lang,
      lone passage.
    </p>
    <p>
      I haud my breath and lay close watchin' him, but just as he cam tae where
      I was my vera hairt stood still in my breast, for "ting!"&mdash;loud and
      clear, within a yaird o' me cam the ringin', clangin' soond that I had
      a'ready hairkened tae.
    </p>
    <p>
      Where it cam frae is mair than I can tell or what was the cause o't. It
      might ha' been that the general made it, but I was sair puzzled tae tell
      hoo, for his honds were baith doon by his side as he passed me. It cam
      frae his direction, certainly, but it appeared tae me tae come frae ower
      his heid, but it was siccan a thin, eerie, high-pitched, uncanny kind o'
      soond that it wasna easy tae say just exactly where it did come frae.
    </p>
    <p>
      The general tuk nae heed o't, but walked on and was soon oot o' sicht, and
      I didna lose a minute in creepin' oot frae my hidin' place and scamperin'
      awa' back tae my room, and if a' the bogies in the Red Sea were trapesin'
      up and doon the hale nicht through, I wud never put my heid oot again tae
      hae a glimpse o' them.
    </p>
    <p>
      I didna say a word tae anybody aboot what I'd seen, but I made up my mind
      that I wudna stay muckle langer at Cloomber Ha'. Four pund a month is a
      good wage, but it isna enough tae pay a man for the loss o' his peace o'
      mind, and maybe the loss o' his soul as weel, for when the deil is aboot
      ye canna tell what sort o' a trap he may lay for ye, and though they say
      that Providence is stronger than him, it's maybe as weel no' to risk it.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was clear tae me that the general and his hoose were baith under some
      curse, and it was fit that that curse should fa' on them that had earned
      it, and no' on a righteous Presbyterian, wha had ever trod the narrow
      path.
    </p>
    <p>
      My hairt was sair for young Miss Gabriel&mdash;for she was a bonnie and
      winsome lassie&mdash;but for a' that, I felt that my duty was tae mysel'
      and that I should gang forth, even as Lot ganged oot o' the wicked cities
      o' the plain.
    </p>
    <p>
      That awfu' cling-clang was aye dingin' in my lugs, and I couldna bear to
      be alane in the passages for fear o' hearin' it ance again. I only wanted
      a chance or an excuse tae gie the general notice, and tae gang back to
      some place where I could see Christian folk, and have the kirk within a
      stone-cast tae fa' back upon.
    </p>
    <p>
      But it proved tae be ordained that, instead o' my saying the word, it
      should come frae the general himsel'.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was ane day aboot the beginning of October, I was comin' oot o' the
      stable, after giein' its oats tae the horse, when I seed a great muckle
      loon come hoppin' on ane leg up the drive, mair like a big, ill-faured
      craw than a man.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I clapped my een on him I thocht that maybe this was ane of the
      rascals that the maister had been speakin' aboot, so withoot mair ado I
      fetched oot my bit stick with the intention o' tryin' it upon the limmer's
      heid. He seed me comin' towards him, and readin' my intention frae my look
      maybe, or frae the stick in my hand, he pu'ed oot a lang knife frae his
      pocket and swore wi' the most awfu' oaths that if I didna stan' back he'd
      be the death o' me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Ma conscience! the words the chiel used was eneugh tae mak' the hair stand
      straight on your heid. I wonder he wasna struck deid where he stood.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were still standin' opposite each ither&mdash;he wi' his knife and me
      wi' the stick&mdash;when the general he cam up the drive and foond us. Tae
      my surprise he began tae talk tae the stranger as if he'd kenned him a'
      his days.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Put your knife in your pocket, Corporal," says he. "Your fears have
      turned your brain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Blood an' wounds!" says the other. "He'd ha' turned my brain tae some
      purpose wi' that muckle stick o' his if I hadna drawn my snickersnee. You
      shouldna keep siccan an auld savage on your premises."
    </p>
    <p>
      The maister he frooned and looked black at him, as though he didna relish
      advice comin' frae such a source. Then turnin' tae me&mdash;"You won't be
      wanted after to-day, Israel," he says; "you have been a guid servant, and
      I ha' naething tae complain of wi' ye, but circumstances have arisen which
      will cause me tae change my arrangements."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vera guid, sir," says I.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can go this evening," says he, "and you shall have an extra month's
      pay tae mak up t'ye for this short notice."
    </p>
    <p>
      Wi' that he went intae the hoose, followed by the man that he ca'ed the
      corporal, and frae that day tae this I have never clapped een either on
      the ane or the ither. My money was sent oot tae me in an envelope, and
      havin' said a few pairtin' words tae the cook and the wench wi' reference
      tae the wrath tae come and the treasure that is richer than rubies, I
      shook the dust o' Cloomber frae my feet for ever.
    </p>
    <p>
      Maister Fothergill West says I maunna express an opeenion as tae what cam
      aboot afterwards, but maun confine mysel' tae what I saw mysel'. Nae doubt
      he has his reasons for this&mdash;and far be it frae me tae hint that they
      are no' guid anes&mdash;but I maun say this, that what happened didna
      surprise me. It was just as I expeckit, and so I said tae Maister Donald
      McSnaw.
    </p>
    <p>
      I've tauld ye a' aboot it noo, and I havena a word tae add or tae
      withdraw. I'm muckle obleeged tae Maister Mathew Clairk for puttin' it a'
      doon in writin' for me, and if there's ony would wish tae speer onything
      mair o' me I'm well kenned and respeckit in Ecclefechan, and Maister
      McNeil, the factor o' Wigtown, can aye tell where I am tae be foond.
    </p>
    <p>
      (1) The old rascal was well paid for his trouble, so he need not have made
      such a favour of it.&mdash;J.F.W.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER IX. NARRATIVE OF JOHN EASTERLING, F.R.C.P.EDIN.
    </h2>
    <p>
      Having given the statement of Israel Stakes <i>in extenso</i>, I shall
      append a short memorandum from Dr. Easterling, now practising at
      Stranraer. It is true that the doctor was only once within the walls of
      Cloomber during its tenancy by General Heatherstone, but there were some
      circumstances connected with this visit which made it valuable, especially
      when considered as a supplement to the experiences which I have just
      submitted to the reader.
    </p>
    <p>
      The doctor has found time amid the calls of a busy country practice to jot
      down his recollections, and I feel that I cannot do better than subjoin
      them exactly as they stand.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have very much pleasure in furnishing Mr. Fothergill West with an
      account of my solitary visit to Cloomber Hall, not only on account of the
      esteem which I have formed for that gentleman ever since his residence at
      Branksome, but also because it is my conviction that the facts in the case
      of General Heatherstone are of such a singular nature that it is of the
      highest importance that they should be placed before the public in a
      trustworthy manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was about the beginning of September of last year that I received a
      note from Mrs. Heatherstone, of Cloomber Hall, desiring me to make a
      professional call upon her husband, whose health, she said, had been for
      some time in a very unsatisfactory state.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had heard something of the Heatherstones and of the strange seclusion in
      which they lived, so that I was very much pleased at this opportunity of
      making their closer acquaintance, and lost no time in complying with her
      request.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had known the Hall in the old days of Mr. McVittie, the original
      proprietor, and I was astonished on arriving at the avenue gate to observe
      the changes which had taken place.
    </p>
    <p>
      The gate itself, which used to yawn so hospitably upon the road, was now
      barred and locked, and a high wooden fence, with nails upon the top,
      encircled the whole grounds. The drive itself was leaf-strewn and
      uncared-for, and the whole place had a depressing air of neglect and
      decay.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had to knock twice before a servant-maid opened the door and showed me
      through a dingy hall into a small room, where sat an elderly, careworn
      lady, who introduced herself as Mrs. Heatherstone. With her pale face, her
      grey hair, her sad, colourless eyes, and her faded silk dress, she was in
      perfect keeping with her melancholy surroundings.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You find us in much trouble, doctor," she said, in a quiet, refined
      voice. "My poor husband has had a great deal to worry him, and his nervous
      system for a long time has been in a very weak state. We came to this part
      of the country in the hope that the bracing air and the quiet would have a
      good effect upon him. Instead of improving, however, he has seemed to grow
      weaker, and this morning he is in a high fever and a little inclined to be
      delirious. The children and I were so frightened that we sent for you at
      once. If you will follow me I will take you to the general's bedroom."
    </p>
    <p>
      She led the way down a series of corridors to the chamber of the sick man,
      which was situated in the extreme wing of the building.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a carpetless, bleak-looking room, scantily furnished with a small
      truckle bed, a campaigning chair, and a plain deal table, on which were
      scattered numerous papers and books. In the centre of this table there
      stood a large object of irregular outline, which was covered over with a
      sheet of linen.
    </p>
    <p>
      All round the walls and in the corners were arranged a very choice and
      varied collection of arms, principally swords, some of which were of the
      straight pattern in common use in the British Army, while among the others
      were scimitars, tulwars, cuchurries, and a score of other specimens of
      Oriental workmanship. Many of these were richly mounted, with inlaid
      sheaths and hilts sparkling with precious stones, so that there was a
      piquant contrast between the simplicity of the apartment and the wealth
      which glittered on the walls.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had little time, however, to observe the general's collection, since the
      general himself lay upon the couch and was evidently in sore need of my
      services.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was lying with his head turned half away from us. Breathing heavily,
      and apparently unconscious of our presence. His bright, staring eyes and
      the deep, hectic flush upon his cheek showed that his fever was at its
      height.
    </p>
    <p>
      I advanced to the bedside, and, stooping over him, I placed my fingers
      upon his pulse, when immediately he sprang up into the sitting position
      and struck at me frenziedly with his clenched hands. I have never seen
      such intensity of fear and horror stamped upon a human face as appeared
      upon that that which was now glaring up at me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Bloodhound!" he yelled; "let me go&mdash;let me go, I say! Keep your
      hands off me! Is it not enough that my life has been ruined? When is it
      all to end? How long am I to endure it?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hush, dear, hush!" said his wife in a soothing voice, passing her cool
      hand over his heated forehead. "This is Doctor Easterling, from Stranraer.
      He has not come to harm you, but to do you good."
    </p>
    <p>
      The general dropped wearily back upon his pillow, and I could see by the
      changed expression of his face that his delirium had left him, and that he
      understood what had been said.
    </p>
    <p>
      I slipped my clinical thermometer into his armpit and counted his pulse
      rate. It amounted to 120 per minute, and his temperature proved to be 104
      degrees. Clearly it was a case of remittent fever, such as occurs in men
      who have spent a great part of their lives in the tropics.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There is no danger," I remarked. "With a little quinine and arsenic we
      shall very soon overcome the attack and restore his health."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No danger, eh?" he said. "There never is any danger for me. I am as hard
      to kill as the Wandering Jew. I am quite clear in the head now, Mary; so
      you may leave me with the doctor."
    </p>
    <p>
      Mrs. Heatherstone left the room-rather unwillingly, as I thought&mdash;and
      I sat down by the bedside to listen to anything which my patient might
      have to communicate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I want you to examine my liver," he said when the door was closed. "I
      used to have an abscess there, and Brodie, the staff-surgeon, said that it
      was ten to one that it would carry me off. I have not felt much of it
      since I left the East. This is where it used to be, just under the angle
      of the ribs."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I can find the place," said I, after making a careful examination; "but I
      am happy to tell you that the abscess has either been entirely absorbed,
      or has turned calcareous, as these solitary abscesses will. There is no
      fear of its doing you any harm now."
    </p>
    <p>
      He seemed to be by no means overjoyed at the intelligence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Things always happen so with me," he said moodily. "Now, if another
      fellow was feverish and delirious he would surely be in some danger, and
      yet you will tell me that I am in none. Look at this, now." He bared his
      chest and showed me a puckered wound over the region of the heart. "That's
      where the jezail bullet of a Hillman went in. You would think that was in
      the right spot to settle a man, and yet what does it do but glance upon a
      rib, and go clean round and out at the back, without so much as
      penetrating what you medicos call the pleura. Did ever you hear of such a
      thing?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "You were certainly born under a lucky star," I observed, with a smile.
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's a matter of opinion," he answered, shaking his head. "Death has no
      terrors for me, if it will but come in some familiar form, but I confess
      that the anticipation of some strange, some preternatural form of death is
      very terrible and unnerving."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You mean," said I, rather puzzled at his remark, "that you would prefer a
      natural death to a death by violence?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I don't mean that exactly," he answered. "I am too familiar with cold
      steel and lead to be afraid of either. Do you know anything about odyllic
      force, doctor?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, I do not," I replied, glancing sharply at him to see if there were
      any signs of his delirium returning. His expression was intelligent,
      however, and the feverish flush had faded from his cheeks.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, you Western scientific men are very much behind the day in some
      things," he remarked. "In all that is material and conducive to the
      comfort of the body you are pre-eminent, but in what concerns the subtle
      forces of Nature and the latent powers of the human spirit your best men
      are centuries behind the humblest coolies of India. Countless generations
      of beef-eating, comfort loving ancestors have given our animal instincts
      the command over our spiritual ones. The body, which should have been a
      mere tool for the use of the soul, has now become a degrading prison in
      which it is confined. The Oriental soul and body are not so welded
      together as ours are, and there is far less wrench when they part in
      death."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They do not appear to derive much benefit from this peculiarity in their
      organisation," I remarked incredulously.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Merely the benefit of superior knowledge," the general answered. "If you
      were to go to India, probably the very first thing you would see in the
      way of amusement would be a native doing what is called the mango trick.
      Of course you have heard or read of it. The fellow plants a mango seed,
      and makes passes over it until it sprouts and bears leaves and fruit&mdash;all
      in the space of half-an-hour. It is not really a trick&mdash;it is a
      power. These men know more than your Tyndalls or Huxleys do about Nature's
      processes, and they can accelerate or retard her workings by subtle means
      of which we have no conception. These low-caste conjurers&mdash;as they
      are called&mdash;are mere vulgar dabblers, but the men who have trod the
      higher path are as far superior to us in knowledge as we are to the
      Hottentots or Patagonians."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You speak as if you were well acquainted with them," I remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To my cost, I am," he answered. "I have been brought in contact with them
      in a way in which I trust no other poor chap ever will be. But, really, as
      regards odyllic force, you ought to know something of it, for it has a
      great future before it in your profession. You should read Reichcnbach's
      'Researches on Magnetism and Vital Force,' and Gregory's 'Letters on
      Animal Magnetism.' These, supplemented by the twenty-seven Aphorisms of
      Mesmer, and the works of Dr. Justinus Kerner, of Weinsberg, would enlarge
      your ideas."
    </p>
    <p>
      I did not particularly relish having a course of reading prescribed for me
      on a subject connected with my own profession, so I made no comment, but
      rose to take my departure. Before doing so I felt his pulse once more, and
      found that the fever had entirely left him in the sudden, unaccountable
      fashion which is peculiar to these malarious types of disease.
    </p>
    <p>
      I turned my face towards him to congratulate him upon his improvement, and
      stretched out my hand at the same time to pick my gloves from the table,
      with the result that I raised not only my own property, but also the linen
      cloth which was arranged over some object in the centre.
    </p>
    <p>
      I might not have noticed what I had done had I not seen an angry look upon
      the invalid's face and heard him utter an impatient exclamation. I at once
      turned, and replaced the cloth so promptly that I should have been unable
      to say what was underneath it, beyond having a general impression that it
      looked like a bride-cake.
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right, doctor," the general said good-humouredly, perceiving how
      entirely accidental the incident was. "There is no reason why you should
      not see it," and stretching out his hand, he pulled away the linen
      covering for the second time.
    </p>
    <p>
      I then perceived that what I had taken for a bride-cake was really an
      admirably executed model of a lofty range of mountains, whose snow-clad
      peaks were not unlike the familiar sugar pinnacles and minarets.
    </p>
    <p>
      "These are the Himalayas, or at least the Surinam branch of them," he
      remarked, "showing the principal passes between India and Afghanistan. It
      is an excellent model. This ground has a special interest for me, because
      it is the scene of my first campaign. There is the pass opposite Kalabagh
      and the Thul valley, where I was engaged during the summer of 1841 in
      protecting the convoys and keeping the Afridis in order. It wasn't a
      sinecure, I promise you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And this," said I, indicating a blood-red spot which had been marked on
      one side of the pass which he had pointed out&mdash;"this is the scene of
      some fight in which you were engaged."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, we had a skirmish there," he answered, leaning forward and looking
      at the red mark. "We were attacked by&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      At this moment he fell back upon his pillow as if he had been shot, while
      the same look of horror came over his face which I had observed when I
      first entered the room. At the same instant there came, apparently from
      the air immediately above his bed, a sharp, ringing, tinkling sound, which
      I can only compare with the noise made by a bicycle alarm, though it
      differed from this in having a distinctly throbbing character. I have
      never, before or since, heard any sound which could be confounded with it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I stared round in astonishment, wondering where it could have come from,
      but without perceiving anything to which it could be ascribed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's all right, doctor," the general said with a ghastly smile. "It's
      only my private gong. Perhaps you had better step downstairs and write my
      prescription in the dining-room."
    </p>
    <p>
      He was evidently anxious to get rid of me, so I was forced to take my
      departure, though I would gladly have stayed a little longer, in the hope
      of learning something as to the origin of the mysterious sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      I drove away from the house with the full determination of calling again
      upon my interesting patient, and endeavouring to elicit some further
      particulars as to his past life and his present circumstances. I was
      destined, however, to be disappointed, for I received that very evening a
      note from the general himself, enclosing a handsome fee for my single
      visit, and informing me that my treatment had done him so much good that
      he considered himself to be convalescent, and would not trouble me to see
      him again.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was the last and only communication which I ever received from the
      tenant of Cloomber.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have been asked frequently by neighbours and others who were interested
      in the matter whether he gave me the impression of insanity. To this I
      must unhesitatingly answer in the negative. On the contrary, his remarks
      gave me the idea of a man who had both read and thought deeply.
    </p>
    <p>
      I observed, however, during our single interview, that his reflexes were
      feeble, his arcus senilis well marked, and his arteries atheromatous&mdash;all
      signs that his constitution was in an unsatisfactory condition, and that a
      sudden crisis might be apprehended.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER X. OF THE LETTER WHICH CAME FROM THE HALL
    </h2>
    <p>
      Having thrown this side-light upon my narrative, I can now resume the
      statement of my own personal experiences. These I had brought down, as the
      reader will doubtless remember, to the date of the arrival of the
      savage-looking wanderer who called himself Corporal Rufus Smith. This
      incident occurred about the beginning of the month of October, and I find
      upon a comparison of dates that Dr. Easterling's visit to Cloomber
      preceded it by three weeks or more.
