Is More Mysterious

: The Mystery Of The Green Ray

I sat and stared at the old man in astonishment. Obviously he was

fully convinced that he was giving me an accurate account of what

had happened, and equally obviously he was perfectly sane.



"That is all," he said presently. "The rock came to me."



"Good heavens!" I exclaimed, suddenly brought to my senses by the

sound of his voice. "What an extraordinary thing!"



"For a moment I
thought I was mad, and sometimes, when I have thought

over it since--and the Lord knows how many times I've done that--I've

come to the conclusion that I must have fallen asleep. But even now

the fear haunts me that my mind may be going."



"You mustn't imagine anything like that, General," I advised

seriously. "Whatever you do, don't encourage any doubts of your own

sanity. There must be some explanation of this, although I can't for

the moment imagine what it can possibly be. It is a remarkable thing,

and I fancy you will find, when we do know the explanation, that

anyone else standing where you were at that time would have seen

exactly the same thing. The rock stands out of the water; it is just

above a deep pool, and probably it was a sort of mirage effect, and

not by any means a figment of your brain."



To my surprise the old man leaned back in his chair and burst out

laughing.



"Of course," he exclaimed. "I never thought of that--a sort of mirage.

Well, I'm begad thankful you suggested that, Ronald. I've no doubt

that it was something of the sort. What a begad old fool I am. Let us

pray that our poor little girl's trouble," he added solemnly, "will

have some equally simple solution."



The General was so relieved that I had given him, at any rate, some

sort of reason to believe that his brain was not yet going, that he

began to declare that he was convinced Myra would be better in a day

or two. So we arranged that I should take her up to London the next

day, and leave her in charge of her aunt, Lady Ruslit, and then, as

soon as we had heard Sir Gaire's verdict, I was to bring her back

again. General McLeod had been anxious at first to come with us, but I

pointed out that he would be of more use to Myra if he stayed behind,

and kept an eye on her interests in the neighbourhood. I promised to

wire him the result of the interview with Olvery as soon as I knew it.

And just about a quarter to ten we went to bed.



"Ronald," said the old man, as we shook hands outside my door,

"there's just one thing I wasn't frank with you about in the matter of

the Chemist's Rock. I am anxious to believe that it's a point of no

particular importance. You know the rock is a sort of sandstone, not

grey like the rest, but nearly white?"



"Yes," I answered, wondering what could be coming next.



"Well," said the old man, "that day when I saw it appearing to come

towards me it was not white, but green."



"No," I said at last, when we had spent another twenty minutes

discussing this new aspect in my room. "It's beyond me. I can't see

how the two events can be connected, and yet they are so unusual that

one would think they must be. I certainly think it is a point to put

in detail before Olvery."



"On the whole, I quite agree with you," said the General. "I am rather

afraid he may take us for a pack of lunatics, and refuse to be

bothered with the case."



"I'm sure he won't do that," I asserted confidently. "And he may have

some medical knowledge that will just shake the puzzle into place, and

explain the whole mystery to us. It seems to me a most remarkable

thing that these two strange affairs should have happened in exactly

the same place. That it is some strange freak of nature I have no

doubt, but I am absolutely at a loss to think what it can be."



It can hardly be wondered at that, as I have said before, sleep and I

were strangers that night, and I was glad enough when the time came

for me to get up.



Myra came down after breakfast, wonderfully brave and bright, but

there was no sign whatever of her sight returning to her. The

leave-taking was a wretched business, and I cannot dwell on it. Sandy

started early to sail to Mallaig with the luggage, and we followed in

the motor-boat, Angus at the engine, old Mary McNiven in the bows,

while I took the tiller, and Myra lay on a pile of cushions at my

feet, her head resting on my knee, her arm round Sholto's neck; for

she had wanted the dog to see her off at the station. The old General

managed to keep up a cheery manner as he said good-bye at the

landing-stage, but he was looking so care-worn and haggard that I was

glad that he had been persuaded not to come up to London with us. He

was certainly not in a fit state for the fatigues of a long journey.

As we passed Glasnabinnie the Baltimore slid out from the side of

the shed that stood on the edge of the miniature harbour which Nature

had thoughtfully bestowed on the place.



