Cursed be the treasure
Three times she called to me to stop, but I was determined not to
unless she acknowledged defeat. But she screamed her refusal at me, and
I smiled, feeling the joy of revenge. She had already broken my will
more than once making me confess to being vanquished; now it was my
turn.
The crazy wall still swayed beneath me, and Jenny crept out to the
very last stone, which looked as though it might slip from under her
at any moment. I pressed along the narrow edge towards her, and at
last reaching out my hand would have touched her, but somehow she
managed to draw away from me by yet another inch. I strained out; and
something gave. I slipped and clutched; my eyes were full of dust; and
there was a pain at my head. I found myself clinging to a crevice by
my finger-tips, and above me I saw Jenny on her stone slowly slipping
out from the wall. In a moment she would have fallen. I swung myself
beneath her, and caught her in one arm: and then everything was dust
and toppling stones, and a sudden jolt of all my body.
I scrambled out from the broken stuffs about me, and shook myself, glad
to find my limbs undamaged; and Jenny who had fallen on top of me was
saying, "Your head, Tommy; your head."
I put my hand up to my brow, realizing that everything was beginning
to look dark about me. But Jenny had pulled out her kerchief and was
dabbing at my forehead.
"I caught you," I said.
"Yes," she answered, still ministering to me.
"You own it," I pressed her.
"Yes," she again replied. And at that I repaid her in her own coin,
putting my arms about her and kissing her.
She took it meekly enough, but said, "But you were, oh, so silly."
I laughed, but she continued, more gravely than I had yet heard her
speak, "It'll always be there. Just under your hair. A big cut."
"Nothing," I said. And when the bleeding was staunched I suggested
resuming the game. But Jenny looked about her and said it was growing
dark, and suddenly added, "And I'm, oh, so hungry." She laid her hands
shamelessly upon the empty member that was demanding nourishment,
looking me straight in the eyes as though this was a serious matter.
"I'm hungry too," I said, suddenly realizing that my whole body was
crying imperiously for food. So together we went into the house and
found Jenny's father waiting for us, and some savoury soup steaming on
the table.
We said not a word, but sat down in our places and lapped up the
comforting broth with unctuous smackings, leaning back at the same
moment with a profound sigh of relish....
Too soon came the hour of parting. As I said good-bye the vision of
what awaited me at school began to take form in my mind.
"You'll come to-morrow," said Jenny.
But I knew that on the morrow I should be expiating the offence of
to-day, so I answered rather sadly, "No, not to-morrow."
"But you must," she said.
"But I can't," I answered.
"Why not?" she demanded.
But how could I tell her of the punishment that awaited me?
"I can't tell you," I said.
"You must tell me, you _must_," she cried fiercely, stamping her foot.
"I can't, Jenny," I said again.
She looked at me a moment and asked, "Is it because I hurt you?"
"You didn't hurt me," I answered.
"Yes, I did," she declared, "and that's why you won't come."
"No, you didn't," I contradicted her, "and that isn't why I won't come."
"Then why, Tommy?" she asked, with a sudden change to a soft coaxing
tone.
"I can't tell you," was all I could say, feeling very stupid.
Again she stamped, and said, "Then I won't kiss you."
"I'm sorry," I said, and turned to go.
But she sprang after me and cried, "Oh, Tommy, _do_ tell me."
At this I turned and fled, shouting, "I can't, I _can't_."
I ran down the path to the gate, and came face to face with Jenny's
father. He had evidently been waiting for me. He caught me in his tight
grip, and looking sternly at me said, "Remember, it's the ghost that
cries at night-time."
"Yes," I answered, "the ghost. I know. I've heard it."
"And seen it," he went on.
"And seen it," I admitted.
"Very well, very well," he patted me on the shoulder, and as I bade him
good night and turned to go he added, "And if anyone wants to know who
the new tenant is, remember it's Field: Captain Field."
"You _are_ a captain?" I cried.
"How do you mean?" he demanded with a swift return to his fiercer
manner.
"Why," I replied, "I like captains. You'll tell me stories."
"Stories! Ha, yes, stories enough for a lifetime," he ejaculated; and I
ran on my way.
But I hadn't gone far before my run slackened to a walk, and then to
a dawdle; for the prospect ahead of me wasn't alluring, and an idea
was taking shape in my mind. If I returned and delivered myself up to
authority I didn't know when I should be able to break from captivity
again. And the thought of being separated from Jenny wasn't to be
borne. I didn't remember having so thoroughly enjoyed myself since my
father had left me. And then, too, there was the knowledge that she
wanted me to return. She had dismissed me in anger because I hadn't
promised to come back to her the next day. Well, somehow I must
accomplish what I couldn't promise, and so appease her wrath.
I sat down by the road-side on a great pile of stones. I wanted to
think. The obvious plan to follow was not to return to school. But
where could I pass the night? Though spring was well on its way the
night was a cold one, and I didn't relish the thought of spending it in
the open. Perhaps I could return and find some corner in the ruin where
I could at least shelter from the night air.