    </p>
    <p>
      During all this time I was in sore distress of mind, for I had never seen
      anything either of Gabriel or of her brother since the interview in which
      the general had discovered the communication which was kept up between us.
      I had no doubt that some sort of restraint had been placed upon them; and
      the thought that we had brought trouble on their heads was a bitter one
      both to my sister and myself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our anxiety, however, was considerably mitigated by the receipt, a couple
      of days after my last talk with the general, of a note from Mordaunt
      Heatherstone. This was brought us by a little, ragged urchin, the son of
      one of the fishermen, who informed us that it had been handed to him at
      the avenue gate by an old woman&mdash;who, I expect, must have been the
      Cloomber cook.
    </p>
    <p>
      "MY DEAREST FRIENDS," it ran, "Gabriel and I have grieved to think how
      concerned you must be at having neither heard from nor seen us. The fact
      is that we are compelled to remain in the house. And this compulsion is
      not physical but moral.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our poor father, who gets more and more nervous every day, has entreated
      us to promise him that we will not go out until after the fifth of
      October, and to allay his fears we have given him the desired pledge. On
      the other hand, he has promised us that after the fifth&mdash;that is, in
      less than a week&mdash;we shall be as free as air to come or go as we
      please, so we have something to look forward to.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gabriel says that she has explained to you that the governor is always a
      changed man after this particular date, on which his fears reach a crisis.
      He apparently has more reason than usual this year to anticipate that
      trouble is brewing for this unfortunate family, for I have never known him
      to take so many elaborate precautions or appear so thoroughly unnerved.
      Who would ever think, to see his bent form and his shaking hands, that he
      is the same man who used some few short years ago to shoot tigers on foot
      among the jungles of the Terai, and would laugh at the more timid
      sportsmen who sought the protection of their elephant's howdah?
    </p>
    <p>
      "You know that he has the Victoria Cross, which he won in the streets of
      Delhi, and yet here he is shivering with terror and starting at every
      noise, in the most peaceful corner of the world. Oh, the pity of it. West!
      Remember what I have already told you&mdash;that it is no fanciful or
      imaginary peril, but one which we have every reason to suppose to be most
      real. It is, however, of such a nature that it can neither be averted nor
      can it profitably be expressed in words. If all goes well, you will see us
      at Branksome on the sixth.
    </p>
    <p>
      "With our fondest love to both of you, I am ever, my dear friends, your
      attached
    </p>
    <p>
      "MORDAUNT."
    </p>
    <p>
      This letter was a great relief to us as letting us know that the brother
      and sister were under no physical restraint, but our powerlessness and
      inability even to comprehend what the danger was which threatened those
      whom we had come to love better than ourselves was little short of
      maddening.
    </p>
    <p>
      Fifty times a day we asked ourselves and asked each other from what
      possible quarter this peril was to be expected, but the more we thought of
      it the more hopeless did any solution appear.
    </p>
    <p>
      In vain we combined our experiences and pieced together every word which
      had fallen from the lips of any inmate of Cloomber which might be supposed
      to bear directly or indirectly upon the subject.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, weary with fruitless speculation, we were fain to try to drive
      the matter from our thoughts, consoling ourselves with the reflection that
      in a few more days all restrictions would be removed, and we should be
      able to learn from our friends' own lips.
    </p>
    <p>
      Those few intervening days, however, would, we feared, be dreary, long
      ones. And so they would have been, had it not been for a new and most
      unexpected incident, which diverted our minds from our own troubles and
      gave them something fresh with which to occupy themselves.
    </p>
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    <h2>
      CHAPTER XI. OF THE CASTING AWAY OF THE BARQUE "BELINDA"
    </h2>
    <p>
      The third of October had broken auspiciously with a bright sun and a
      cloudless sky. There had in the morning been a slight breeze, and a few
      little white wreaths of vapour drifted here and there like the scattered
      feathers of some gigantic bird, but, as the day wore on, such wind as
      there was fell completely away, and the air became close and stagnant.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sun blazed down with a degree of heat which was remarkable so late in
      the season, and a shimmering haze lay upon the upland moors and concealed
      the Irish mountains on the other side of the Channel.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sea itself rose and fell in a long, heavy, oily roll, sweeping slowly
      landward, and breaking sullenly with a dull, monotonous booming upon the
      rock-girt shore. To the inexperienced all seemed calm and peaceful, but to
      those who are accustomed to read Nature's warnings there was a dark menace
      in air and sky and sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      My sister and I walked out in the afternoon, sauntering slowly along the
      margin of the great, sandy spit which shoots out into the Irish Sea,
      flanking upon one side the magnificent Bay of Luce, and on the other the
      more obscure inlet of Kirkmaiden, on the shores of which the Branksome
      property is situated.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was too sultry to go far, so we soon seated ourselves upon one of the
      sandy hillocks, overgrown with faded grass-tufts, which extend along the
      coast-line, and which form Nature's dykes against the encroachments of the
      ocean.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our rest was soon interrupted by the scrunching of heavy boots upon the
      shingle, and Jamieson, the old man-o'-war's man whom I have already had
      occasion to mention, made his appearance, with the flat, circular net upon
      his back which he used for shrimp-catching. He came towards us upon seeing
      us, and said in his rough, kindly way that he hoped we would not take it
      amiss if he sent us up a dish of shrimps for our tea at Branksome.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I aye make a good catch before a storm," he remarked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You think there is going to be a storm, then?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, even a marine could see that," he answered, sticking a great wedge
      of tobacco into his cheek. "The moors over near Cloomber are just white
      wi' gulls and kittiewakes. What d'ye think they come ashore for except to
      escape having all the feathers blown out o' them? I mind a day like this
      when I was wi' Charlie Napier off Cronstadt. It well-nigh blew us under
      the guns of the forts, for all our engines and propellers."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you ever known a wreck in these parts?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lord love ye, sir, it's a famous place for wrecks. Why, in that very bay
      down there two o' King Philip's first-rates foundered wi' all hands in the
      days o' the Spanish war. If that sheet o' water and the Bay o' Luce round
      the corner could tell their ain tale they'd have a gey lot to speak of.
      When the Jedgment Day comes round that water will be just bubbling wi' the
      number o' folks that will be coming up frae the bottom."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust that there will be no wrecks while we are here," said Esther
      earnestly.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old man shook his grizzled head and looked distrustfully at the hazy
      horizon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If it blows from the west," he said, "some o' these sailing ships may
      find it no joke to be caught without sea-room in the North Channel.
      There's that barque out yonder&mdash;I daresay her maister would be glad
      enough to find himsel' safe in the Clyde."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She seems to be absolutely motionless," I remarked, looking at the vessel
      in question, whose black hull and gleaming sails rose and fell slowly with
      the throbbing of the giant pulse beneath her. "Perhaps, Jamieson, we are
      wrong, and there will be no storm after all."
    </p>
    <p>
      The old sailor chuckled to himself with an air of superior knowledge, and
      shuffled away with his shrimp-net, while my sister and I walked slowly
      homewards through the hot and stagnant air.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went up to my father's study to see if the old gentleman had any
      instructions as to the estate, for he had become engrossed in a new work
      upon Oriental literature, and the practical management of the property had
      in consequence devolved entirely upon me.
    </p>
    <p>
      I found him seated at his square library table, which was so heaped with
      books and papers that nothing of him was visible from the door except a
      tuft of white hair.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear son," he said to me as I entered, "it is a great grief to me that
      you are not more conversant with Sanscrit. When I was your age, I could
      converse not only in that noble language, but also in the Tamulic,
      Lohitic, Gangelic, Taic, and Malaic dialects, which are all offshoots from
      the Turanian branch."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I regret extremely, sir," I answered, "that I have not inherited your
      wonderful talents as a polyglot."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have set myself a task," he explained, "which, if it could only be
      continued from generation to generation in our own family until it was
      completed, would make the name of West immortal. This is nothing less than
      to publish an English translation of the Buddhist Djarmas, with a preface
      giving an idea of the position of Brahminism before the coming of
      Sakyamuni. With diligence it is possible that I might be able myself to
      complete part of the preface before I die."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And pray, sir," I asked, "how long would the whole work be when it was
      finished?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "The abridged edition in the Imperial Library of Pekin," said my father,
      rubbing his hands together, "consists of 325 volumes of an average weight
      of five pounds. Then the preface, which must embrace some account of the
      Rig-veda, the Sama-veda, the Yagur-veda, and the Atharva-veda, with the
      Brahmanas, could hardly be completed in less than ten volumes. Now, if we
      apportion one volume to each year, there is every prospect of the family
      coming to an end of its task about the date 2250, the twelfth generation
      completing the work, while the thirteenth might occupy itself upon the
      index."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how are our descendants to live, sir," I asked, with a smile, "during
      the progress of this great undertaking:'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "That's the worst of you, Jack," my father cried petulantly. "There is
      nothing practical about you. Instead of confining your attention to the
      working out of my noble scheme, you begin raising all sorts of absurd
      objections. It is a mere matter of detail how our descendants live, so
      long as they stick to the Djarmas. Now, I want you to go up to the bothy
      of Fergus McDonald and see about the thatch, and Willie Fullerton has
      written to say that his milk-cow is bad. You might took in upon your way
      and ask after it."
    </p>
    <p>
      I started off upon my errands, but before doing so I took a look at the
      barometer upon the wall. The mercury had sunk to the phenomenal point of
      twenty-eight inches. Clearly the old sailor had not been wrong in his
      interpretation of Nature's signs.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I returned over the moors in the evening, the wind was blowing in
      short, angry puffs, and the western horizon was heaped with sombre clouds
      which stretched their long, ragged tentacles right up to the zenith.
    </p>
    <p>
      Against their dark background one or two livid, sulphur-coloured splotches
      showed up malignant and menacing, while the surface of the sea had changed
      from the appearance of burnished quicksilver to that of ground glass. A
      low, moaning sound rose up from the ocean as if it knew that trouble was
      in store for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Far out in the Channel I saw a single panting, eager steam vessel making
      ifs way to Belfast Lough, and the large barque which I had observed in the
      morning still beating about in the offing, endeavouring to pass to the
      northward.
    </p>
    <p>
      At nine o'clock a sharp breeze was blowing, at ten it had freshened into a
      gale, and before midnight the most furious storm was raging which I can
      remember upon that weather-beaten coast.
    </p>
    <p>
      I sat for some time in our small, oak-panelled sitting-room listening to
      the screeching and howling of the blast and to the rattle of the gravel
      and pebbles as they pattered against the window. Nature's grim orchestra
      was playing its world-old piece with a compass which ranged from the deep
      diapason of the thundering surge to the thin shriek of the scattered
      shingle and the keen piping of frightened sea birds.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once for an instant I opened the lattice window, but a gust of wind and
      rain came blustering through, bearing with it a great sheet of seaweed,
      which flapped down upon the table. It was all I could do to close it again
      with a thrust of my shoulder in the face of the blast.
    </p>
    <p>
      My sister and father had retired to their rooms, but my thoughts were too
      active for sleep, so I continued to sit and to smoke by the smouldering
      fire.
    </p>
    <p>
      What was going on in the Hall now, I wondered? What did Gabriel think of
      the storm, and how did it affect the old man who wandered about in the
      night? Did he welcome these dread forces of Nature as being of the same
      order of things as his own tumultuous thoughts?
    </p>
    <p>
      It was only two days now from the date which I had been assured was to
      mark a crisis in his fortunes. Would he regard this sudden tempest as
      being in any way connected with the mysterious fate which threatened him?
    </p>
    <p>
      Over all these things and many more I pondered as I sat by the glowing
      embers until they died gradually out, and the chill night air warned me
      that it was time to retire.
    </p>
    <p>
      I may have slept a couple of hours when I was awakened by some one tugging
      furiously at my shoulder. Sitting up in bed, I saw by the dim light that
      my father was standing half-clad by my bedside, and that it was his grasp
      which I felt on my night-shirt.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Get up, Jack, get up!" he was crying excitedly. "There's a great ship
      ashore in the bay, and the poor folk will all be drowned. Come down, my
      boy, and let us see what we can do."
    </p>
    <p>
      The good old man seemed to be nearly beside himself with excitement and
      impatience. I sprang from my bed, and was huddling on a few clothes, when
      a dull, booming sound made itself heard above the howling of the wind and
      the thunder of the breakers.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There it is again!" cried my father. "It is their signal gun, poor
      creatures! Jamieson and the fishermen are below. Put your oil-skin coat on
      and the Glengarry hat. Come, come, every second may mean a human life!"
    </p>
    <p>
      We hurried down together and made our way to the beach, accompanied by a
      dozen or so of the inhabitants of Branksome.
    </p>
    <p>
      The gale had increased rather than moderated, and the wind screamed all
      round us with an infernal clamour. So great was its force that we had to
      put our shoulders against it, and bore our way through it, while the sand
      and gravel tingled up against our faces.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was just light enough to make out the scudding clouds and the white
      gleam of the breakers, but beyond that all was absolute darkness.
    </p>
    <p>
      We stood ankle deep in the shingle and seaweed, shading our eyes with our
      hands and peering out into the inky obscurity.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed to me as I listened that I could hear human voices loud in
      intreaty and terror, but amid the wild turmoil of Nature it was difficult
      to distinguish one sound from another.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly, however, a light glimmered in the heart of the tempest, and next
      instant the beach and sea and wide, tossing bay were brilliantly
      illuminated by the wild glare of a signal light.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ship lay on her beam-ends right in the centre of the terrible Hansel
      reef, hurled over to such an angle that I could see all the planking of
      her deck. I recognised her at once as being the same three-masted barque
      which I had observed in the Channel in the morning, and the Union Jack
      which was nailed upside down to the jagged slump of her mizzen proclaimed
      her nationality.
    </p>
    <p>
      Every spar and rope and writhing piece of cordage showed up hard and clear
      under the vivid light which spluttered and flickered from the highest
      portion of the forecastle. Beyond the doomed ship, out of the great
      darkness came the long, rolling lines of big waves, never ending, never
      tiring, with a petulant tuft of foam here and there upon their crests.
      Each as it reached the broad circle of unnatural light appeared to gather
      strength and volume and to hurry on more impetuously until with a roar and
      a jarring crash it sprang upon its victim.
    </p>
    <p>
      Clinging to the weather shrouds we could distinctly see ten or a dozen
      frightened seamen who, when the light revealed our presence, turned their
      white faces towards us and waved their hands imploringly. The poor
      wretches had evidently taken fresh hope from our presence, though it was
      clear that their own boats had either been washed away or so damaged as to
      render them useless.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sailors who clung to the rigging were not, however, the only
      unfortunates on board. On the breaking poop there stood three men who
      appeared to be both of a different race and nature from the cowering
      wretches who implored our assistance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Leaning upon the shattered taff-rail they seemed to be conversing together
      as quietly and unconcernedly as though they were unconscious of the deadly
      peril which surrounded them.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the signal light flickered over them, we could see from the shore that
      these immutable strangers wore red fezes, and that their faces were of a
      swarthy, large-featured type, which proclaimed an Eastern origin.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was little time, however, for us to take note of such details. The
      ship was breaking rapidly, and some effort must be made to save the poor,
      sodden group of humanity who implored our assistance.
    </p>
    <p>
      The nearest lifeboat was in the Bay of Luce, ten long miles away, but here
      was our own broad, roomy craft upon the shingle, and plenty of brave
      fisher lads to form a crew. Six of us sprang to the oars, the others
      pushed us off, and we fought our way through the swirling, raging waters,
      staggering and recoiling before the great, sweeping billows, but still
      steadily decreasing the distance between the barque and ourselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed, however, that our efforts were fated to be in vain.
    </p>
    <p>
      As we mounted upon a surge I saw a giant wave, topping all the others, and
      coming after them like a driver following a flock, sweep down upon the
      vessel, curling its great, green arch over the breaking deck.
    </p>
    <p>
      With a rending, riving sound the ship split in two where the terrible,
      serrated back of the Hansel reef was sawing into her keel. The after-part,
      with the broken mizzen and the three Orientals, sank backwards into deep
      water and vanished, while the fore-half oscillated helplessly about,
      retaining its precarious balance upon the rocks.
    </p>
    <p>
      A wail of fear went up from the wreck and was echoed from the beach, but
      by the blessing of Providence she kept afloat until we made our way under
      her bowsprit and rescued every man of the crew.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had not got half-way upon our return, however, when another great wave
      swept the shattered forecastle off the reef, and, extinguishing the signal
      light, hid the wild denouement from our view.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our friends upon the shore were loud in congratulation and praise, nor
      were they backward in welcoming and comforting the castaways. They were
      thirteen in all, as cold and cowed a set of mortals as ever slipped
      through Death's fingers, save, indeed, their captain, who was a hardy,
      robust man, and who made light of the affair.
    </p>
    <p>
      Some were taken off to this cottage and some to that, but the greater part
      came back to Branksome with us, where we gave them such dry clothes as we
      could lay our hands on, and served them with beef and beer by the kitchen
      fire. The captain, whose name was Meadows, compressed his bulky form into
      a suit of my own, and came down to the parlour, where he mixed himself
      some grog and gave my father and myself an account of the disaster.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If it hadn't been for you, sir, and your brave fellows," he said, smiling
      across at me, "we should be ten fathoms deep by this time. As to the <i>Belinda</i>,
      she was a leaky old tub and well insured, so neither the owners nor I are
      likely to break our hearts over her."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am afraid," said my father sadly, "that we shall never see your three
      passengers again. I have left men upon the beach in case they should be
      washed up, but I fear it is hopeless. I saw them go down when the vessel
      split, and no man could have lived for a moment among that terrible
      surge."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who were they?" I asked. "I could not have believed that it was possible
      for men to appear so unconcerned in the face of such imminent peril."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As to who they are or were," the captain answered, puffing thoughtfully
      at his pipe, "that is by no means easy to say. Our last port was
      Kurrachee, in the north of India, and there we took them aboard as
      passengers for Glasgow. Ram Singh was the name of the younger, and it is
      only with him that I have come in contact, but they all appeared to be
      quiet, inoffensive gentlemen. I never inquired their business, but I
      should judge that they were Parsee merchants from Hyderabad whose trade
      took them to Europe. I could never see why the crew should fear them, and
      the mate, too, he should have had more sense."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Fear them I!" I ejaculated in surprise.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, they had some preposterous idea that they were dangerous shipmates.
      I have no doubt if you were to go down into the kitchen now you would find
      that they are all agreed that our passengers were the cause of the whole
      disaster."