"I can hear a motor-boat," said Myra, suddenly sitting up.



"Yes," I replied. "It's Hilderman's."



"Is she ahead of us?" she asked.



I looked round, and saw that the Baltimore was putting out to round

the point.



"No, she's about level," I answered. "She's evidently making for

Mallaig. We are, if anything, a little ahead, but they will soon pass

us, I should think."



"Oh, Ron," cried Myra, with childish excitement, "don't let them beat

us. Angus, put some life into her. We must make the harbour first."



Angus did his best, and I set her course as near in shore as I dared

on that treacherous coast. The Baltimore glided out to sea with the

easy grace of a powerful and beautiful animal, and as we passed the

jagged promontory she was coming up about thirty yards behind us.



"Challenge him, Ron," Myra exclaimed; "you've met him."



I turned, and saw Hilderman and two other men in the boat, one a

friend apparently, and the other the mechanic. I stood up and waved to

him.



"We'll race you to Mallaig," I shouted.



"It's a bet," he agreed readily, at the top of his voice, waving back.



It was a ding-dong business across the mouth of Nevis, and the

Baltimore was leading, if anything, but we had not far to go, and

our opponents had taken a course a good deal farther out to sea than

we were. Coming up by the lighthouse, however, the Baltimore drew in

at a magnificent pace, and swept in to pass inside the lighthouse

rock. Hilderman, who was quite distinct at the short distance, stood

up in the stern of the Baltimore, and looked at us. We were making

good time, but we had no chance of outdistancing his powerful boat.

But, as he looked at us, and was evidently about to shout some

triumphant greeting, I saw him catch sight of Myra, lying at my feet,

her face hidden in the shade over her eyes. Suddenly, without the

slightest warning, he swung the tiller, and, turning out again, took

the long course round the lighthouse, and we slid alongside the

fish-table a good minute ahead of him. Myra was delighted; she had no

suspicion that we had virtually lost the race, and the trifling

excitement gave her a real pleasure. Angus, I could see, was puzzled,

but I signed to him to say nothing. My heart warmed to Hilderman; he

had seen that Myra was not well, and, divining that it would give her

some pleasure to win the race, he had tactfully given way to us. I was

really grateful to him for his kindly thought, and determined to thank

him as soon as I could. We had nearly half an hour to wait for the

mid-day train, and, after seeing Myra and Mary safely ensconced in the

Marine Hotel, I went out with Sholto to get the tickets, telegraph to

Dennis, and express my gratitude to Hilderman. But when I stepped out

of the hotel he was standing in the road waiting for me.



"Good morning, Mr. Ewart," he said, coming forward to offer me his

hand. "Is there anything the matter with Miss McLeod?"



"She's not very well," I replied. "She has something the matter with

her eyes. It was very good of you to let us win our little race. Every

little pleasure that we can give Miss McLeod just at this time is of

great value to us."



"Eyes?" said Hilderman, thoughtfully, with the same dreamy expression

that Dennis had pointed out at King's Cross. "What sort of thing is

it? I know something about eyes."



"I'm afraid I can tell you nothing," I replied. "She has suddenly lost

her sight in the most amazing and terrible manner. We are just taking

her up to London to see a specialist."



"Had she any pain?" he asked, "or any dizziness or fainting, or

anything like that?"



"No," I said; "there is absolutely nothing to go by. It is a most

extraordinary affair, and a very terrible blow to us all."



"It must be," he said gently, "very, very terrible. I have heard so

much about Miss McLeod that I even feel it myself. I am deeply grieved

to hear this, deeply grieved." He spoke very sympathetically, and I

felt that it was very kind of him to take such a friendly interest in

his unknown neighbour.



"I think you'd better join me in a brandy and soda, Mr. Ewart," he

said, laying a hand on my arm. "I don't suppose you know it, but you

look ten years older than you did yesterday."



Yesterday! Good heavens! Had all this happened in a day? I was

certainly feeling far from myself, and I accepted his invitation

readily enough. We turned into the refreshment-room outside the

station, and I had a stiff whisky and soda, realising how far away

from London I was when the man gave me the whisky in one glass and

the soda in another.



