Cursed be the treasure
the shadow creep up, and thought the storm would sweep over him; and
I knew that only a terrible power of will was restraining him from
yielding to some mad frenzy of fancy such as I had witnessed at our
first meeting. Then, too, there was the crying I heard at night, when
it seemed to me that the frenzy was too strong for him. There was a
fear at his heart. And I couldn't help comparing him with my father,
who also, with a fear at his heart, always faced it with a smile. But
one man's courage is not another's, as I had seen put to the proof in
the case of Worthing and myself.
If it hadn't been for the Captain's insistence that the crying by night
wasn't of this earth, and Jenny's contrary declarations that it was her
father's voice we could hear echoing so piteously through the building,
though I noticed she never let fall a word to that effect before her
father, if it hadn't been for these hints I might have been deceived
into thinking it merely the old wailing I had been used to hearing, and
which now in my wisdom I ascribed entirely to the wind in the secret
passage when the door was open. For in that twisting corridor the least
breath could play like the note of an organ.
But once the madness did break out. It was one evening when the wind
had risen more tempestuously than usual. I was kneeling in front of
the fire telling Jenny a story, or rather weaving into a disconnected
tale the wailing and sobbing of the wind as it hung in lingering eddies
about odd corners of the ruined dwelling. Each gust that came racing
over the moors was another voice from the world of spirits, and I
interpreted its message of woe and lamentation much as my father had
used to do. "Hark now!" I said, "that's a soldier. He was killed in
battle shouting out his war-cry. And there! that's a hunter. Hear him;
'Hallooo! Hallooo!' And there's a mother calling to her baby. They
stole it from her, and she heard it sobbing, sobbing, because it wanted
her. And she reached her hands out for it, but they thrust her away.
You hear her crying: 'Awaay! Awaay!' And, ah! listen! Two, three,
four, five; all howling together. They're chasing some one. Listen! On,
on, on! He's crying for mercy. Their hands are at his throat. He feels
their breath behind him. And how they're laughing: 'Ahaa! Ahaa!'... Oh,
Jenny!..."
I broke off, for at that moment, as though the clamouring wind had
burst into the very room, there was a fearful howl of insane laughter,
and the Captain sprang at me and seized me about the throat, shaking me
like a rat.
"Laughing, are they?" he shouted frenziedly. "Laughing! Ahaa! And
they've caught him, have they? Yes, by God, caught him!" And with
that he flung me away from him, crouching back from me like an animal
preparing to spring.
I was terrified, and half choked. As I looked at his blazing eyes I
felt a cold horror at my heart, for his face was distorted into a
frightful grimace of imbecile hatred and fury. I picked myself up
slowly, for I feared a quick movement would bring him upon me. But he
still crouched menacingly, and I could see his body quivering with
insane malice. I felt about in my mind for some way of escape. The
window? The door? But suddenly he was at me, and I sprang away behind
the table. There followed a terrible chase, round and round, and my
nimbleness stood me in good stead; for three times he was foiled as I
swung a chair in his path, and he crashed to the floor, sprawling, and
hissing out threats and curses. But I couldn't get to the window or the
door. He was cunning enough to guard my escape, and I began to wonder
how the chase would end.
Again he crouched away from me, with the table between us, while I
kept my eyes fixed steadily on his. He was jabbering to himself like
an angry ape, but with a menace too terrifying to describe. Then with
a bound he cleared the table, and only my quickness in dropping flat
to the floor saved me from his clutch. With a scramble I was under the
table, and again facing him across it. But he lay moaning to himself,
holding his head, and I felt a sudden pity swell up in my heart. He
must have hurt himself, and foolishly enough I wanted to comfort him.
I took a step or two round the table, and yet he lay still. I advanced
but he made no movement. "Sir," I said, "it's only me. It's Tommy."
"Tommy? Tommy?" he repeated vacantly; then suddenly broke out with a
sob, "Oh, forgive me, Tommy!"
With that I ran boldly up to him and knelt down beside him, but with
a hideous cackle he gripped me by the shoulders, and I realized I had
been duped. But I wasn't to be taken so. I remembered my pistol, and
as my hands were free I drew it easily enough, and cried, "Let me go,
Captain, or I'll shoot you."
I was amazed at the success of my manœuvre, for he fell back holding up
his hands and gazing at me in horror.
I began to retreat to the door, but just then it opened, and Jenny,
whom I hadn't missed till now, returned, and behind her Abou. He went
straight to the Captain and said, "Come, my master," in that smooth
voice of his which fell like a charm on the terrible scene. And like a
lamb the Captain followed his servant from the room.
CHAPTER XVII
THE SIGN
I was left alone with Jenny, and found her glaring at me white with
anger. I was startled and fell back from her, for it seemed for a
moment as though her father's madness had descended upon her, and that
I was to be whirled into another storm of frenzy. But as she gazed at
me, her fierce eyes blazing, I soon came to realize that nothing worse
than anger possessed her, and I wasn't long in learning the cause of it.
"You would kill my daddy," she said with sharp emphasis, still fixing
me with her gaze.
"Jenny!" I answered weakly.
"Yes, you would shoot my daddy," she continued relentlessly, "you would
shoot him: and he loves you."