    </p>
    <p>
      As the captain was speaking the parlour door opened and the mate of the
      barque, a tall, red-bearded sailor, stepped in. He had obtained a complete
      rig-out from some kind-hearted fisherman, and looked in his comfortable
      jersey and well-greased seaboots a very favourable specimen of a
      shipwrecked mariner.
    </p>
    <p>
      With a few words of grateful acknowledgment of our hospitality, he drew a
      chair up to the fire and warmed his great, brown hands before the blaze.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What d'ye think now, Captain Meadows?" he asked presently, glancing up at
      his superior officer. "Didn't I warn you what would be the upshot of
      having those niggers on board the <i>Belinda</i>?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The captain leant back in his chair and laughed heartily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Didn't I tell you?" he cried, appealing to us. "Didn't I tell you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It might have been no laughing matter for us," the other remarked
      petulantly. "I have lost a good sea-kit and nearly my life into the
      bargain."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do I understand you to say," said I, "that you attribute your misfortunes
      to your ill-fated passengers?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The mate opened his eyes at the adjective.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why ill-fated, sir?" he asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Because they are most certainly drowned," I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sniffed incredulously and went on warming his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Men of that kind are never drowned," he said, after a pause. "Their
      father, the devil, looks after them. Did you see them standing on the poop
      and rolling cigarettes at the time when the mizzen was carried away and
      the quarter-boats stove? That was enough for me. I'm not surprised at you
      landsmen not being able to take it in, but the captain here, who's been
      sailing since he was the height of the binnacle, ought to know by this
      time that a cat and a priest are the worst cargo you can carry. If a
      Christian priest is bad, I guess an idolatrous pagan one is fifty times
      worse. I stand by the old religion, and be d&mdash;d to it!"
    </p>
    <p>
      My father and I could not help laughing at the rough sailor's very
      unorthodox way of proclaiming his orthodoxy. The mate, however, was
      evidently in deadly earnest, and proceeded to state his case, marking off
      the different points upon the rough, red fingers of his left hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was at Kurrachee, directly after they come that I warned ye," he said
      reproachfully to the captain. "There was three Buddhist Lascars in my
      watch, and what did they do when them chaps come aboard? Why, they down on
      their stomachs and rubbed their noses on the deck&mdash;that's what they
      did. They wouldn't ha' done as much for an admiral of the R'yal Navy. They
      know who's who&mdash;these niggers do; and I smelt mischief the moment I
      saw them on their faces. I asked them afterwards in your presence,
      Captain, why they had done it, and they answered that the passengers were
      holy men. You heard 'em yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, there's no harm in that, Hawkins," said Captain Meadows.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I don't know that," the mate said doubtfully. "The holiest Christian is
      the one that's nearest God, but the holiest nigger is, in my opinion, the
      one that's nearest the devil. Then you saw yourself, Captain Meadows, how
      they went on during the voyage, reading books that was writ on wood
      instead o' paper, and sitting up right through the night to jabber
      together on the quarter-deck. What did they want to have a chart of their
      own for and to mark the course of the vessel every day?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "They didn't," said the captain.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed they did, and if I did not tell you sooner it was because you were
      always ready to laugh at what I said about them. They had instruments o'
      their own&mdash;when they used them I can't say&mdash;but every day at
      noon they worked out the latitude and longitude, and marked out the
      vessel's position on a chart that was pinned on their cabin table. I saw
      them at it, and so did the steward from his pantry."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, I don't see what you prove from that," the captain remarked,
      "though I confess it is a strange thing."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I'll tell you another strange thing," said the mate impressively. "Do you
      know the name of this bay in which we are cast away?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have learnt from our kind friends here that we are upon the
      Wigtownshire coast," the captain answered, "but I have not heard the name
      of the bay."
    </p>
    <p>
      The mate leant forward with a grave face.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is the Bay of Kirkmaiden," he said.
    </p>
    <p>
      If he expected to astonish Captain Meadows he certainly succeeded, for
      that gentleman was fairly bereft of speech for a minute or more.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is really marvellous," he said, after a time, turning to us. "These
      passengers of ours cross-questioned us early in the voyage as to the
      existence of a bay of that name. Hawkins here and I denied all knowledge
      of one, for on the chart it is included in the Bay of Luce. That we should
      eventually be blown into it and destroyed is an extraordinary
      coincidence."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Too extraordinary to be a coincidence," growled the mate. "I saw them
      during the calm yesterday morning, pointing to the land over our starboard
      quarter. They knew well enough that that was the port they were making
      for."
    </p>
    <p>
      "What do you make of it all, then, Hawkins?" asked the captain, with a
      troubled face. "What is your own theory on the matter?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, in my opinion," the mate answered, "them three swabs have no more
      difficulty in raising a gale o' wind than I should have in swallowing this
      here grog. They had reasons o' their own for coming to this God-forsaken&mdash;saving
      your presence, sirs&mdash;this God-forsaken bay, and they took a short cut
      to it by arranging to be blown ashore there. That's my idea o' the matter,
      though what three Buddhist priests could find to do in the Bay of
      Kirkmaiden is clean past my comprehension."
    </p>
    <p>
      My father raised his eyebrows to indicate the doubt which his hospitality
      forbade him from putting into words.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think, gentlemen," he said, "that you are both sorely in need of rest
      after your perilous adventures. If you will follow me I shall lead you to
      your rooms."
    </p>
    <p>
      He conducted them with old-fashioned ceremony to the laird's best spare
      bedroom, and then, returning to me in the parlour, proposed that we should
      go down together to the beach and learn whether anything fresh had
      occurred.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first pale light of dawn was just appearing in the east when we made
      our way for the second time to the scene of the shipwreck. The gale had
      blown itself out, but the sea was still very high, and all inside the
      breakers was a seething, gleaming line of foam, as though the fierce old
      ocean were gnashing its white fangs at the victims who had escaped from
      its clutches.
    </p>
    <p>
      All along the beach fishermen and crofters were hard at work hauling up
      spars and barrels as fast as they were tossed ashore. None of them had
      seen any bodies, however, and they explained to us that only such things
      as could float had any chance of coming ashore, for the undercurrent was
      so strong that whatever was beneath the surface must infallibly be swept
      out to sea.
    </p>
    <p>
      As to the possibility of the unfortunate passengers having been able to
      reach the shore, these practical men would not hear of it for a moment,
      and showed us conclusively that if they had not been drowned they must
      have been dashed to pieces upon the rocks.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We did all that could be done," my father said sadly, as we returned
      home. "I am afraid that the poor mate has had his reason affected by the
      suddenness of the disaster. Did you hear what he said about Buddhist
      priests raising a gale?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, I heard him," said I. "It was very painful to listen to him," said
      my father. "I wonder if he would object to my putting a small mustard
      plaster under each of his ears. It would relieve any congestion of the
      brain. Or perhaps it would be best to wake him up and give him two
      antibilious pills. What do you think, Jack?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I think," said I, with a yawn, "that you had best let him sleep, and go
      to sleep yourself. You can physic him in the morning if he needs it."
    </p>
    <p>
      So saying I stumbled off to my bedroom, and throwing myself upon the couch
      was soon in a dreamless slumber.
    </p>
    <p>
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    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XII. OF THE THREE FOREIGN MEN UPON THE COAST
    </h2>
    <p>
      It must have been eleven or twelve o'clock before I awoke, and it seemed
      to me in the flood of golden light which streamed into my chamber that the
      wild, tumultuous episodes of the night before must have formed part of
      some fantastic dream.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was hard to believe that the gentle breeze which whispered so softly
      among the ivy-leaves around my window was caused by the same element which
      had shaken the very house a few short hours before. It was as if Nature
      had repented of her momentary passion and was endeavouring to make amends
      to an injured world by its warmth and its sunshine. A chorus of birds in
      the garden below filled the whole air with their wonder and
      congratulations.
    </p>
    <p>
      Down in the hall I found a number of the shipwrecked sailors, looking all
      the better for their night's repose, who set up a buzz of pleasure and
      gratitude upon seeing me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Arrangements had been made to drive them to Wigtown, whence they were to
      proceed to Glasgow by the evening train, and my father had given orders
      that each should be served with a packet of sandwiches and hard-boiled
      eggs to sustain him on the way.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Meadows thanked us warmly in the name of his employers for the
      manner in which we had treated them, and he called for three cheers from
      his crew, which were very heartily given. He and the mate walked down with
      us after we had broken our fast to have a last look at the scene of the
      disaster.
    </p>
    <p>
      The great bosom of the bay was still heaving convulsively, and its waves
      were breaking into sobs against the rocks, but there was none of that wild
      turmoil which we had seen in the early morning. The long, emerald ridges,
      with their little, white crests of foam, rolled slowly and majestically
      in, to break with a regular rhythm&mdash;the panting of a tired monster.
    </p>
    <p>
      A cable length from the shore we could see the mainmast of the barque
      floating upon the waves, disappearing at times in the trough of the sea,
      and then shooting up towards Heaven like a giant javelin, shining and
      dripping as the rollers tossed it about. Other smaller pieces of wreckage
      dotted the waters, while innumerable spars and packages were littered over
      the sands. These were being drawn up and collected in a place of safety by
      gangs of peasants. I noticed that a couple of broad-winged gulls were
      hovering and skimming over the scene of the shipwreck, as though many
      strange things were visible to them beneath the waves. At times we could
      hear their raucous voices as they cried to one another of what they saw.
    </p>
    <p>
      "She was a leaky old craft," said the captain, looking sadly out to sea,
      "but there's always a feeling of sorrow when we see the last of a ship we
      have sailed in. Well, well, she would have been broken up in any case, and
      sold for firewood."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It looks a peaceful scene," I remarked. "Who would imagine that three men
      lost their lives last night in those very waters?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Poor fellows," said the captain, with feeling, "Should they be cast up
      after our departure, I am sure, Mr. West, that you will have them decently
      interred."
    </p>
    <p>
      I was about to make some reply when the mate burst into a loud guffaw,
      slapping his thigh and choking with merriment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you want to bury them," he said, "you had best look sharp, or they may
      clear out of the country. You remember what I said last night? Just look
      at the top of that 'ere hillock, and tell me whether I was in the right or
      not?"
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a high sand dune some little distance along the coast, and upon
      the summit of this the figure was standing which had attracted the mate's
      attention. The captain threw up his hands in astonishment as his eyes
      rested upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By the eternal," he shouted, "it's Ram Singh himself! Let us overhaul
      him!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Taking to his heels in his excitement he raced along the beach, followed
      by the mate and myself, as well as by one or two of the fishermen who had
      observed the presence of the stranger.
    </p>
    <p>
      The latter, perceiving our approach, came down from his post of
      observation and walked quietly in our direction, with his head sunk upon
      his breast, like one who is absorbed in thought.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not help contrasting our hurried and tumultuous advance with the
      gravity and dignity of this lonely Oriental, nor was the matter mended
      when he raised a pair of steady, thoughtful dark eyes and inclined his
      head in a graceful, sweeping salutation. It seemed to me that we were like
      a pack of schoolboys in the presence of a master.
    </p>
    <p>
      The stranger's broad, unruffled brow, his clear, searching gaze, firm-set
      yet sensitive mouth, and clean-cut, resolute expression, all combined to
      form the most imposing and noble presence which I had ever known. I could
      not have imagined that such imperturbable calm and at the same time such a
      consciousness of latent strength could have been expressed by any human
      face.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was dressed in a brown velveteen coat, loose, dark trousers, with a
      shirt that was cut low in the collar, so as to show the muscular, brown
      neck, and he still wore the red fez which I had noticed the night before.
    </p>
    <p>
      I observed with a feeling of surprise, as we approached him, that none of
      these garments showed the slightest indication of the rough treatment and
      wetting which they must have received during their wearer's submersion and
      struggle to the shore.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So you are none the worse for your ducking," he said in a pleasant,
      musical voice, looking from the captain to the mate. "I hope that your
      poor sailors have found pleasant quarters."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are all safe," the captain answered. "But we had given you up for lost&mdash;you
      and your two friends. Indeed, I was just making arrangements for your
      burial with Mr. West here."
    </p>
    <p>
      The stranger looked at me and smiled.
    </p>
    <p>
      "We won't give Mr. West that trouble for a little time yet," he remarked;
      "my friends and I came ashore all safe, and we have found shelter in a hut
      a mile or so along the coast. It is lonely down there, but we have
      everything which we can desire."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We start for Glasgow this afternoon," said the captain; "I shall be very
      glad if you will come with us. If you have not been in England before you
      may find it awkward travelling alone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are very much indebted to you for your thoughtfulness," Ram Singh
      answered; "but we will not take advantage of your kind offer. Since Nature
      has driven us here we intend to have a look about us before we leave."
    </p>
    <p>
      "As you like," the captain said, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't think
      you are likely to find very much to interest you in this hole of a place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Very possibly not," Ram Singh answered with an amused smile. "You
      remember Milton's lines:
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     'The mind is its own place, and in itself
     Can make a hell of Heaven, a heaven of Hell.'
</pre>
    <p>
      I dare say we can spend a few days here comfortably enough. Indeed, I
      think you must be wrong in considering this to be a barbarous locality. I
      am much mistaken if this young gentleman's father is not Mr. James Hunter
      West, whose name is known and honoured by the pundits of India."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My father is, indeed, a well-known Sanscrit scholar," I answered in
      astonishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The presence of such a man," observed the stranger slowly, "changes a
      wilderness into a city. One great mind is surely a higher indication of
      civilisation than are incalculable leagues of bricks and mortar.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your father is hardly so profound as Sir William Jones, or so universal
      as the Baron Von Hammer-Purgstall, but he combines many of the virtues of
      each. You may tell him, however, from me that he is mistaken in the
      analogy which he has traced between the Samoyede and Tamulic word roots."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you have determined to honour our neighbourhood by a short stay," said
      I, "you will offend my father very much if you do not put up with him. He
      represents the laird here, and it is the laird's privilege, according to
      our Scottish custom, to entertain all strangers of repute who visit this
      parish."
    </p>
    <p>
      My sense of hospitality prompted me to deliver this invitation, though I
      could feel the mate twitching at my sleeves as if to warn me that the
      offer was, for some reason, an objectionable one. His fears were, however,
      unnecessary, for the stranger signified by a shake of the head that it was
      impossible for him to accept it.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My friends and I are very much obliged to you," he said, "but we have our
      own reasons for remaining where we are. The hut which we occupy is
      deserted and partly ruined, but we Easterns have trained ourselves to do
      without most of those things which are looked upon as necessaries in
      Europe, believing firmly in that wise axiom that a man is rich, not in
      proportion to what he has, but in proportion to what he can dispense with.
      A good fisherman supplies us with bread and with herbs, we have clean, dry
      straw for our couches; what could man wish for more?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But you must feel the cold at night, coming straight from the tropics,"
      remarked the captain. "Perhaps our bodies are cold sometimes. We have not
      noticed it. We have all three spent many years in the Upper Himalayas on
      the border of the region of eternal snow, so we are not very sensitive to
      inconveniences of the sort."
    </p>
    <p>
      "At least," said I, "you must allow me to send you over some fish and some
      meat from our larder."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We are not Christians," he answered, "but Buddhists of the higher school.
      We do not recognise that man has a moral right to slay an ox or a fish for
      the gross use of his body. He has not put life into them, and has
      assuredly no mandate from the Almighty to take life from them save under
      most pressing need. We could not, therefore, use your gift if you were to
      send it."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, sir," I remonstrated, "if in this changeable and inhospitable
      climate you refuse all nourishing food your vitality will fail you&mdash;you
      will die."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall die then," he answered, with an amused smile. "And now, Captain
      Meadows, I must bid you adieu, thanking you for your kindness during the
      voyage, and you, too, good-bye&mdash;you will command a ship of your own
      before the year is out. I trust, Mr. West, that I may see you again before
      I leave this part of the country. Farewell!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He raised his red fez, inclined his noble head with the stately grace
      which characterised all his actions, and strode away in the direction from
      which he had come.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me congratulate you, Mr. Hawkins," said the captain to the mate as we
      walked homewards. "You are to command your own ship within the year."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No such luck!" the mate answered, with a pleased smile upon his mahogany
      face, "still, there's no saying how things may come out. What d'ye think
      of him, Mr. West?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why," said I, "I am very much interested in him. What a magnificent head
      and bearing he has for a young man. I suppose he cannot be more than
      thirty."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Forty," said the mate.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sixty, if he is a day," remarked Captain Meadows. "Why, I have heard him
      talk quite familiarly of the first Afghan war. He was a man then, and that
      is close on forty years ago."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Wonderful!" I ejaculated. "His skin is as smooth and his eyes are as
      clear as mine are. He is the superior priest of the three, no doubt."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The inferior," said the captain confidently. "That is why he does all the
      talking for them. Their minds are too elevated to descend to mere worldly
      chatter."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They are the strangest pieces of flotsam and jetsam that were ever thrown
      upon this coast," I remarked. "My father will be mightily interested in
      them."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Indeed, I think the less you have to do with them the better for you,"
      said the mate. "If I do command my own ship I'll promise you that I never
      carry live stock of that sort on board of her. But here we are all aboard
      and the anchor tripped, so we must bid you good-bye."
    </p>
    <p>
      The wagonette had just finished loading up when we arrived, and the chief
      places, on either side of the driver, had been reserved for my two
      companions, who speedily sprang into them. With a chorus of cheers the
      good fellows whirled away down the road, while my father, Esther, and I
      stood upon the lawn and waved our hands to them until they disappeared
      behind the Cloomber woods, <i>en route</i> for the Wigtown railway
      station. Barque and crew had both vanished now from our little world, the
      only relic of either being the heaps of <i>debris</i> upon the beach,
      which were to lie there until the arrival of an agent from Lloyd's.
    </p>
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      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIII. IN WHICH I SEE THAT WHICH HAS BEEN SEEN BY FEW
    </h2>
    <p>
      At dinner that evening I mentioned to my father the episode of the three
      Buddhist priests, and found, as I had expected, that he was very much
      interested by my account of them.
    </p>
    <p>
      When, however, he heard of the high manner in which Ram Singh had spoken
      of him, and the distinguished position which he had assigned him among
      philologists, he became so excited that it was all we could do to prevent
      him from setting off then and there to make his acquaintance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Esther and I were relieved and glad when we at last succeeded in
      abstracting his boots and manoeuvring him to his bedroom, for the exciting
      events of the last twenty-four hours had been too much for his weak frame
      and delicate nerves.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was silting at the open porch in the gloaming, turning over in my mind
      the unexpected events which had occurred so rapidly&mdash;the gale, the
      wreck, the rescue, and the strange character of the castaways&mdash;when
      my sister came quietly over to me and put her hand in mine.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't you think, Jack." she said, in her low, sweet voice, "that we are
      forgetting our friends over at Cloomber? Hasn't all this excitement driven
      their fears and their danger out of our heads?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Out of our heads, but never out of our hearts," said I, laughing.