I looked back at the house. I hadn't left it far behind. A light was
glowing faintly in a window facing me. I began to wonder which room
that could be; and then I knew. On the other side was the room my
father and I had used, and on this side I remembered was another large
bedroom with a great four-post bed. It was a room I had climbed to, for
the ivy grew thickly beneath it. I supposed Abou was sleeping there.
Then suddenly I told myself that Abou would be sleeping in my old room,
for I knew Captain Field was in the secret room above, and somehow it
seemed to me that Abou would be near him. From what I remembered of
that calm and patient voice, Abou must be very necessary to his master
with those strange sudden ways of his which already I had had a glimpse
of.
Then who was sleeping in that room? Why, of course....
But just then I heard some one coming along the road by the way I had
already come. With my instinct for concealment I crept behind a pile
of stones till he should pass; but I wasn't relieved to hear him make
towards me and seat himself on the heap. I had had a glimpse of him as
he approached through the dark. All I had seen was that he was carrying
a short stout stick.
It was some little time before he rose again and moved on; and
meanwhile I had heard shufflings and tuggings and whispered oaths as
though some difficult or painful operation was in progress, but I
didn't dare peer above the stones to investigate. But when at last the
fellow got up to go I did peep after him, and was startled to see what
had been a two-legged man hobble away with one leg transformed to a
wooden stump below the knee. I rubbed my eyes and gazed after him as
he melted into the night. But the change was no mere illusion. I could
hear the _clop_ of his wooden leg on the hard road.
For a while I sat there wondering what it could mean, till stories of
impostors who feigned blindness and lameness came into my mind. I told
myself it was some sham beggar, and turned my thoughts to my own case.
Again I looked towards Sunset Towers; but the light had gone from the
window. Only a looming black shadow shutting out a patch of the sky
told me where the great mansion stood.
I got up slowly, and still uncertain what to do made my way back to the
old house. Without thinking I wandered round to the side where I had
seen the light, and found myself looking up at the window. And then I
started to climb.
I was soon on the sill peering into the room, but couldn't distinguish
anything through the blackness. I wondered whether I had better
descend again before I was seen, but something held me there in spite
of myself. And while I crouched I thought I heard a faint muffled cry
echo through the house, but though I strained my ears I didn't hear it
again. Then it seemed to me that it must be terrible for Jenny to be
alone there, with the sobs and moans I knew from of old haunting the
night-time, startling one from sleep with a strange sense of unseen
things flitting and hovering in the gloom. I tapped at the window, and
said softly, "Jenny, Jenny!"
She didn't hear me. Perhaps she was asleep. I tapped again, and a third
time. Then I drew back and nearly fell, for I suddenly became aware
of a white figure on the other side of the glass with face pressed to
the pane. I had never before seen anything quite so ghost-like. But I
recovered myself immediately, for it was Jenny herself. I hadn't heard
her noiseless passage across the room.
I spoke her name again.
She opened the window and let me in, shutting it behind me.
"Have you come to tell me why?" she asked.
"I've come to stay," I answered, adding rather paradoxically, "If I
don't go away I can come back."
She didn't notice the paradox, but took my meaning.
"Yes," she said; and then, "It's cold." She slipped back into the great
bed, where I could dimly see her little figure like a tiny mound in a
wide plain.
I jumped on to the bed and lay at her feet. "I'll stay here," I said.
She sat up and turned down the coverlet, telling me to wrap it round me.
I curled myself into it, pulling it up tight under my chin, and soon
began to glow warmly.
And then again I heard that cry. It wasn't like the cries I had heard
before. It was wilder and more ringing, not so sad and plaintive.
Jenny asked, "Did you hear that?"
"It's the wind," I answered.
"There's no wind," she said.
I lay and said nothing, not wishing to frighten her with stories of
ghosts.
Presently I heard her call me: "Tommy!"
"Yes," I answered.
"I think it's daddy."
"No," I contradicted her with emphasis.
"I think it is."
"Jenny it's--it's a ghost," I declared, remembering my instructions.
"No, it's daddy," she asserted again. "I've often heard him. There's a
bad man who comes and frightens him; then he shouts like that."
I sent out a flying thought to Dirk and his vow of vengeance. Could it
be possible that Jenny's father was the King's Man?
"Jenny," I said, "I tell you it's a ghost. I've heard it before. I've
seen it." And to take her mind from her father I told her a jumbled-up
story, part true, part imaginary, of how once I thought I had heard my
friend calling to me in the night, and had risen, and had been led I
knew not where, and had found a skeleton in the darkness; and it was
the ghost of the skeleton that had been calling me all the time. I
ended: "They call as though it's somebody you know. Then you want to
get up and go to them, and then they catch you."
Jenny lay quiet for a minute, then said, "Tommy, that's a lovely story.
Tell me another."
I was immensely relieved to realize that she didn't believe me, for as
I finished the tale it came to me with a flash of fear that she might
want to know how it was I had ever lived in the house.
"To-morrow," I answered her, for I was weary.
I expected her to insist in her imperious way on another recital then
and there, but she said, "I'm tired, Tommy. Good night."
"Good night," I returned, and was soon asleep.
I awoke early, and crept out of my cover. Jenny was still sleeping. I
threw her a look; then crossed to the window, and climbed down.