What was I to say? I advanced towards her, but she stepped back, and
said fiercely, "I hate you!"
I stood still, my mind in a maze. It seemed so utterly unreasonable.
Surely she knew I had been in danger of my life? I began to stammer
something to that effect, but she stamped her foot and cried, "I hate
you, I hate you!"
"Then I shall shoot myself," I answered, holding the pistol at my heart.
She watched me without a word, and at last as I still delayed said,
"Well, when?"
I think I was as near death at that moment as I have ever been, for
a sudden rage welled up in my heart, a rage of self-pity at Jenny's
unreasonable reproach, and my finger had tightened on the trigger;
but whether I really heard it, or whether it was an idle illusion, I
can't say, but from far away I thought I heard the faintest echo of a
whistle, and I recognized a few notes of a sailor's chantey such as my
father had used to sing. The pistol dropped to my side, and I stood
listening. I hardly heard Jenny saying, "You see, you daren't." For the
moment my mind was elsewhere; but the sound had gone.
I turned again to Jenny. "Good-bye," I said, and made towards the door.
"Tommy," she cried after me in her imperious way, "where are you going?"
"Away," I answered.
"Where?"
"A long way away. I shall never see you again."
"Tommy!"
I was at the door, and had no intention of turning back, but the sudden
change of tone from anger to tearful appeal swung me round against my
will, and before I knew what I was doing I was at her side.
"What?" I asked.
"Are you going to leave me, Tommy?" she said; and her voice was gentle
enough now.
I realized I had been fooled, and answered shortly; "Yes."
"Why?"
"Because you hate me." I couldn't resist the retort.
"I don't hate you," she declared.
"You said you did," I threw back, not meaning to be easily appeased,
and itching, moreover, to be away after that summoning whistle.
"Only if you hate daddy," she said.
"He...." I began in self-justification; but she wouldn't listen.
"He loves you," she cut in. "And it's only the bad man who makes him
like that." Then she seemed fired by a sudden inspiration. "Tommy," she
cried, "you find the bad man."
"Then I'll kill him," I declared easily.
"Promise?" she said, gazing up eagerly into my eyes.
"I'll start now," I answered, and walked out of the room. And as soon
as I was out of the house I raced at full speed to where I thought
I had heard the whistle. But though I searched for an hour or more,
whistling odd snatches of melody which I knew my father would recognize
if he were near, yet I saw no one, except indeed one immense fellow
swinging up the shadowy road towards Rancey Bridge. But he was too huge
to have been my father. I watched him pass on into the night; and then
I thought I heard the whistling begin again. I listened, but it was
merely the stranger who had just passed me. I felt a sinking of heart,
for I thought I had been tricked by a mischievous spirit.
I walked back slowly to the great dark house, feeling lonely and
miserable; for though I knew the Captain was fond of me, yet I never
felt safe in his presence; and Jenny was stupidly unreasonable, blaming
me for defending myself against a madman. I knew now that I wanted
my father; for the sudden hope of seeing him again had been cruelly
dashed, and my heart was left bleeding as though from a wound.
I crept upstairs to my room, a little chamber next to Jenny's which
had been fitted up for me, intending to sleep till the first of the
morning, and then to steal away from that accursed house and make
tracks for the _Dolphin_. But Jenny had heard me return; and I heard my
door opened, and her voice whispering to me through the dark, for I
hadn't lit my candle: "Tommy, did you find him?"
"No," I said.
"But you will find him?"
"Yes."
"Promise?"
"Yes, I promise."
I thought she had gone, but she had glided silently up to me where I
lay on my bed still dressed; and I felt her lips pressed passionately
to mine, murmuring, "There, I don't hate you, Tommy."
I was in no mood for kissing. Indeed these sudden whims of quarrelling
and caressing, unaccountable hate melting into unaccountable
tenderness, baffled me. It was perplexing; it savoured of madness. It
seemed to me that the Captain's blood ran very freely in Jenny's veins.
I was bewildered by her moods and transformations, and began to wish
for the fresher atmosphere of my father's companionship.
I merely said, "Very well," and turned on my side.
She left me, and I thought I heard a faint whimper. What now, I
wondered. But the handle turned and the latch clicked; she had gone.
I was away early, snatching a bite of breakfast in the larder, and
stocking my pockets with morsels for the road, for I didn't know where
or how I was to get my next meal. As I left the gate I should have
turned south straight away, but I knew if I turned north for a hundred
yards I should have another sight of Jenny's window. I didn't stop to
ask myself why I should want another sight of Jenny's window. Perhaps I
rather reproached myself for my coldness to her the night before when
she so evidently wanted to heal the wound she had dealt me. However
that might be, the fact remains recorded against me that I yielded
to the unreasoning prompting of my heart to throw a farewell kiss to
her window before I started again on my travels, with our next meeting
shrouded somewhere in the mists ahead.
I reached the heap of stones where I had hidden from the false-legged
beggarman, and gazed back at the house. I could see Jenny's window,
black among the ivied stone. But as I looked a white figure appeared
there, and I knew it was Jenny. I sprang on to the pile of stones and
waved my hands. She saw me, and waved in return. For a moment a strange