      "However, you are right, little one, for our attention has certainly been
      distracted from them. I shall walk up in the morning and see if I can see
      anything of them. By the way, to-morrow is the fateful 5th of October&mdash;one
      more day, and all will be well with us."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or ill," said my sister gloomily.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, what a little croaker you are, to be sure!" I cried. "What in the
      world is coming over you?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I feel nervous and low-spirited," she answered, drawing closer to my side
      and shivering. "I feel as if some great peril were hanging over the heads
      of those we love. Why should these strange men wish to stay upon the
      coast?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, the Buddhists?" I said lightly. "Oh, these fellows have continual
      feast-days and religious rites of all sorts. They have some very good
      reason for staying, you may be sure."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Don't you think," said Esther, in an awe-struck whisper, "that it is very
      strange that these priests should arrive here all the way from India just
      at the present moment? Have you not gathered from all you have heard that
      the general's fears are in some way connected with India and the Indians?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The remark made me thoughtful.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, now that you mention it," I answered, "I have some vague impression
      that the mystery is connected with some incident which occurred in that
      country. I am sure, however, that your fears would vanish if you saw Ram
      Singh. He is the very personification of wisdom and benevolence. He was
      shocked at the idea of our killing a sheep, or even a fish for his benefit&mdash;said
      he would rather die than have a hand in taking the life of an animal."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is very foolish of me to be so nervous," said my sister bravely. "But
      you must promise me one thing, Jack. You will go up to Cloomber in the
      morning, and if you can see any of them you must tell them of these
      strange neighbours of ours. They are better able to judge than we are
      whether their presence has any significance or not."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All right, little one," I answered, as we went indoors. "You have been
      over-excited by all these wild doings, and you need a sound night's rest
      to compose you. I'll do what you suggest, however, and our friends shall
      judge for themselves whether these poor fellows should be sent about their
      business or not."
    </p>
    <p>
      I made the promise to allay my sister's apprehensions, but in the bright
      sunlight of morning it appeared less than absurd to imagine that our poor
      vegetarian castaways could have any sinister intentions, or that their
      advent could have any effect upon the tenant of Cloomber.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was anxious, myself, however, to see whether I could see anything of the
      Heatherstones, so after breakfast I walked up to the Hall. In their
      seclusion it was impossible for them to have learnt anything of the recent
      events. I felt, therefore, that even if I should meet the general he could
      hardly regard me as an intruder while I had so much news to communicate.
    </p>
    <p>
      The place had the same dreary and melancholy appearance which always
      characterised it. Looking through between the thick iron bars of the main
      gateway there was nothing to be seen of any of the occupants. One of the
      great Scotch firs had been blown down in the gale, and its long, ruddy
      trunk lay right across the grass-grown avenue; but no attempt had been
      made to remove it.
    </p>
    <p>
      Everything about the property had the same air of desolation and neglect,
      with the solitary exception of the massive and impenetrable fencing, which
      presented as unbroken and formidable an obstacle as ever to the would-be
      trespasser.
    </p>
    <p>
      I walked round this barrier as far as our old trysting-place without
      finding any flaw through which I could get a glimpse of the house, for the
      fence had been repaired with each rail overlapping the last, so as to
      secure absolute privacy for those inside, and to block those peep-holes
      which I had formerly used.
    </p>
    <p>
      At the old spot, however, where I had had the memorable interview with the
      general on the occasion when he surprised me with his daughter, I found
      that the two loose rails had been refixed in such a manner that there was
      a gap of two inches or more between them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Through this I had a view of the house and of part of the lawn in front of
      it, and, though I could see no signs of life outside or at any of the
      windows, I settled down with the intention of sticking to my post until I
      had a chance of speaking to one or other of the inmates. Indeed, the cold,
      dead aspect of the house had struck such a chill into my heart that I
      determined to scale the fence at whatever risk of incurring the general's
      displeasure rather than return without news of the Heatherstones.
    </p>
    <p>
      Happily there was no need of this extreme expedient, for I had not been
      there half-an-hour before I heard the harsh sound of an opening lock, and
      the general himself emerged from the main door.
    </p>
    <p>
      To my surprise he was dressed in a military uniform, and that not the
      uniform in ordinary use in the British Army. The red coat was strangely
      cut and stained with the weather. The trousers had originally been white,
      but had now faded to a dirty yellow. With a red sash across his chest and
      a straight sword hanging from his side, he stood the living example of a
      bygone type&mdash;the John Company's officer of forty years ago.
    </p>
    <p>
      He was followed by the ex-tramp, Corporal Rufus Smith, now well-clad and
      prosperous, who limped along beside his master, the two pacing up and down
      the lawn absorbed in conversation. I observed that from time to time one
      or other of them would pause and glance furtively all about them, as
      though guarding keenly against a surprise. I should have preferred
      communicating with the general alone, but since there was no dissociating
      him from his companion, I beat loudly on the fencing with my stick to
      attract their attention. They both faced round in a moment, and I could
      see from their gestures that they were disturbed and alarmed.
    </p>
    <p>
      I then elevated my stick above the barrier to show them where the sound
      proceeded from. At this the general began to walk in my direction with the
      air of a man who is bracing himself up for an effort, but the other caught
      him by the wrist and endeavoured to dissuade him.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was only when I shouted out my name and assured them that I was alone
      that I could prevail upon them to approach. Once assured of my identity
      the general ran eagerly towards me and greeted me with the utmost
      cordiality.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This is truly kind of you, West," he said. "It is only at such times as
      these that one can judge who is a friend and who not. It would not be fair
      to you to ask you to come inside or to stay any time, but I am none the
      less very glad to see you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have been anxious about you all," I said, "for it is some little time
      since I have seen or heard from any of you. How have you all been
      keeping?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, as well as could be expected. But we will be better tomorrow&mdash;we
      will be different men to-morrow, eh, Corporal?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, sir," said the corporal, raising his hand to his forehead in a
      military salute. "We'll be right as the bank to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The corporal and I are a little disturbed in our minds just now," the
      general explained, "but I have no doubt that all will come right. After
      all, there is nothing higher than Providence, and we are all in His hands.
      And how have you been, eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "We have been very busy for one thing," said I. "I suppose you have heard
      nothing of the great shipwreck?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a word," the general answered listlessly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I thought the noise of the wind would prevent you hearing the signal
      guns. She came ashore in the bay the night before last&mdash;a great
      barque from India."
    </p>
    <p>
      "From India!" ejaculated the general.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes. Her crew were saved, fortunately, and have all been sent on to
      Glasgow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "All sent on!" cried the general, with a face as bloodless as a corpse.
    </p>
    <p>
      "All except three rather strange characters who claim to be Buddhist
      priests. They have decided to remain for a few days upon the coast."
    </p>
    <p>
      The words were hardly out of my mouth when the general dropped upon his
      knees with his long, thin arms extended to Heaven.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Thy will be done!" he cried in a cracking voice. "Thy blessed will be
      done!"
    </p>
    <p>
      I could see through the crack that Corporal Rufus Smith's face had turned
      to a sickly yellow shade, and that he was wiping the perspiration from his
      brow.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's like my luck!" he said. "After all these years, to come when I have
      got a snug billet."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never mind, my lad," the general said, rising, and squaring his shoulders
      like a man who braces himself up for an effort. "Be it what it may we'll
      face it as British soldiers should. D'ye remember at Chillianwallah, when
      you had to run from your guns to our square, and the Sikh horse came
      thundering down on our bayonets? We didn't flinch then, and we won't
      flinch now. It seems to me that I feel better than I have done for years.
      It was the uncertainty that was killing me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And the infernal jingle-jangle," said the corporal. "Well, we all go
      together&mdash;that's some consolation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Good-bye, West," said the general. "Be a good husband to Gabriel, and
      give my poor wife a home. I don't think she will trouble you long.
      Good-bye! God bless you!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Look here, General," I said, peremptorily breaking off a piece of wood to
      make communication more easy, "this sort of thing has been going on too
      long. What are these hints and allusions and innuendoes? It is time we had
      a little plain speaking. What is it you fear? Out with it! Are you in
      dread of these Hindoos? If you are, I am able, on my father's authority,
      to have them arrested as rogues and vagabonds."
    </p>
    <p>
      "No, no, that would never do," he answered, shaking his head. "You will
      learn about the wretched business soon enough. Mordaunt knows where to lay
      his hand upon the papers bearing on the matter. You can consult him about
      it to-morrow."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But surely," I cried, "if the peril is so imminent something may be done
      to avert it. If you would but tell me what you fear I should know how to
      act."
    </p>
    <p>
      "My dear friend," he said, "there is nothing to be done, so calm yourself,
      and let things take their course. It has been folly on my part to shelter
      myself behind mere barriers of wood and stone. The fact is, that inaction
      was terrible to me, and I felt that to do anything, however futile, in the
      nature of a precaution, was better than passive resignation. My humble
      friend here and I have placed ourselves in a position in which, I trust,
      no poor fellow will ever find himself again. We can only recommend
      ourselves to the unfailing goodness of the Almighty, and trust that what
      we have endured in this world may lessen our atonement in the world to
      come. I must leave you now, for I have many papers to destroy and much to
      arrange. Good-bye!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He pushed his hand through the hole which I had made, and grasped mine in
      a solemn farewell, after which he walked back to the Hall with a firm and
      decided step, still followed by the crippled and sinister corporal.
    </p>
    <p>
      I walked back to Branksome much disturbed by this interview, and extremely
      puzzled as to what course I should pursue.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was evident now that my sister's suspicions were correct, and that
      there was some very intimate connection between the presence of the three
      Orientals and the mysterious peril which hung over the towers of Cloomber.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was difficult for me to associate the noble-faced Ram Singh's gentle,
      refined manner and words of wisdom with any deed of violence, yet now that
      I thought of it I could see that a terrible capacity for wrath lay behind
      his shaggy brows and dark, piercing eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      I felt that of all men whom I had ever met he was the one whose
      displeasure I should least care to face. But how could two men so widely
      dissociated as the foul-mouthed old corporal of artillery and the
      distinguished Anglo-Indian general have each earned the ill-will of these
      strange castaways? And if the danger were a positive physical one, why
      should he not consent to my proposal to have the three men placed under
      custody&mdash;though I confess it would have gone much against my grain to
      act in so inhospitable a manner upon such vague and shadowy grounds.
    </p>
    <p>
      These questions were absolutely unanswerable, and yet the solemn words and
      the terrible gravity which I had seen in the faces of both the old
      soldiers forbade me from thinking that their fears were entirely
      unfounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was all a puzzle&mdash;an absolutely insoluble puzzle.
    </p>
    <p>
      One thing at least was clear to me&mdash;and that was that in the present
      state of my knowledge, and after the general's distinct prohibition, it
      was impossible for me to interfere in any way. I could only wait and pray
      that, whatever the danger might be, it might pass over, or at least that
      my dear Gabriel and her brother might be protected against it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was walking down the lane lost in thought, and had got as far as the
      wicket gate which opens upon the Branksome lawn, when I was surprised to
      hear my father's voice raised in most animated and excited converse.
    </p>
    <p>
      The old man had been of late so abstracted from the daily affairs of the
      world, and so absorbed in his own special studies, that it was difficult
      to engage his attention upon any ordinary, mundane topic. Curious to know
      what it was that had drawn him so far out of himself, I opened the gate
      softly, and walking quietly round the laurel bushes, found him sitting, to
      my astonishment, with none other than the very man who was occupying my
      thoughts, Ram Singh, the Buddhist.
    </p>
    <p>
      The two were sitting upon a garden bench, and the Oriental appeared to be
      laying down some weighty proposition, checking every point upon his long,
      quivering, brown fingers, while my father, with his hands thrown abroad
      and his face awry, was loud in protestation and in argument.
    </p>
    <p>
      So absorbed were they in their controversy, that I stood within a
      hand-touch of them for a minute or more before they became conscious of my
      presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      On observing me the priest sprang to his feet and greeted me with the same
      lofty courtesy and dignified grace which had so impressed me the day
      before.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I promised myself yesterday," he said, "the pleasure of calling upon your
      father. You see I have kept my word. I have even been daring enough to
      question his views upon some points in connection with the Sanscrit and
      Hindoo tongues, with the result that we have been arguing for an hour or
      more without either of us convincing the other. Without pretending to as
      deep a theoretical knowledge as that which has made the name of James
      Hunter West a household word among Oriental scholars, I happen to have
      given considerable attention to this one point, and indeed I am in a
      position to say that I know his views to be unsound. I assure you, sir,
      that up to the year 700, or even later, Sanscrit was the ordinary language
      of the great bulk of the inhabitants of India."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And I assure you, sir," said my father warmly, "that it was dead and
      forgotten at that date, save by the learned, who used it as a vehicle for
      scientific and religious works&mdash;just as Latin was used in the Middle
      Ages long after it had ceased to be spoken by any European nation."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If you consult the puranas you will find," said Ram Singh, "that this
      theory, though commonly received, is entirely untenable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And if you will consult the Ramayana, and more particularly the canonical
      books on Buddhist discipline," cried my father, "you will find that the
      theory is unassailable."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But look at the Kullavagga," said our visitor earnestly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And look at King Asoka," shouted my father triumphantly. "When, in the
      year 300 before the Christian era&mdash;before, mind you&mdash;he ordered
      the laws of Buddha to be engraved upon the rocks, what language did he
      employ, eh? Was it Sanscrit?&mdash;no! And why was it not Sanscrit?
      Because the lower orders of his subjects would not have been able to
      understand a word of it. Ha, ha! That was the reason. How are you going to
      get round King Asoka's edicts, eh?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He carved them in the various dialects," Ram Singh answered. "But energy
      is too precious a thing to be wasted in mere wind in this style. The sun
      has passed its meridian, and I must return to my companions."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sorry that you have not brought them to see us," said my father
      courteously. He was, I could see, uneasy lest in the eagerness of debate
      he had overstepped the bounds of hospitality.
    </p>
    <p>
      "They do not mix with the world," Ram Singh answered, rising to his feet.
      "They are of a higher grade than I, and more sensitive to contaminating
      influences. They are immersed in a six months' meditation upon the mystery
      of the third incarnation, which has lasted with few intermissions from the
      time that we left the Himalayas. I shall not see you again, Mr. Hunter
      West, and I therefore bid you farewell. Your old age will be a happy one,
      as it deserves to be, and your Eastern studies will have a lasting effect
      upon the knowledge and literature of your own country. Farewell!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "And am I also to see no more of you?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Unless you will walk with me along the sea-shore," he answered. "But you
      have already been out this morning, and may be tired. I ask too much of
      you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Nay, I should be delighted to come," I responded from my heart, and we
      set off together, accompanied for some little distance by my father, who
      would gladly, I could see, have reopened the Sanscrit controversy, had not
      his stock of breath been too limited to allow of his talking and walking
      at the same time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is a learned man," Ram Singh remarked, after we had left him behind,
      "but, like many another, he is intolerant towards opinions which differ
      from his own. He will know better some day."
    </p>
    <p>
      I made no answer to this observation, and we trudged along for a time in
      silence, keeping well down to the water's edge, where the sands afforded a
      good foothold.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sand dunes which lined the coast formed a continuous ridge upon our
      left, cutting us off entirely from all human observation, while on the
      right the broad Channel stretched away with hardly a sail to break its
      silvery uniformity. The Buddhist priest and I were absolutely alone with
      Nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could not help reflecting that if he were really the dangerous man that
      the mate affected to consider him, or that might be inferred from the
      words of General Heatherstone, I had placed myself completely in his
      power.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet such was the majestic benignity of the man's aspect, and the unruffled
      serenity of his deep, dark eyes, that I could afford in his presence to
      let fear and suspicion blow past me as lightly as the breeze which
      whistled round us. His face might be stern, and even terrible, but I felt
      that he could never be unjust.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I glanced from time to time at his noble profile and the sweep of his
      jet-black beard, his rough-spun tweed travelling suit struck me with an
      almost painful sense of incongruity, and I re-clothed him in my
      imagination with the grand, sweeping Oriental costume which is the fitting
      and proper frame for such a picture&mdash;the only garb which does not
      detract from the dignity and grace of the wearer.
    </p>
    <p>
      The place to which he led me was a small fisher cottage which had been
      deserted some years before by its tenant, but still stood gaunt and bare,
      with the thatch partly blown away and the windows and doors in sad
      disrepair. This dwelling, which the poorest Scotch beggar would have
      shrunk from, was the one which these singular men had preferred to the
      proffered hospitality of the laird's house. A small garden, now a mass of
      tangled brambles, stood round it, and through this my acquaintance picked
      his way to the ruined door. He glanced into the house and then waved his
      hand for me to follow him.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have now an opportunity," he said, in a subdued, reverential voice,
      "of seeing a spectacle which few Europeans have had the privilege of
      beholding. Inside that cottage you will find two Yogis&mdash;men who are
      only one remove from the highest plane of adeptship. They are both wrapped
      in an ecstatic trance, otherwise I should not venture to obtrude your
      presence upon them. Their astral bodies have departed from them, to be
      present at the feast of lamps in the holy Lamasery of Rudok in Tibet.
      Tread lightly lest by stimulating their corporeal functions you recall
      them before their devotions are completed."
    </p>
    <p>
      Walking slowly and on tiptoe, I picked my way through the weed-grown
      garden, and peered through the open doorway.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no furniture in the dreary interior, nor anything to cover the
      uneven floor save a litter of fresh straw in a corner.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among this straw two men were crouching, the one small and wizened, the
      other large-boned and gaunt, with their legs crossed in Oriental fashion
      and their heads sunk upon their breasts. Neither of them looked up, or
      took the smallest notice of our presence.
    </p>
    <p>
      They were so still and silent that they might have been two bronze statues
      but for the slow and measured rhythm of their breathing. Their faces,
      however, had a peculiar, ashen-grey colour, very different from the
      healthy brown of my companion's, and I observed, on, stooping my head,
      that only the whites of their eyes were visible, the balls being turned
      upwards beneath the lids.
    </p>
    <p>
      In front of them upon a small mat lay an earthenware pitcher of water and
      half-a-loaf of bread, together with a sheet of paper inscribed with
      certain cabalistic characters. Ram Singh glanced at these, and then,
      motioning to me to withdraw, followed me out into the garden.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am not to disturb them until ten o'clock," he said. "You have now seen
      in operation one of the grandest results of our occult philosophy, the
      dissociation of spirit from body. Not only are the spirits of these holy
      men standing at the present moment by the banks of the Ganges, but those
      spirits are clothed in a material covering so identical with their real
      bodies that none of the faithful will ever doubt that Lal Hoomi and Mowdar
      Khan are actually among them. This is accomplished by our power of
      resolving an object into its 'chemical atoms, of conveying these atoms
      with a speed which exceeds that of lightning to any given spot, and of
      there re-precipitating them and compelling them to retake their original
      form. Of old, in the days of our ignorance, it was necessary to convey the
      whole body in this way, but we have since found that it was as easy and
      more convenient to transmit material enough merely to build up an outside
      shell or semblance. This we have termed the astral body."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But if you can transmit your spirits so readily," I observed, "why should
      they be accompanied by any body at all?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In communicating with brother initiates we are able to employ our spirits
      only, but when we wish to come in contact with ordinary mankind it is
      essential that we should appear in some form which they can see and
      comprehend."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have interested me deeply in all that you have told me," I said,
      grasping the hand which Ram Singh had held out to me as a sign that our
      interview was at an end. "I shall often think of our short acquaintance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will derive much benefit from it," he said slowly, still holding my
      hand and looking gravely and sadly into my eyes. "You must remember that
      what will happen in the future is not necessarily bad because it does not
      fall in with your preconceived ideas of right. Be not hasty in your
      judgments. There are certain great rules which must be carried out, at
      whatever cost to individuals. Their operation may appear to you to be
      harsh and cruel, but that is as nothing compared with the dangerous
      precedent which would be established by not enforcing them. The ox and the
      sheep are safe from us, but the man with the blood of the highest upon his
      hands should not and shall not live."
    </p>
    <p>
      He threw up his arms at the last words with a fierce, threatening gesture,
      and, turning away from me, strode back to the ruined hut.
    </p>
    <p>
      I stood gazing after him until he disappeared through the doorway, and
      then started off for home, revolving in my mind all that I had heard, and
      more particularly this last outburst of the occult philosopher.
    </p>
    <p>
      Far on the right I could see the tall, white tower of Cloomber standing
      out clear-cut and sharp against a dark cloud-bank which rose behind it. I
      thought how any traveller who chanced to pass that way would envy in his
      heart the tenant of that magnificent building, and how little they would
      guess the strange terrors, the nameless dangers, which were gathering
      about his head. The black cloud-wrack was but the image, I reflected, of
      the darker, more sombre storm which was about to burst.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Whatever it all means, and however it happens," I ejaculated, "God grant
      that the innocent be not confounded with the guilty."
    </p>
    <p>
      My father, when I reached home, was still in a ferment over his learned
      disputation with the stranger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I trust, Jack," he said, "that I did not handle him too roughly. I should
      remember that I am <i>in loco magistri</i>, and be less prone to argue
      with my guests. Yet, when he took up this most untenable position, I could
      not refrain from attacking him and hurling him out of it, which indeed I
      did, though you, who are ignorant of the niceties of the question, may
      have failed to perceive it. You observed, however, that my reference to
      King Asoka's edicts was so conclusive that he at once rose and took his
      leave."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You held your own bravely," I answered, "but what is your impression of
      the man now that you have seen him?" "Why," said my father, "he is one of
      those holy men who, under the various names of Sannasis, Yogis, Sevras,
      Qualanders, Hakims, and Cufis have devoted their lives to the study of the
      mysteries of the Buddhist faith. He is, I take it, a theosophist, or
      worshipper of the God of knowledge, the highest grade of which is the
      adept. This man and his companions have not attained this high position or
      they could not have crossed the sea without contamination. It is probable
      that they are all advanced chelas who hope in time to attain to the
      supreme honour of adeptship."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, father," interrupted my sister, "this does not explain why men of
      such sanctity and attainments should choose to take up their quarters on
      the shores of a desolate Scotch bay."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ah, there you get beyond me," my father answered. "I may suggest,
      however, that it is nobody's business but their own, so long as they keep
      the peace and are amenable to the law of the land."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Have you ever heard," I asked, "that these higher priests of whom you
      speak have powers which are unknown to us?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why, Eastern literature is full of it. The Bible is an Eastern book, and
      is it not full of the record of such powers from cover to cover? It is
      unquestionable that they have in the past known many of Nature's secrets
      which are lost to us. I cannot say, however, from my own knowledge that
      the modern theosophists really possess the powers that they claim."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Are they a vindictive class of people?" I asked. "Is there any offence
      among them which can only be expiated by death?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not that I know of," my father answered, raising his white eyebrows in
      surprise. "You appear to be in an inquisitive humour this afternoon&mdash;what
      is the object of all these questions? Have our Eastern neighbours aroused
      your curiosity or suspicion in any way?"
    </p>
    <p>
      I parried the question as best I might, for I was unwilling to let the old
      man know what was in my mind. No good purpose could come from his
      enlightenment; his age and his health demanded rest rather than anxiety;
      and indeed, with the best will in the world I should have found it
      difficult to explain to another what was so very obscure to myself. For
      every reason I felt that it was best that he should be kept in the dark.
    </p>
    <p>
      Never in all my experience had I known a day pass so slowly as did that
      eventful 5th of October. In every possible manner I endeavoured to while
      away the tedious hours, and yet it seemed as if darkness would never
      arrive.
    </p>
    <p>
      I tried to read, I tried to write, I paced about the lawn, I walked to the
      end of the lane, I put new flies upon my fishing-hooks, I began to index
      my father's library&mdash;in a dozen ways I endeavoured to relieve the
      suspense which was becoming intolerable. My sister, I could see, was
      suffering from the same feverish restlessness.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again and again our good father remonstrated with us in his mild way for
      our erratic behaviour and the continual interruption of his work which
      arose from it.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last, however, the tea was brought, and the tea was taken, the curtains
      were drawn, the lamps lit, and after another interminable interval the
      prayers were read and the servants dismissed to their rooms. My father
      compounded and swallowed his nightly jorum of toddy, and then shuffled off
      to his room, leaving the two of us in the parlour with our nerves in a
      tingle and our minds full of the most vague and yet terrible
      apprehensions.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XIV. OF THE VISITOR WHO RAN DOWN THE ROAD IN THE NIGHT-TIME
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was a quarter past ten o'clock by the parlour timepiece when my father
      went off to his room, and left Esther and myself together. We heard his
      slow steps dying away up the creaking staircase, until the distant
      slamming of a door announced that he had reached his sanctum.
    </p>
    <p>
      The simple oil lamp upon the table threw a weird, uncertain light over the
      old room, flickering upon the carved oak panelling, and casting strange,
      fantastic shadows from the high-elbowed, straight-backed furniture. My
      sister's white, anxious face stood out in the obscurity with a startling
      exactness of profile like one of Rembrandt's portraits.
    </p>
    <p>
      We sat opposite to each other on either side of the table with no sound
      breaking the silence save the measured ticking of the clock and the
      intermittent chirping of a cricket beneath the grate.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was something awe-inspiring in the absolute stillness. The whistling
      of a belated peasant upon the high road was a relief to us, and we
      strained our ears to catch the last of his notes as he plodded steadily
      homewards.
    </p>
    <p>
      At first we had made some pretence&mdash;she of knitting and I of reading&mdash;but
      we soon abandoned the useless deception, and sat uneasily waiting,
      starting and glancing at each other with questioning eyes whenever the
      faggot crackled in the fire or a rat scampered behind the wainscot. There
      was a heavy electrical feeling in the air, which weighed us down with a
      foreboding of disaster.
    </p>
    <p>
      I rose and flung the hall door open to admit the fresh breeze of the
      night. Ragged clouds swept across the sky, and the moon peeped out at
      times between their hurrying fringes, bathing the whole countryside in its
      cold, white radiance. From where I stood in the doorway I could see the
      edge of the Cloomber wood, though the house itself was only visible from
      the rising ground some little distance off. At my sister's suggestion we
      walked together, she with her shawl over her head, as far as the summit of
      this elevation, and looked out in the direction of the Hall.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no illumination of the windows tonight. From roof to basement
      not a light twinkled in any part of the great building. Its huge mass
      loomed up dark and sullen amid the trees which surrounded it, looking more
      like some giant sarcophagus than a human habitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      To our overwrought nerves there was something of terror in its mere bulk
      and its silence. We stood for some little time peering at it through the
      darkness, and then we made our way back to the parlour again, where we sat
      waiting&mdash;waiting, we knew not for what, and yet with absolute
      conviction that some terrible experience was in store for us.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was twelve o'clock or thereabout when my sister suddenly sprang to her
      feet and held up her fingers to bespeak attention.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Do you hear nothing?" she asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      I strained my ears, but without success.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Come to the door," she cried, with a trembling voice. "Now can you hear
      anything?"
    </p>
    <p>
      In the deep silence of the night I distinctly heard a dull, murmuring,
      clattering sound, continuous apparently, but very faint and low.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What is it?" I asked, in a subdued voice.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's the sound of a man running towards us," she answered, and then,
      suddenly dropping the last semblance of self-command, she tell upon her
      knees beside the table and began praying aloud with that frenzied
      earnestness which intense, overpowering fear can produce, breaking off now
      and again into half-hysterical whimperings.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could distinguish the sound clearly enough now to know that her quick,
      feminine perception had not deceived her, and that it was indeed caused by
      a running man.
    </p>
    <p>
      On he came, and on down the high road, his footfalls ringing out clearer
      and sharper every moment. An urgent messenger he must be, for he neither
      paused nor slackened his pace.
    </p>
    <p>
      The quick, crisp rattle was changed suddenly to a dull, muffled murmur. He
      had reached the point where sand had been recently laid down for a hundred
      yards or so. In a few moments, however, he was back on hard ground again
      and his flying feet came nearer and ever nearer.
    </p>
    <p>
      He must, I reflected, be abreast of the head of the lane now. Would he
      hold on? Or would he turn down to Branksome?
    </p>
    <p>
      The thought had hardly crossed my mind when I heard by the difference of
      the sound that the runner had turned the corner, and that his goal was
      beyond all question the laird's house.
    </p>
    <p>
      Rushing down to the gate of the lawn, I reached it just as our visitor
      dashed it open and fell into my arms. I could see in the moonlight that it
      was none other than Mordaunt Heatherstone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What has happened?" I cried. "What is amiss, Mordaunt?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My father!" he gasped&mdash;"my father!"
    </p>
    <p>
      His hat was gone, his eyes dilated with terror, and his face as bloodless
      as that of a corpse. I could feel that the hands which clasped my arms
      were quivering and shaking with emotion.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You are exhausted," I said, leading him into the parlour. "Give yourself
      a moment's rest before you speak to us. Be calm, man, you are with your
      best friends."
    </p>
    <p>
      I laid him on the old horsehair sofa, while Esther, whose fears had all
      flown to the winds now that something practical was to be done, dashed
      some brandy into a tumbler and brought it to him. The stimulant had a
      marvellous effect upon him, for the colour began to come back into his
      pale cheeks and the light of recognition in his eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      He sat up and took Esther's hand in both of his, like a man who is waking
      out of some bad dream and wishes to assure himself that he is really in
      safety.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Your father?" I asked. "What of him?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "He is gone."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Gone!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes; he is gone; and so is Corporal Rufus Smith. We shall never set eyes
      upon them again."
    </p>
    <p>
      "But where have they gone?" I cried. "This is unworthy of you, Mordaunt.
      What right have we to sit here, allowing our private feelings to overcome
      us, while there is a possibility of succouring your father? Up, man! Let
      us follow him. Tell me only what direction he took."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's no use," young Heatherstone answered, burying his face in his hands.
      "Don't reproach me, West, for you don't know all the circumstances. What
      can we do to reverse the tremendous and unknown laws which are acting
      against us? The blow has long been hanging over us, and now it has fallen.
      God help us!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "In Heaven's name tell me what has happened?" said I excitedly. "We must
      not yield to despair."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We can do nothing until daybreak," he answered. "We shall then endeavour
      to obtain some trace of them. It is hopeless at present."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And how about Gabriel and Mrs. Heatherstone?" I asked. "Can we not bring
      them down from the Hall at once? Your poor sister must be distracted with
      terror."
    </p>
    <p>
      "She knows nothing of it," Mordaunt answered. "She sleeps at the other
      side of the house, and has not heard or seen anything. As to my poor
      mother, she has expected some such event for so long a time that it has
      not come upon her as a surprise. She is, of course, overwhelmed with
      grief, but would, I think, prefer to be left to herself for the present.
      Her firmness and composure should be a lesson to me, but I am
      constitutionally excitable, and this catastrophe coming after our long
      period of suspense deprived me of my very reason for a time."
    </p>
    <p>
      "If we can do nothing until the morning," I said, "you have time to tell
      us all that has occurred."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I will do so," he answered, rising and holding his shaking hands to the
      fire. "You know already that we have had reason for some time&mdash;for
      many years in fact&mdash;to fear that a terrible retribution was hanging
      over my father's head for a certain action of his early life. In this
      action he was associated with the man known as Corporal Rufus Smith, so
      that the fact of the latter finding his way to my father was a warning to
      us that the time had come, and that this 5th of October&mdash;the
      anniversary of the misdeed&mdash;would be the day of its atonement. I told
      you of our fears in my letter, and, if I am not mistaken, my father also
      had some conversation with you, John, upon the subject. When I saw
      yesterday morning that he had hunted out the old uniform which he had
      always retained since he wore it in the Afghan war, I was sure that the
      end was at hand, and that our forebodings would be realised.
    </p>
    <p>
      "He appeared to be more composed in the afternoon than I have seen him for
      years, and spoke freely of his life in India and of the incidents of his
      youth. About nine o'clock he requested us to go up to our own rooms, and
      locked us in there&mdash;a precaution which he frequently took when the
      dark fit way upon him. It was always his endeavour, poor soul, to keep us
      clear of the curse which had fallen upon his own unfortunate head. Before
      parting from us he tenderly embraced my mother and Gabriel, and he
      afterwards followed me to my room, where he clasped my hand affectionately
      and gave into my charge a small packet addressed to yourself."
    </p>
    <p>
      "To me?" I interrupted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "To you. I shall fulfill my commission when I have told you my story. I
      conjured him to allow me to sit up with him and share any danger which
      might arise, but he implored me with irresistible earnestness not to add
      to his troubles by thwarting his arrangements. Seeing that I was really
      distressing him by my pertinacity, I at last allowed him to close the door
      and to turn the key upon the outside. I shall always reproach myself for
      my want of firmness. But what can you do when your own father refuses your
      assistance or co-operation? You cannot force yourself upon him."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am sure that you did all you could do," my sister said.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I meant to, dear Esther, but, God help me, it was hard to tell what was
      right. He left me, and I heard his footsteps die away down the long
      corridor. It was then about ten o'clock, or a little after. For a time I
      paced up and down the room, and then, carrying the lamp to the head of my
      bed, I lay down without undressing, reading St. Thomas a Kempis, and
      praying from my heart that the night might pass safely over us.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I had at last fallen into a troubled sleep when I was suddenly aroused by
      a loud, sonorous sound ringing in my ears. I sat up bewildered, but all
      was silent again. The lamp was burning low, and my watch showed me that it
      was going on to midnight. I blundered to my feet, and was striking a match
      with the intention of lighting the candles, when the sharp, vehement cry
      broke out again so loud and so clear that it might have been in the very
      room with me. My chamber is in the front of the house, while those of my
      mother and sister are at the back, so that I am the only one who commands
      a view of the avenue.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Rushing to the window I drew the blind aside and looked out. You know
      that the gravel-drive opens up so as to form a broad stretch immediately
      in front of the house. Just in the centre of this clear space there stood
      three men looking up at the house.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The moon shone full upon them, glistening on their upturned eyeballs, and
      by its light I could see that they were swarthy-faced and black-haired, of
      a type that I was familiar with among the Sikhs and Afridis. Two of them
      were thin, with eager, aesthetic countenances, while the third was
      kinglike and majestic, with a noble figure and flowing beard."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ram Singh!" I ejaculated.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What, you know of them?" exclaimed Mordaunt in great surprise. "You have
      met them?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "I know of them. They are Buddhist priests," I answered, "but go on."
    </p>
    <p>
      "They stood in a line," he continued, "sweeping their arms upwards and
      downwards, while their lips moved as if repeating some prayer or
      incantation. Suddenly they ceased to gesticulate, and broke out for the
      third time into the wild, weird, piercing cry which had roused me from my
      slumber. Never shall I forget that shrill, dreadful summons swelling and
      reverberating through the silent night with an intensity of sound which is
      still ringing in my ears.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As it died slowly away, there was a rasping and creaking as of keys and
      bolts, followed by the clang of an opening door and the clatter of
      hurrying feet. From my window I saw my father and Corporal Rufus Smith
      rush frantically out of the house hatless and unkempt, like men who are
      obeying a sudden and overpowering impulse. The three strangers laid no
      hands on them, but all five swept swiftly away down the avenue and
      vanished among the trees. I am positive that no force was used, or
      constraint of any visible kind, and yet I am as sure that my poor father
      and his companion were helpless prisoners as it I bad seen them dragged
      away in manacles.
    </p>
    <p>
      "All this took little time in the acting. From the first summons which
      disturbed my sleep to the last shadowy glimpse which I had of them between
      the tree trunks could hardly have occupied more than five minutes of
      actual time. So sudden was it, and so strange, that when the drama was
      over and they were gone I could have believed that it was all some
      terrible nightmare, some delusion, had I not felt that the impression was
      too real, too vivid, to be imputed to fancy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I threw my whole weight against my bedroom door in the hope of forcing
      the lock. It stood firm for a while, but I flung myself upon it again and
      again, until something snapped and I found myself in the passage.
    </p>
    <p>
      "My first thought was for my mother, I rushed to her room and turned the
      key in her door. The moment that I did so she stepped out into the
      corridor in her dressing-gown, and held up a warning finger.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'No noise, she said,' Gabriel is asleep. They have been called away?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'They have,' I answered.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'God's will be done!' she cried. 'Your poor father will be happier in the
      next world than he has ever been in this. Thank Heaven that Gabriel is
      asleep. I gave her chloral in her cocoa.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What am I to do?' I said distractedly.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Where have they gone? How can I help him? We cannot let him go from us
      like this, or leave these men to do what they will with him. Shall I ride
      into Wigtown and arouse the police?'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Anything rather than that', my mother said earnestly. 'He has begged me
      again and again to avoid it. My son, we shall never set eyes upon your
      father again. You may marvel at my dry eyes, but it you knew as I know the
      peace which death would bring him, you could not find it in your heart to
      mourn for him. All pursuit is, I feel, vain, and yet some pursuit there
      must be. Let it be as private as possible. We cannot serve him better than
      by consulting his wishes.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'But every minute is precious,' I cried. 'Even now he may be calling upon
      us to rescue him from the clutches of those dark-skinned fiends.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "The thought so maddened me that I rushed out of the house and down to the
      high road, but once there I had no indication in which direction to turn.
      The whole wide moor lay before me, without a sign of movement upon its
      broad expanse. I listened, but not a sound broke the perfect stillness of
      the night.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was then, my dear friends, as I stood, not knowing in which direction
      to turn, that the horror and responsibility broke full upon me. I felt
      that I was combating against forces of which I knew nothing. All was
      strange and dark and terrible.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The thought of you, and of the help which I might look for from your
      advice and assistance, was a beacon of hope to me. At Branksome, at least,
      I should receive sympathy, and, above all, directions as to what I should
      do, for my mind is in such a whirl that I cannot trust my own judgment. My
      mother was content to be alone, my sister asleep, and no prospect of being
      able to do anything until daybreak. Under those circumstances what more
      natural than that I should fly to you as fast as my feet would carry me?
      You have a clear head, Jack; speak out, man, and tell me what I should do.
      Esther, what should I do?"
    </p>
    <p>
      He turned from one to the other of us with outstretched hands and eager,
      questioning eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You can do nothing while the darkness lasts," I answered. "We must report
      the matter to the Wigtown police, but we need not send our message to them
      until we are actually starting upon the search, so as to comply with the
      law and yet have a private investigation, as your mother wishes. John
      Fullarton, over the hill, has a lurcher dog which is as good as a
      bloodhound. If we set him on the general's trail he will run him down if
      he had to follow him to John o' Groat's."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is terrible to wait calmly here while he may need our assistance."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I fear our assistance could under any circumstances do him little good.
      There are forces at work here which are beyond human intervention.
      Besides, there is no alternative. We have, apparently, no possible clue as
      to the direction which they have taken, and for us to wander aimlessly
      over the moor in the darkness would be to waste the strength which may be
      more profitably used in the morning. It will be daylight by five o'clock.
      In an hour or so we can walk over the hill together and get Fullarton's
      dog."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Another hour!" Mordaunt groaned, "every minute seems an age."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lie down on the sofa and rest yourself," said I. "You cannot serve your
      father better than by laying up all the strength you can, for we may have
      a weary trudge before us. But you mentioned a packet which the general had
      intended for me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is here," he answered, drawing a small, flat parcel from his pocket
      and handing it over to me, "you will find, no doubt, that it will explain
      all which has been so mysterious."
    </p>
    <p>
      The packet was sealed at each end with black wax, bearing the impress of
      the flying griffin, which I knew to be the general's crest. It was further
      secured by a band of broad tape, which I cut with my pocket-knife. Across
      the outside was written in bold handwriting: "J. Fothergill West, Esq.,"
      and underneath: "To be handed to that gentleman in the event of the
      disappearance or decease of Major-General J. B. Heatherstone, V.C., C.B.,
      late of the Indian Army."
    </p>
    <p>
      So at last I was to know the dark secret which had cast a shadow over our
      lives. Here in my hands I held the solution of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      With eager fingers I broke the seals and undid the wrapper. A note and a
      small bundle of discoloured paper lay within. I drew the lamp over to me
      and opened the former. It was dated the preceding afternoon, and ran in
      this way:
    </p>
    <p>
      MY DEAR WEST,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      I should have satisfied your very natural curiosity on the subject which
      we have had occasion to talk of more than once, but I refrained for your
      own sake. I knew by sad experience how unsettling and unnerving it is to
      be for ever waiting for a catastrophe which you are convinced must befall,
      and which you can neither avert nor accelerate.
    </p>
    <p>
      Though it affects me specially, as being the person most concerned, I am
      still conscious that the natural sympathy which I have observed in you,
      and your regard for Gabriel's father, would both combine to render you
      unhappy if you knew the hopelessness and yet the vagueness of the fate
      which threatens me. I feared to disturb your mind, and I was therefore
      silent, though at some cost to myself, for my isolation has not been the
      least of the troubles which have weighed me down.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many signs, however, and chief among them the presence of the Buddhists
      upon the coast as described by you this morning, have convinced me that
      the weary waiting is at last over and that the hour of retribution is at
      hand. Why I should have been allowed to live nearly forty years after my
      offence is more than I can understand, but it is possible that those who
      had command over my fate know that such a life is the greatest of all
      penalties to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      Never for an hour, night or day, have they suffered me to forget that they
      have marked me down as their victim. Their accursed astral bell has been
      ringing my knell for two-score years, reminding me ever that there is no
      spot upon earth where I can hope to be in safety. Oh, the peace, the
      blessed peace of dissolution! Come what may on the other side of the tomb,
      I shall at least be quit of that thrice terrible sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is no need for me to enter into the wretched business again, or to
      detail at any length the events of October 5th, 1841, and the various
      circumstances which led up to the death of Ghoolab Shah, the arch adept.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have torn a sheaf of leaves from my old journal, in which you will find
      a bald account of the matter, and an independent narrative was furnished
      by. Sir Edward Elliott, of the Artillery, to the Star of India some years
      ago&mdash;in which, however, the names were suppressed.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have reason to believe that many people, even among those who knew India
      well, thought that Sir Edward was romancing, and that he had evolved his
      incidents from his imagination. The few faded sheets which I send you will
      show you that this is not the case, and that our men of science must
      recognise powers and laws which can and have been used by man, but which
      are unknown to European civilisation.
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not wish to whine or to whimper, but I cannot help feeling that I
      have had hard measure dealt me in this world. I would not, God knows, take
      the life of any man, far less an aged one, in cold blood. My temper and
      nature, however, were always fiery and headstrong, and in action when my
      blood is up, I have no knowledge of what I am about. Neither the corporal
      nor I would have laid a finger upon Ghoolab Shah had we not seen that the
      tribesmen were rallying behind him. Well, well, it is an old story now,
      and there is no profit in discussing it. May no other poor fellow ever
      have the same evil fortune!
    </p>
    <p>
      I have written a short supplement to the statements contained in my
      journal for your information and that of any one else who may chance to be
      interested in the matter.
    </p>
    <p>
      And now, adieu! Be a good husband to Gabriel, and, if your sister be brave
      enough to marry into such a devil-ridden family as ours, by all means let
      her do so. I have left enough to keep my poor wife in comfort.
    </p>
    <p>
      When she rejoins me I should wish it to be equally divided between the
      children. If you hear that I am gone, do not pity, but congratulate
    </p>
    <p>
      Your unfortunate friend,
    </p>
    <p>
      JOHN BERTHIER HEATHERSTONE.
    </p>
    <p>
      I threw aside the letter and picked up the roll of blue foolscap which
      contained the solution of the mystery. It was all ragged and frayed at the
      inner edge, with traces of gum and thread still adhering to it, to show
      that it had been torn out of a strongly bound volume. The ink with which
      it had been written was faded somewhat, but across the head of the first
      page was inscribed in bold, clear characters, evidently of later date than
      the rest: "Journal of Lieutenant J. B. Heatherstone in the Thull Valley
      during the autumn of 1841," and then underneath:
    </p>
    <p>
      This extract contains some account of the events of the first week of
      October of that year, including the skirmish of the Terada ravine and the
      death of the man Ghoolab Shah.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have the narrative lying before me now, and I copy it verbatim. If it
      contains some matter which has no direct bearing upon the question at
      issue, I can only say that I thought it better to publish what is
      irrelevant than by cutting and clipping to lay the whole statement open to
      the charge of having been tampered with.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015">
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    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XV. THE DAY-BOOK OF JOHN BERTHIER HEATHERSTONE
    </h2>
    <p>
      Thull Valley, Oct. 1, 1841.&mdash;The Fifth Bengal and Thirty-third
      Queen's passed through this morning on their way to the Front. Had tiffin
      with the Bengalese. Latest news from home that two attempts had been made
      on the Queen's life by semi-maniacs named Francis and Bean.
    </p>
    <p>
      It promises to be a hard winter. The snow-line has descended a thousand
      feet upon the peaks, but the passes will be open for weeks to come, and,
      even if they were blocked, we have established so many depots in the
      country that Pollock and Nott will have no difficulty in holding their
      own. They shall not meet with the fate of Elphinstone's army. One such
      tragedy is enough for a century.
    </p>
    <p>
      Elliott of the Artillery, and I, are answerable for the safety of the
      communications for a distance of twenty miles or more, from the mouth of
      the valley to this side of the wooden bridge over the Lotar. Goodenough,
      of the Rifles, is responsible on the other side, and Lieutenant-Colonel
      Sidney Herbert of the Engineers, has a general supervision over both
      sections.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our force is not strong enough for the work which has to be done. I have a
      company and a half of our own regiment, and a squadron of Sowars, who are
      of no use at all among the rocks. Elliott has three guns, but several of
      his men are down with cholera, and I doubt if he has enough to serve more
      than two.
    </p>
    <p>
      (Note: capsicum for cholera&mdash;tried it)
    </p>
    <p>
      On the other hand, each convoy is usually provided with some guard of its
      own, though it is often absurdly inefficient. These valleys and ravines
      which branch out of the main pass are alive with Afridis and Pathans, who
      are keen robbers as well as religious fanatics. I wonder they don't swoop
      down on some of our caravans. They could plunder them and get back to
      their mountain fastnesses before we could interfere or overtake them.
      Nothing but fear will restrain them.
    </p>
    <p>
      If I had my way I would hang one at the mouth of every ravine as a warning
      to the gang. They are personifications of the devil to look at,
      hawk-nosed, full-lipped, with a mane of tangled hair, and most Satanic
      sneer. No news today from the Front.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 2.&mdash;I must really ask Herbert for another company at the very
      least. I am convinced that the communications would be cut off if any
      serious attack were made upon us.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now, this morning two urgent messages were sent me from two different
      points more than sixteen miles apart, to say that there were signs of a
      descent of the tribes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Elliott, with one gun and the Sowars, went to the farther ravine, while I,
      with the infantry, hurried to the other, but we found it was a false
      alarm. I saw no signs of the Hillmen, and though we were greeted by a
      splutter of jezail bullets we were unable to capture any of the rascals.
    </p>
    <p>
      Woe betide them if they fall into my hands. I would give them as short a
      shrift as ever a Highland cateran got from a Glasgow judge. These
      continued alarms may mean nothing or they may be an indication that the
      Hillmen are assembling and have some plan in view.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have had no news from the Front for some time, but to-day a convoy of
      wounded came through with the intelligence that Nott had taken Ghuznee. I
      hope he warmed up any of the black rascals that fell into his hands.
    </p>
    <p>
      No word of Pollock.
    </p>
    <p>
      An elephant battery came up from the Punjab, looking in very good
      condition. There were several convalescents with it going up to rejoin
      their regiments. Knew none of them except Mostyn of the Hussars and young
      Blakesley, who was my fag at Charterhouse, and whom I have never seen
      since.
    </p>
    <p>
      Punch and cigars <i>al fresco</i> up to eleven o'clock.
    </p>
    <p>
      Letters to-day from Wills &amp; Co. about their little bill forwarded on
      from Delhi. Thought a campaign freed a man from these annoyances. Wills
      says in his note that, since his written applications have been in vain,
      he must call upon me in person. If he calls upon me now he will assuredly
      be the boldest and most persevering of tailors.
    </p>
    <p>
      A line from Calcutta Daisy and another from Hobhouse to say that Matilda
      comes in for all the money under the will. I am glad of it.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 3.&mdash;Glorious news from the Front today. Barclay, of the
      Madras Cavalry, galloped through with dispatches. Pollock entered Cabul
      triumphantly on the 16th of last month, and, better still, Lady Sale has
      been rescued by Shakespear, and brought safe into the British camp,
      together with the other hostages. <i>Te Deum laudamus!</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      This should end the whole wretched business&mdash;this and the sack of the
      city. I hope Pollock won't be squeamish, or truckle to the hysterical
      party at home. The towns should be laid in ashes and the fields sown with
      salt. Above all, the Residency and the Palace must come down. So shall
      Burnes, McNaghten, and many another gallant fellow know that his
      countrymen could avenge if they could not save him!
    </p>
    <p>
      It is hard when others are gaining glory and experience to be stuck in
      this miserable valley. I have been out of it completely, bar a few petty
      skirmishes. However, we may see some service yet.
    </p>
    <p>
      A jemidar of ours brought in a Hillman today, who says that the tribes are
      massing in the Terada ravine, ten miles to the north of us, and intend
      attacking the next convoy. We can't rely on information of this sort, but
      there may prove to be some truth in it. Proposed to shoot our informant,
      so as to prevent his playing the double traitor and reporting our
      proceedings. Elliott demurred.
    </p>
    <p>
      If you are making war you should throw no chance away. I hate
      half-and-half measures. The Children of Israel seem to have been the only
      people who ever carried war to its logical conclusion&mdash;except
      Cromwell in Ireland. Made a compromise at last by which the man is to be
      detained as a prisoner and executed if his information prove to be false.
      I only hope we get a fair chance of showing what we can do.
    </p>
    <p>
      No doubt these fellows at the Front will have C.B.'s and knighthoods
      showering upon them thick and fast, while we poor devils, who have had
      most of the responsibility and anxiety, will be passed over completely.
      Elliott has a whitlow.
    </p>
    <p>
      The last convoy left us a large packet of sauces, but as they forgot to
      leave anything to eat with them, we have handed them over to the Sowars,
      who drink them out of their pannikins as if they were liqueurs. We hear
      that another large convoy may be expected from the plains in the course of
      a day or two. Took nine to four on Cleopatra for the Calcutta Cup.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 4.&mdash;The Hillmen really mean business this time, I think. We
      have had two of our spies come in this morning with the same account about
      the gathering in the Terada quarter. That old rascal Zemaun is at the head
      of it, and I had recommended the Government to present him with a
      telescope in return for his neutrality! There will be no Zemaun to present
      it to if I can but lay hands upon him.
    </p>
    <p>
      We expect the convoy tomorrow morning, and need anticipate no attack until
      it comes up, for these fellows fight for plunder, not for glory, though,
      to do them justice, they have plenty of pluck when they get started. I
      have devised an excellent plan, and it has Elliott's hearty support. By
      Jove! if we can only manage it, it will be as pretty a ruse as ever I
      heard of.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our intention is to give out that we are going down the valley to meet the
      convoy and to block the mouth of a pass from which we profess to expect an
      attack. Very good. We shall make a night-march to-night and reach their
      camp. Once there I shall conceal my two hundred men in the waggons and
      travel up with the convoy again.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our friends the enemy, having heard that we intended to go south, and
      seeing the caravan going north without us, will naturally swoop down upon
      it under the impression that we are twenty miles away. We shall teach them
      such a lesson that they would as soon think of stopping a thunderbolt as
      of interfering again with one of Her Britannic Majesty's provision trains.
      I am all on thorns to be off.
    </p>
    <p>
      Elliott has rigged up two of his guns so ingeniously that they look more
      like costermongers' barrows than anything else. To see artillery ready for
      action in the convoy might arouse suspicion. The artillerymen will be in
      the waggons next the guns, all ready to unlimber and open fire. Infantry
      in front and rear. Have told our confidential and discreet Sepoy servants
      the plan which we do not intend to adopt. N.B.&mdash;If you wish a thing
      to be noised over a whole province always whisper it under a vow of
      secrecy to your confidential native servant.
    </p>
    <p>
      8.45 P.M.&mdash;Just starting for the convoy. May luck go with us!
    </p>
    <p>
      October 5.&mdash;Seven o'clock in the evening. <i>Io triumphe!</i> Crown
      us with laurel&mdash;Elliott and myself! Who can compare with us as vermin
      killers?
    </p>
    <p>
      I have only just got back, tired and weary, stained with blood and dust,
      but I have sat down before either washing or changing to have the
      satisfaction of seeing our deeds set forth in black and white&mdash;if
      only in my private log for no eye but my own. I shall describe it all
      fully as a preparation for an official account, which must be drawn up
      when Elliott gets back. Billy Dawson used to say that there were three
      degrees of comparison&mdash;a prevarication, a lie, and an official
      account. We at least cannot exaggerate our success, for it would be
      impossible to add anything to it.
    </p>
    <p>
      We set out, then, as per programme, and came upon the camp near the head
      of the valley. They had two weak companies of the 54th with them who might
      no doubt have held their own with warning, but an unexpected rush of wild
      Hillmen is a very difficult thing to stand against. With our
      reinforcements, however, and on our guard, we might defy the rascals.
    </p>
    <p>
      Chamberlain was in command&mdash;a fine young fellow. We soon made him
      understand the situation, and were all ready for a start by daybreak
      though his waggons were so full that we were compelled to leave several
      tons of fodder behind in order to make room for my Sepoys and for the
      artillery.
    </p>
    <p>
      About five o'clock we inspanned, to use an Africanism, and by six we were
      well on our way, with our escort as straggling and unconcerned as possible&mdash;as
      helpless-looking a caravan as ever invited attack.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could soon see that it was to be no false alarm this time, and that the
      tribes really meant business.
    </p>
    <p>
      From my post of observation, under the canvas screens of one of the
      waggons, I could make out turbaned heads popping up to have a look at us
      from among the rocks, and an occasional scout hurrying northward with the
      news of our approach.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was not, however, until we came abreast of the Terada Pass, a gloomy
      defile bounded by gigantic cliffs, that the Afridis began to show in
      force, though they had ambushed themselves so cleverly that, had we not
      been keenly on the look-out for them, we might have walked right into the
      trap. As it was, the convoy halted, upon which the Hillmen, seeing that
      they were observed, opened a heavy but ill-directed fire upon us.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had asked Chamberlain to throw out his men in skirmishing order, and to
      give them directions to retreat slowly upon the waggons so as to draw the
      Afridis on. The ruse succeeded to perfection.
    </p>
    <p>
      As the redcoats steadily retired, keeping behind cover as much as
      possible, the enemy followed them up with yells of exultation, springing
      from rock to rock, waving their jezails in the air, and howling like a
      pack of demons.
    </p>
    <p>
      With their black, contorted, mocking faces, their fierce gestures, and
      their fluttering garments, they would have made a study for any painter
      who wished to portray Milton's conception of the army of the damned.
    </p>
    <p>
      From every side they pressed in until, seeing, as they thought, nothing
      between them and victory, they left the shelter of the rocks and came
      rushing down, a furious, howling throng, with the green banner of the
      Prophet in their van.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now was our chance, and gloriously we utilised it.
    </p>
    <p>
      From every cranny and slit of the waggons came a blaze of fire, every shot
      of which told among the close-packed mob. Two or three score rolled over
      like rabbits and the rest reeled for a moment, and then, with their chiefs
      at their head, came on again in a magnificent rush.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was useless, however, for undisciplined men to attempt to face such a
      well-directed fire. The leaders were bowled over, and the others, after
      hesitating for a few moments, turned and made for the rocks.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was our turn now to assume the offensive. The guns were unlimbered and
      grape poured into them, while our little infantry force advanced at the
      double, shooting and stabbing all whom they overtook.
    </p>
    <p>
      Never had I known the tide of battle turn so rapidly and so decisively.
      The sullen retreat became a flight, and the flight a panic-stricken rout,
      until there was nothing left of the tribesmen except a scattered,
      demoralised rabble flying wildly to their native fastnesses for shelter
      and protection.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was by no means inclined to let them off cheaply now that I had them in
      my power. On the contrary, I determined to teach them such a lesson that
      the sight of a single scarlet uniform would in future be a passport in
      itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      We followed hard upon the track of the fugitives and entered the Terada
      defile at their very heels. Having detached Chamberlain and Elliott with a
      company on either side to protect my wings, I pushed on with my Sepoys and
      a handful of artillerymen, giving the enemy no time to rally or to recover
      themselves. We were so handicapped, however, by our stiff European
      uniforms and by our want of practice in climbing, that we should have been
      unable to overtake any of the mountaineers had it not been for a fortunate
      accident.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is a smaller ravine which opens into the main pass, and in their
      hurry and confusion some of the fugitives rushed down this. I saw sixty or
      seventy of them turn down, but I should have passed them by and continued
      in pursuit of the main body had not one of my scouts come rustling up to
      inform me that the smaller ravine was a <i>cul-de-sac</i>, and that the
      Afridis who had gone up it had no possible means of getting out again
      except by cutting their way through our ranks.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here was an opportunity of striking terror into the tribes. Leaving
      Chamberlain and Elliott to continue the pursuit of the main body, I
      wheeled my Sepoys into the narrow path and proceeded slowly down it in
      extended order, covering the whole ground from cliff to cliff. Not a
      jackal could have passed us unseen. The rebels were caught like rats in a
      trap.
    </p>
    <p>
      The defile in which we found ourselves was the most gloomy and majestic
      that I have ever seen. On either side naked precipices rose sheer up for a
      thousand feet or more, converging upon each other so as to leave a very
      narrow slit of daylight above us, which was further reduced by the
      feathery fringe of palm trees and aloes which hung over each lip of the
      chasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      The cliffs were not more than a couple of hundred yards apart at the
      entrance, but as we advanced they grew nearer and nearer, until a half
      company in close order could hardly march abreast.
    </p>
    <p>
      A sort of twilight reigned in this strange valley, and the dim, uncertain
      light made the great, basalt rocks loom up vague and fantastic. There was
      no path, and the ground was most uneven, but I pushed on briskly,
      cautioning my fellows to have their fingers on their triggers, for I could
      see that we were nearing the point where the two cliffs would form an
      acute angle with each other.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last we came in sight of the place. A great pile of boulders was heaped
      up at the very end of the pass, and among these our fugitives were
      skulking, entirely demoralised apparently, and incapable of resistance.
      They were useless as prisoners, and it was out of the question to let them
      go, so there was no choice but to polish them off.
    </p>
    <p>
      Waving my sword, I was leading my men on, when we had a most dramatic
      interruption of a sort which I have seen once or twice on the boards of
      Drury Lane, but never in real life.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the side of the cliff, close to the pile of stones where the Hillmen
      were making their last stand, there was a cave which looked more like the
      lair of some wild beast than a human habitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Out of this dark archway there suddenly emerged an old man&mdash;such a
      very, very old man that all the other veterans whom I have seen were as
      chickens compared with him. His hair and beard were both as white as snow,
      and each reached more than half-way to his waist. His face was wrinkled
      and brown and ebony, a cross between a monkey and a mummy, and so thin and
      emaciated were his shrivelled limbs that you would hardly have given him
      credit for having any vitality left, were it not for his eyes, which
      glittered and sparkled with excitement, like two diamonds in a setting of
      mahogany.
    </p>
    <p>
      This apparition came rushing out of the cave, and, throwing himself
      between the fugitives and our fellows, motioned us back with as imperious
      a sweep of the hand as ever an emperor used to his slaves.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Men of blood," he cried, in a voice of thunder, speaking excellent
      English, too&mdash;"this is a place for prayer and meditation, not for
      murder. Desist, lest the wrath of the gods fall upon you."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Stand aside, old man," I shouted. "You will meet with a hurt if you don't
      get out of the way."
    </p>
    <p>
      I could see that the Hillmen were taking heart, and that some of my Sepoys
      were flinching, as if they did not relish this new enemy. Clearly, I must
      act promptly if I wished to complete our success.
    </p>
    <p>
      I dashed forward at the head of the white artillerymen who had stuck to
      me. The old fellow rushed at us with his arms out as if to stop us, but it
      was not time to stick at trifles, so I passed my sword through his body at
      the same moment that one of the gunners brought his carbine down upon his
      head. He dropped instantly, and the Hillmen, at the sight of his fall, set
      up the most unearthly howl of horror and consternation.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Sepoys, who had been inclined to hang back, came on again the moment
      he was disposed of, and it did not take us long to consummate our victory.
      Hardly a man of the enemy got out of the defile alive.
    </p>
    <p>
      What could Hannibal or Caesar have done more? Our own loss in the whole
      affair has been insignificant&mdash;three killed and about fifteen
      wounded. Got their banner, a green wisp of a thing with a sentence of the
      Koran engraved upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked, after the action, for the old chap, but his body had
      disappeared, though how or whither I have no conception. His blood be upon
      his own head! He would be alive now if he had not interfered, as the
      constables say at home, "with an officer in the execution of his duty."
    </p>
    <p>
      The scouts tell me that his name was Ghoolab Shah, and that he was one of
      the highest and holiest of the Buddhists. He had great fame in the
      district as a prophet and worker of miracles&mdash;hence the hubbub when
      he was cut down. They tell me that he was living in this very cave when
      Tamerlane passed this way in 1399, with a lot more bosh of that sort.
    </p>
    <p>
      I went into the cave, and how any man could live in it a week is a mystery
      to me, for it was little more than four feet high, and as damp and dismal
      a grotto as ever was seen. A wooden settle and a rough table were the sole
      furniture, with a lot of parchment scrolls with hieroglyphics.
    </p>
    <p>
      Well, he has gone where he will learn that the gospel of peace and good
      will is superior to all his Pagan lore. Peace go with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      Elliott and Chamberlain never caught the main body&mdash;I knew they
      wouldn't&mdash;so the honours of the day rest with me. I ought to get a
      step for it, anyhow, and perhaps, who knows? some mention in the <i>Gazette</i>.
      What a lucky chance! I think Zemaun deserves his telescope after all for
      giving it to me. Shall have something to eat now, for I am half starved.
      Glory is an excellent thing, but you cannot live upon it.
    </p>
    <p>
      October 6, 11 A.M.&mdash;Let me try to set down as calmly and as
      accurately as I can all that occurred last night. I have never been a
      dreamer or a visionary, so I can rely upon my own senses, though I am
      bound to say that if any other fellow had told me the same thing I should
      have doubted him. I might even have suspected that I was deceived at the
      time had I not heard the bell since. However, I must narrate what
      happened.
    </p>
    <p>
      Elliott was in my tent with me having a quiet cheroot until about ten
      o'clock. I then walked the rounds with my jemidar, and having seen that
      all was right I turned in a little before eleven.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was just dropping off to sleep, for I was dog-tired after the day's
      work, when I was aroused by some slight noise, and, looking round, I saw a
      man dressed in Asiatic costume standing at the entrance of my tent. He was
      motionless when I saw him, and he had his eyes fixed upon me with a solemn
      and stern expression.
    </p>
    <p>
      My first thought was that the fellow was some Ghazi or Afghan fanatic who
      had stolen in with the intention of stabbing me, and with this idea in my
      mind I had all the will to spring from my couch and defend myself, but the
      power was unaccountably lacking.
    </p>
    <p>
      An overpowering languor and want of energy possessed me. Had I seen the
      dagger descending upon my breast I could not have made an effort to avert
      it. I suppose a bird when it is under the influence of a snake feels very
      much as I did in the presence of this gloomy-faced stranger. My mind was
      clear enough, but my body was as torpid as though I were still asleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      I shut my eyes once or twice and tried to persuade myself that the whole
      thing was a delusion, but every time that I opened them there was the man
      still regarding me with the same stony, menacing stare.
    </p>
    <p>
      The silence became unendurable. I felt that I must overcome my languor so
      far as to address him. I am not a nervous man, and I never knew before
      what Virgil meant when he wrote "adhoesit faucibus ora." At last I managed
      to stammer out a few words, asking the intruder who he was and what he
      wanted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lieutenant Heatherstone," he answered, speaking slowly and gravely, "you
      have committed this day the foulest sacrilege and the greatest crime which
      it is possible for man to do. You have slain one of the thrice blessed and
      reverend ones, an arch adept of the first degree, an elder brother who has
      trod the higher path for more years than you have numbered months. You
      have cut him off at a time when his labours promised to reach a climax and
      when he was about to attain a height of occult knowledge which would have
      brought man one step nearer to his Creator. All this you have done without
      excuse, without provocation, at a time when he was pleading the cause of
      the helpless and distressed. Listen now to me, John Heatherstone.
    </p>
    <p>
      "When first the occult sciences were pursued many thousands of years ago,
      it was found by the learned that the short tenure of human existence was
      too limited to allow a man to attain the loftiest heights of inner life.
      The inquirers of those days directed their energies in the first place,
      therefore, to the lengthening of their own days in order that they might
      have more scope for improvement.
    </p>
    <p>
      "By their knowledge of the secret laws of Nature they were enabled to
      fortify their bodies against disease and old age. It only remained to
      protect themselves against the assaults of wicked and violent men who are
      ever ready to destroy what is wiser and nobler than themselves. There was
      no direct means by which this protection could be effected, but it was in
      some measure attained by arranging the occult forces in such a way that a
      terrible and unavoidable retribution should await the offender.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was irrevocably ordained by laws which cannot be reversed that any one
      who should shed the blood of a brother who had attained a certain degree
      of sanctity should be a doomed man. Those laws are extant to this day,
      John Heatherstone, and you have placed yourself in their power. King or
      emperor would be helpless before the forces which you have called into
      play. What hope, then, is there for you?
    </p>
    <p>
      "In former days these laws acted so instantaneously that the slayer
      perished with his victim. It was judged afterwards that this prompt
      retribution prevented the offender from having time to realise the
      enormity of his offence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It was therefore ordained that in all such cases the retribution should
      be left in the hands of the <i>chelas</i>, or immediate disciples of the
      holy man, with power to extend or shorten it at their will, exacting it
      either at the time or at any future anniversary of the day when the crime
      was committed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Why punishment should come on those days only it does not concern you to
      know. Suffice it that you are the murderer of Ghoolab Shah, the thrice
      blessed, and that I am the senior of his three <i>chelas</i> commissioned
      to avenge his death.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is no personal matter between us. Amid our studies we have no leisure
      or inclination for personal matters. It is an immutable law, and it is as
      impossible for us to relax it as it is for you to escape from it Sooner or
      later we shall come to you and claim your life in atonement for the one
      which you have taken.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The same fate shall be meted out to the wretched soldier, Smith, who,
      though less guilty than yourself, has incurred the same penalty by raising
      his sacrilegious hand against the chosen of Buddha. If your life is
      prolonged, it is merely that you may have time to repent of your misdeed
      and to feel the full force of your punishment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And lest you should be tempted to cast it out of your mind and to forget
      it, our bell&mdash;our astral bell, the use of which is one of our occult
      secrets&mdash;shall ever remind you of what have been and what is to be.
      You shall hear it by day and you shall hear it by night, and it will be a
      sign to you that do what you may and go where you will, you can never
      shake yourself clear of the <i>chelas</i> of Ghoolab Shah.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You will never see me more, accursed one, until the day when we come for
      you. Live in fear, and in that anticipation which is worse than death."
    </p>
    <p>
      With a menacing wave of the hand the figure turned and swept out of my
      tent into the darkness. The instant that the fellow disappeared from my
      sight I recovered from my lethargy which had fallen upon me. Springing to
      my feet, I rushed to the opening and looked out. A Sepoy sentry was
      standing leaning upon his musket, a few paces off.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You dog," I said in Hindustani. "What do you mean by letting people
      disturb me in this way?"
    </p>
    <p>
      The man stared at me in amazement. "Has any one disturbed the sahib?" he
      asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This instant&mdash;this moment. You must have seen him pass out of my
      tent."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Surely the Burra Sahib is mistaken," the man answered, respectfully but
      firmly. "I have been here for an hour, and no one has passed from the
      tent."
    </p>
    <p>
      Puzzled and disconcerted, I was sitting by the side of my couch wondering
      whether the whole thing were a delusion, brought on by the nervous
      excitement of our skirmish, when a new marvel overtook me. From over my
      head there suddenly sounded a sharp, tinkling sound, like that produced by
      an empty glass when flipped by the nail, only louder and more intense.
    </p>
    <p>
      I looked up, but nothing was to be seen. I examined the whole interior of
      the tent carefully, but without discovering any cause for the strange
      sound. At last, worn out with fatigue, I gave the mystery up, and throwing
      myself on the couch was soon fast asleep.
    </p>
    <p>
      When I awoke this morning I was inclined to put the whole of my
      yesternight's experiences down to imagination, but I was soon disabused of
      the idea, for I had hardly risen before the same strange sound was
      repeated in my very ear as loudly, and to all appearance as causelesly, as
      before. What it is or where it comes from I cannot conceive. I have not
      heard it since.
    </p>
    <p>
      Can the fellow's threats have something in them and this be the warning
      bell of which he spoke? Surely it is impossible. Yet his manner was
      indescribably impressive.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have tried to set down what he said as accurately as I can, but I fear I
      have omitted a good deal. What is to be the end of this strange affair? I
      must go in for a course of religion and holy water. Not a word to
      Chamberlain or Elliott. They tell me I am looking like a ghost this
      morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Evening</i>.&mdash;Have managed to compare notes with Gunner Rufus
      Smith of the Artillery, who knocked the old fellow over with the butt of
      his gun. His experience has been the same as mine. He has heard the sound,
      too. What is the meaning of it all? My brain is in a whirl.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oct. 10 (four days later).&mdash;God help us!
    </p>
    <p>
      This last laconic entry terminated the journal. It seemed to me that,
      coming as it did after four days' complete silence, it told a clearer tale
      of shaken nerve and a broken spirit than could any more elaborate
      narrative. Pinned on to the journal was a supplementary statement which
      had evidently been recently added by the general.
    </p>
    <p>
      "From that day to this," it said, "I have had no night or day free from
      the intrusion of that dreadful sound with its accompanying train of
      thought. Time and custom have brought me no relief, but on the contrary,
      as the years pass over my head my physical strength decreases and my
      nerves become less able to bear up against the continual strain.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I am a broken man in mind and body. I live in a state of tension, always
      straining my ears for the hated sound, afraid to converse with my fellows
      for fear of exposing my dreadful condition to them, with no comfort or
      hope of comfort on this side of the grave. I should be willing. Heaven
      knows, to die, and yet as each 5th of October comes round, I am prostrated
      with fear because I do not know what strange and terrible experience may
      be in store for me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Forty years have passed since I slew Ghoolab Shah, and forty times I have
      gone through all the horrors of death, without attaining the blessed peace
      which lies beyond.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I have no means of knowing in what shape my fate will come upon me. I
      have immured myself in this lonely country, and surrounded myself with
      barriers, because in my weaker moments my instincts urge me to take some
      steps for self-protection, but I know well in my heart how futile it all
      is. They must come quickly now, for I grow old, and Nature will forestall
      them unless they make haste.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I take credit to myself that I have kept my hands off the prussic-acid or
      opium bottle. It has always been in my power to checkmate my occult
      persecutors in that way, but I have ever held that a man in this world
      cannot desert his post until he has been relieved in due course by the
      authorities. I have had no scruples, however, about exposing myself to
      danger, and, during the Sikh and Sepoy wars, I did all that a man could do
      to court Death. He passed me by, however, and picked out many a young
      fellow to whom life was only opening and who had everything to live for,
      while I survived to win crosses and honours which had lost all relish for
      me.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Well, well, these things cannot depend upon chance, and there is no doubt
      some deep reason for it all.
    </p>
    <p>
      "One compensation Providence has made me in the shape of a true and
      faithful wife, to whom I told my dreadful secret before the wedding, and
      who nobly consented to share my lot. She has lifted half the burden from
      my shoulders, but with the effect, poor soul, of crushing her own life
      beneath its weight!
    </p>
    <p>
      "My children, too, have been a comfort to me. Mordaunt knows all, or
      nearly all. Gabriel we have endeavoured to keep in the dark, though we
      cannot prevent her from knowing that there is something amiss.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I should like this statement to be shown to Dr. John Easterling of
      Stranraer. He heard on one occasion this haunting sound. My sad experience
      may show him that I spoke truth when I said that there was much knowledge
      in the world which has never found its way to England.
    </p>
    <p>
      "J. B. HEATHERSTONE."
    </p>
    <p>
      It was going on for dawn by the time that I had finished this
      extraordinary narrative, to which my sister and Mordaunt Heatherstone
      listened with the most absorbed attention. Already we could see through
      the window that the stars had begun to fade and a grey light to appear in
      the east. The crofter who owned the lurcher dog lived a couple of miles
      off, so it was time for us to be on foot. Leaving Esther to tell my father
      the story in such fashion as she might, we thrust some food in our pockets
      and set off upon our solemn and eventful errand.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      CHAPTER XVI. AT THE HOLE OF CREE
    </h2>
    <p>
      It was dark enough when we started to make it no easy matter to find our
      way across the moors, but as we advanced it grew lighter and lighter,
      until by the time we reached Fullarton's cabin it was broad daylight.
    </p>
    <p>
      Early as it was, he was up and about, for the Wigtown peasants are an
      early rising race. We explained our mission to him in as few words as
      possible, and having made his bargain&mdash;what Scot ever neglected that
      preliminary?&mdash;he agreed not only to let us have the use of his dog
      but to come with us himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mordaunt, in his desire for privacy, would have demurred at this
      arrangement, but I pointed out to him that we had no idea what was in
      store for us, and the addition of a strong, able-bodied man to our party
      might prove to be of the utmost consequence.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again, the dog was less likely to give us trouble if we had its master to
      control it. My arguments carried the day, and the biped accompanied us as
      well as his four-footed companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was some little similarity between the two, for the man was a
      towsy-headed fellow with a great mop of yellow hair and a straggling
      beard, while the dog was of the long-haired, unkempt breed looking like an
      animated bundle of oakum.
    </p>
    <p>
      All our way to the Hall its owner kept retailing instances of the
      creature's sagacity and powers of scent, which, according to his account,
      were little less than miraculous. His anecdotes had a poor audience, I
      fear, for my mind was filled with the strange story which I had been
      reading, while Mordaunt strode on with wild eyes and feverish cheeks,
      without a thought for anything but the problem which we had to solve.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again and again as we topped an eminence I saw him look eagerly round him
      in the faint hope of seeing some trace of the absentee, but over the whole
      expanse of moorland there was no sign of movement or of life. All was dead
      and silent and deserted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our visit to the Hall was a very brief one, for every minute now was of
      importance. Mordaunt rushed in and emerged with an old coat of his
      father's, which he handed to Fullarton, who held it out to the dog.
    </p>
    <p>
      The intelligent brute sniffed at it all over, then ran whining a little
      way down the avenue, came back to sniff the coat again, and finally
      elevating its stump of a tail in triumph, uttered a succession of sharp
      yelps to show that it was satisfied that it had struck the trail. Its
      owner tied a long cord to its collar to prevent it from going too fast for
      us, and we all set off upon our search, the dog tugging and training at
      its leash in its excitement as it followed in the general's footsteps.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our way lay for a couple of hundred yards along the high road, and then
      passed through a gap In the hedge and on to the moor, across which we were
      led in a bee-line to the northward.
    </p>
    <p>
      The sun had by this time risen above the horizon, and the whole
      countryside looked so fresh and sweet, from the blue, sparkling sea to the
      purple mountains, that it was difficult to realise how weird and uncanny
      was the enterprise upon which we were engaged.
    </p>
    <p>
      The scent must have lain strongly upon the ground, for the dog never
      hesitated nor stopped, dragging its master along at a pace which rendered
      conversation impossible.
    </p>
    <p>
      At one place, in crossing a small stream, we seemed to get off the trail
      for a few minutes, but our keen-nosed ally soon picked it up on the other
      side and followed it over the trackless moor, whining and yelping all the
      time in its eagerness. Had we not all three been fleet of foot and long of
      wind, we could not have persisted in the continuous, rapid journey over
      the roughest of ground, with the heather often well-nigh up to our waists.
    </p>
    <p>
      For my own part, I have no idea now, looking back, what goal it was which
      I expected to reach at the end of our pursuit. I can remember that my mind
      was full of the vaguest and most varying speculations.
    </p>
    <p>
      Could it be that the three Buddhists had had a craft in readiness off the
      coast, and had embarked with their prisoners for the East? The direction
      of their track seemed at first to favour this supposition, for it lay in
      the line of the upper end of the bay, but it ended by branching off and
      striking directly inland. Clearly the ocean was not to be our terminus.
    </p>
    <p>
      By ten o'clock we had walked close upon twelve miles, and were compelled
      to call a halt for a few minutes to recover our breath, for the last mile
      or two we had been breasting the long, wearying slope of the Wigtown
      hills.
    </p>
    <p>
      From the summit of this range, which is nowhere more than a thousand feet
      in height, we could see, looking northward, such a scene of bleakness and
      desolation as can hardly be matched in any country.
    </p>
    <p>
      Right away to the horizon stretched the broad expanse of mud and of water,
      mingled and mixed together in the wildest chaos, like a portion of some
      world in the process of formation. Here and there on the dun-coloured
      surface of this great marsh there had burst out patches of sickly yellow
      reeds and of livid, greenish scum, which only served to heighten and
      intensify the gloomy effect of the dull, melancholy expanse.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the side nearest to us some abandoned peat-cuttings showed that
      ubiquitous man had been at work there, but beyond these few petty scars
      there was no sign anywhere of human life. Not even a crow nor a seagull
      flapped its way over that hideous desert.
    </p>
    <p>
      This is the great Bog of Cree. It is a salt-water marsh formed by an
      inroad of the sea, and so intersected is it with dangerous swamps and
      treacherous pitfalls of liquid mud, that no man would venture through it
      unless he had the guidance of one of the few peasants who retain the
      secret of its paths.
    </p>
    <p>
      As we approached the fringe of rushes which marked its border, a foul,
      dank smell rose up from the stagnant wilderness, as from impure water and
      decaying vegetation&mdash;an earthy, noisome smell which poisoned the
      fresh upland air.
    </p>
    <p>
      So forbidding and gloomy was the aspect of the place that our stout
      crofter hesitated, and it was all that we could do to persuade him to
      proceed. Our lurcher, however, not being subject to the delicate
      impressions of our higher organisation, still ran yelping along with its
      nose on the ground and every fibre of its body quivering with excitement
      and eagerness.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was no difficulty about picking our way through the morass, for
      wherever the five could go we three could follow.
    </p>
    <p>
      If we could have had any doubts as to our dog's guidance they would all
      have been removed now, for in the soft, black, oozing soil we could
      distinctly trace the tracks of the whole party. From these we could see
      that they had walked abreast, and, furthermore, that each was about
      equidistant from the other. Clearly, then, no physical force had been used
      in taking the general and his companion along. The compulsion had been
      psychical and not material.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once within the swamp, we had to be careful not to deviate from the narrow
      track, which offered a firm foothold.
    </p>
    <p>
      On each side lay shallow sheets of stagnant water overlying a treacherous
      bottom of semi-fluid mud, which rose above the surface here and there in
      moist, sweltering banks, mottled over with occasional patches of unhealthy
      vegetation. Great purple and yellow fungi had broken out in a dense
      eruption, as though Nature were afflicted with a foul disease, which
      manifested itself by this crop of plague spots.
    </p>
    <p>
      Here and there dark, crab-like creatures scuttled across our path, and
      hideous, flesh-coloured worms wriggled and writhed amid the sickly reeds.
      Swarms of buzzing, piping insects rose up at every step and formed a dense
      cloud around our heads, settling on our hands and faces and inoculating us
      with their filthy venom. Never had I ventured into so pestilent and
      forbidding a place.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mordaunt Heatherstone strode on, however, with a set purpose upon his
      swarthy brow, and we could but follow him, determined to stand by him to
      the end of the adventure. As we advanced, the path grew narrower and
      narrower until, as we saw by the tracks, our predecessors had been
      compelled to walk in single file. Fullarton was leading us with the dog,
      Mordaunt behind him, while I brought up the rear. The peasant had been
      sulky and surly for a little time back, hardly answering when spoken to,
      but he now stopped short and positively refused to go a step farther.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's no' canny," he said, "besides I ken where it will lead us tae'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where, then?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tae the Hole o' Cree," he answered. "It's no far frae here, I'm
      thinking."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The Hole of Cree! What is that, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's a great, muckle hole in the ground that gangs awa' doon so deep that
      naebody could ever reach the bottom. Indeed there are folk wha says that
      it's just a door leadin' intae the bottomless pit itsel'."
    </p>
    <p>
      "You have been there, then?" I asked.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Been there!" he cried. "What would I be doin' at the Hole o' Cree? No,
      I've never been there, nor any other man in his senses."
    </p>
    <p>
      "How do you know about it, then?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "My great-grandfeyther had been there, and that's how I ken," Fullarton
      answered. "He was fou' one Saturday nicht and he went for a bet. He didna
      like tae talk aboot it afterwards, and he wouldna tell a' what befell him,
      but he was aye feared o' the very name. He's the first Fullarton that's
      been at the Hole o' Cree, and he'll be the last for me. If ye'll tak' my
      advice ye'll just gie the matter up and gang name again, for there's na
      guid tae be got oot o' this place."
    </p>
    <p>
      "We shall go on with you or without you," Mordaunt answered. "Let us have
      your dog and we can pick you up on our way back."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Na, na," he cried, "I'll no' hae my dog scaret wi' bogles, and running
      down Auld Nick as if he were a hare. The dog shall bide wi' me."
    </p>
    <p>
      "The dog shall go with us," said my companion, with his eyes blazing. "We
      have no time to argue with you. Here's a five-pound note. Let us have the
      dog, or, by Heaven, I shall take it by force and throw you in the bog if
      you hinder us."
    </p>
    <p>
      I could realise the Heatherstone of forty years ago when I saw the fierce
      and sudden wrath which lit up the features of his son.
    </p>
    <p>
      Either the bribe or the threat had the desired effect, for the fellow
      grabbed at the money with one hand while with the other he surrendered the
      leash which held the lurcher. Leaving him to retrace his steps, we
      continued to make our way into the utmost recesses of the great swamp.
    </p>
    <p>
      The tortuous path grew less and less defined as we proceeded, and was even
      covered in places with water, but the increasing excitement of the hound
      and the sight of the deep footmarks in the mud stimulated us to push on.
      At last, after struggling through a grove of high bulrushes, we came on a
      spot the gloomy horror of which might have furnished Dante with a fresh
      terror for his "Inferno."
    </p>
    <p>
      The whole bog in this part appeared to have sunk in, forming a great,
      funnel-shaped depression, which terminated in the centre in a circular
      rift or opening about forty feet in diameter. It was a whirlpool&mdash;a
      perfect maelstrom of mud, sloping down on every side to this silent and
      awful chasm.
    </p>
    <p>
      Clearly this was the spot which, under the name of the Hole of Cree, bore
      such a sinister reputation among the rustics. I could not wonder at its
      impressing their imagination, for a more weird or gloomy scene, or one
      more worthy of the avenue which led to it, could not be conceived.
    </p>
    <p>
      The steps passed down the declivity which surrounded the abyss, and we
      followed them with a sinking feeling in our hearts, as we realised that
      this was the end of our search.
    </p>
    <p>
      A little way from the downward path was the return trail made by the feet
      of those who had come back from the chasm's edge. Our eyes fell upon these
      tracks at the same moment, and we each gave a cry of horror, and stood
      gazing speechlessly at them. For there, in those blurred footmarks, the
      whole drama was revealed.
    </p>
    <p>
      <i>Five had gone down, but only three had returned</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      None shall ever know the details of that strange tragedy. There was no
      mark of struggle nor sign of attempt at escape. We knelt at the edge of
      the Hole and endeavoured to pierce the unfathomable gloom which shrouded
      it. A faint, sickly exhalation seemed to rise from its depths, and there
      was a distant hurrying, clattering sound as of waters in the bowels of the
      earth.
    </p>
    <p>
      A great stone lay embedded in the mud, and this I hurled over, but we
      never heard thud or splash to show that it had reached the bottom.
    </p>
    <p>
      As we hung over the noisome chasm a sound did at last rise to our ears out
      of its murky depths. High, clear, and throbbing, it tinkled for an instant
      out of the abyss, to be succeeded by the same deadly stillness which had
      preceded it.
    </p>
    <p>
      I did not wish to appear superstitious, or to put down to extraordinary
      causes that which may have a natural explanation. That one keen note may
      have been some strange water sound produced far down in the bowels of the
      earth. It may have been that or it may have been that sinister bell of
      which I had heard so much. Be this as it may, it was the only sign that
      rose to us from the last terrible resting-place of the two who had paid
      the debt which had so long been owing.
    </p>
    <p>
      We joined our voices in a call with the unreasoning obstinacy with which
      men will cling to hope, but no answer came back to us save a hollow
      moaning from the depths beneath. Footsore and heart-sick, we retraced our
      steps and climbed the slimy slope once more.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What shall we do, Mordaunt?" I asked, in a subdued voice. "We can but
      pray that their souls may rest in peace."
    </p>
    <p>
      Young Heatherstone looked at me with flashing eyes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "This may be all according to occult laws," he cried, "but we shall see
      what the laws of England have to say upon it. I suppose a <i>chela</i> may
      be hanged as well as any other man. It may not be too late yet to run them
      down. Here, good dog, good dog-here!"
    </p>
    <p>
      He pulled the hound over and set it on the track of the three men. The
      creature sniffed at it once or twice, and then, falling upon its stomach,
      with bristling hair and protruding tongue, it lay shivering and trembling,
      a very embodiment of canine terror.
    </p>
    <p>
      "You see," I said, "it is no use contending against those who have powers
      at their command to which we cannot even give a name. There is nothing for
      it but to accept the inevitable, and to hope that these poor men may meet
      with some compensation in another world for all that they have suffered in
      this."
    </p>
    <p>
      "And be free from all devilish religions and their murderous worshippers!"
      Mordaunt cried furiously.
    </p>
    <p>
      Justice compelled me to acknowledge in my own heart that the murderous
      spirit had been set on foot by the Christian before it was taken up by the
      Buddhists, but I forbore to remark upon it, for fear of irritating my
      companion.
    </p>
    <p>
      For a long time I could not draw him away from the scene of his father's
      death, but at last, by repeated arguments and reasonings, I succeeded in
      making him realise how useless and unprofitable any further efforts on our
      part must necessarily prove, and in inducing him to return with me to
      Cloomber.
    </p>
    <p>
      Oh, the wearisome, tedious journey! It had seemed long enough when we had
      some slight flicker of hope, or at least of expectation, before us, but
      now that our worst fears were fulfilled it appeared interminable.
    </p>
    <p>
      We picked up our peasant guide at the outskirts of the marsh, and having
      restored his dog we let him find his own way home, without telling him
      anything of the results of our expedition. We ourselves plodded all day
      over the moors with heavy feet and heavier hearts until we saw the
      ill-omened tower of Cloomber, and at last, as the sun was setting, found
      ourselves once more beneath its roof.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is no need for me to enter into further details, nor to describe the
      grief which our tidings conveyed to mother and to daughter. Their long
      expectation of some calamity was not sufficient to prepare them for the
      terrible reality.
    </p>
    <p>
      For weeks my poor Gabriel hovered between life and death, and though she
      came round al last, thanks to the nursing of my sister and the
      professional skill of Dr. John Easterling, she has never to this day
      entirely recovered her former vigour. Mordaunt, too, suffered much for
      some time, and it was only after our removal to Edinburgh that he rallied
      from the shock which he had undergone.
    </p>
    <p>
      As to poor Mrs. Heatherstone, neither medical attention nor change of air
      can ever have a permanent effect upon her. Slowly and surely, but very
      placidly, she has declined in health and strength, until it is evident
      that in a very few weeks at the most she will have rejoined her husband
      and restored to him the one thing which he must have grudged to leave
      behind.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Laird of Branksome came home from Italy restored in health, with the
      result that we were compelled to return once more to Edinburgh.
    </p>
    <p>
      The change was agreeable to us, for recent events had cast a cloud over
      our country life and had surrounded us with unpleasant associations.
      Besides, a highly honourable and remunerative appointment in connection
      with the University library had become vacant, and had, through the
      kindness of the late Sir Alexander Grant, been offered to my father, who,
      as may be imagined, lost no time in accepting so congenial a post.
    </p>
    <p>
      In this way we came back to Edinburgh very much more important people than
      we left it, and with no further reason to be uneasy about the details of
      housekeeping. But, in truth, the whole household has been dissolved, for I
      have been married for some months to my dear Gabriel, and Esther is to
      become Mrs. Heatherstone upon the 23rd of the month. If she makes him as
      good a wife as his sister has made me, we may both set ourselves down as
      fortunate men.
    </p>
    <p>
      These mere domestic episodes are, as I have already explained, introduced
      only because I cannot avoid alluding to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      My object in drawing up this statement and publishing the evidence which
      corroborates it, was certainly not to parade my private affairs before the
      public, but to leave on record an authentic narrative of a most remarkable
      series of events. This I have endeavoured to do in as methodical a manner
      as possible, exaggerating nothing and suppressing nothing.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader has now the evidence before him, and can form his own opinions
      unaided by me as to the causes of the disappearance and death of Rufus
      Smith and of John Berthier Heatherstone, V.C., C.B.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is only one point which is still dark to me. Why the <i>chelas</i>
      of Ghoolab Shah should have removed their victims to the desolate Hole of
      Cree instead of taking their lives at Cloomber, is, I confess, a mystery
      to me.
    </p>
    <p>
      In dealing with occult laws, however, we must allow for our own complete
      ignorance of the subject. Did we know more we might see that there was
      some analogy between that foul bog and the sacrilege which had been
      committed, and that their ritual and customs demanded that just such a
      death was the one appropriate to the crime.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this point I should be sorry to be dogmatic, but at least we must allow
      that the Buddhist priests must have had some very good cause for the
      course of action which they so deliberately carried out.
    </p>
    <p>
      Months afterwards I saw a short paragraph in the <i>Star of India</i>
      announcing that three eminent Buddhists&mdash;Lal Hoomi, Mowdar Khan, and
      Ram Singh&mdash;had just returned in the steamship <i>Deccan</i> from a
      short trip to Europe. The very next item was devoted to an account of the
      life and services of Major-General Heatherstone, "who has lately
      disappeared from his country house in Wigtownshire, and who, there is too
      much reason to fear, has been drowned."
    </p>
    <p>
      I wonder if by chance there was any other human eye but mine which traced
      a connection between these paragraphs. I never showed them to my wife or
      to Mordaunt, and they will only know of their existence when they read
      these pages.
    </p>
    <p>
      I don't know that there is any other point which needs clearing up. The
      intelligent reader will have already seen the reasons for the general's
      fear of dark faces, of wandering men (not knowing how his pursuers might
      come after him), and of visitors (from the same cause and because his
      hateful bell was liable to sound at all times).
    </p>
    <p>
      His broken sleep led him to wander about the house at night, and the lamps
      which he burnt in every room were no doubt to prevent his imagination from
      peopling the darkness with terrors. Lastly, his elaborate precautions
      were, as he has himself explained, rather the result of a feverish desire
      to do something than in the expectation that he could really ward off his
      fate.
    </p>
    <p>
      Science will tell you that there are no such powers as those claimed by
      the Eastern mystics. I, John Fothergill West, can confidently answer that
      science is wrong.
    </p>
    <p>
      For what is science? Science is the consensus of opinion of scientific
      men, and history has shown that it is slow to accept a truth. Science
      sneered at Newton for twenty years. Science proved mathematically that an
      iron ship could not swim, and science declared that a steamship could not
      cross the Atlantic.
    </p>
    <p>
      Like Goethe's Mephistopheles, our wise professor's forte is "stets
      verneinen." Thomas Didymus is, to use his own jargon, his prototype. Let
      him learn that if he will but cease to believe in the infallibility of his
      own methods, and will look to the East, from which all great movements
      come, he will find there a school of philosophers and of savants who,
      working on different lines from his own, are many thousand years ahead of
      him in all the essentials of knowledge.
    </p>
    <p>
      THE END <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </p>
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