"Tell me," said Hilderman, "if it is not very rude of me to ask, or

too painful for you to speak about, what was Miss McLeod doing when

this happened? Reading, or what?" I gave him a rough outline of the

circumstances, but, in view of what the General had told me the night

before, I said nothing about the mystery of the green ray. We wanted

to retain our reputation for sanity as long as we could, and no

outsider who did not know the General personally would believe that

his astonishing experience was anything other than the strange

creation of a nerve-wrought brain.



"And that was all?" he asked thoughtfully.



"Yes, that was all," I replied.



"I suppose you haven't decided what specialist you will take her

to when you get her to London?" he queried. I was about to reply when

I heard Sholto in a heated argument with some other dog, and I bolted

out, with a hurried excuse, to bring him in. As I returned, with my

hand on his collar, the harbour-master greeted me, and told me

we might have some difficulty in reaching London, as the train

service was likely to be disorganised owing to the transport of troops

and munitions. When I rejoined Hilderman I was full of this new

development. It would be both awkward and unpleasant to be turned out

of the train before we reached London; and every moment's delay might

mean injury to my poor Myra.



"I don't think you need worry at all, Mr. Ewart," my new friend

assured me. "The trains will run all right. They may alter the

services where they have too many trains, but here they are not likely

to do so. Thank heaven, I shall not be travelling again for some time.

I hate it, although I have to run about a good deal. I have a few

modest investments that take up a considerable portion of my time. I

figure on one or two boards, you know."



I thanked him for his kindly interest, and left him. I wired to Dennis

not to meet the train, but to be prepared to put me up the following

night. Then I got the tickets, and took Myra to the train. Hilderman

was seeing his friend off; a short, somewhat stout man, with flaxen

hair, and small blue eyes peering through a pair of large spectacles.

He bowed to us as we passed, and I was struck by the kindly sympathy

with which both he and his companion glanced at Myra. Evidently they

both realised what a terrible blow to her the loss of her sight must

be. I will admit that, when it came to the time for the train to

start, my heart nearly failed me altogether. The sight of the

beautiful blind girl saying good-bye to her dog was one which I hope I

may never see again. As the train steamed out into the cutting Sholto

was left whining on the platform, and it was as much as Angus could do

to hold him back. Poor Sholto; he was a faithful beast, and they were

taking his beloved mistress away from him. Myra sat back in the

carriage, and furtively wiped away a tear from her poor sightless

eyes.



"Poor old fellow," she said, with a brave smile. "If they can't do

anything for me in London he will have to lead me about. It'll keep

him out of mischief."



"Don't say that, darling!" I groaned.



"Poor old Ron," she said tenderly. "I believe it's worse for you than

it is for me. And now that Mary has left us for a bit I want to say

something to you, dear, while I can. You mustn't think I don't

understand what this will mean to you, dear. I want you to know,

darling, that I hope always to be your very great friend, but I don't

expect you to marry a blind girl."



I shall certainly not tell the reader what I said in reply to that

generous and noble statement.



"Besides, dear," I concluded eventually, "you will soon be able to see

again." And so I tried to assure her, till presently Mary returned.

And then we made her comfortable, and I read to her in the darkened

carriage until at last my poor darling fell into a gentle sleep.



But twenty-six hours later, when I had seen Myra safely back to her

aunt's house from Harley Street, I staggered up the stairs to Dennis's

rooms in Panton Street a broken man.



Dennis opened the door to me himself.



"Ronald!" he cried, "what has happened?"



"Hello, old man," I said weakly; "I'm very, very tired."



My friend took my arm and led me into his sitting-room, and pressed me

gently on the sofa. Then he brought me a stiff brandy and soda, and

sat beside me in silence for a few minutes.



"Feel better, old boy?" he asked presently.



"Yes, thanks, Den," I answered. "I'm sorry to be such a nuisance."



"Tell me," he said, "when you feel well enough." But I lay, and closed

my eyes, for I was dog-tired, and could not bring myself to speak even

to Dennis of the specialist's terrible verdict. And soon Nature

asserted herself, and I fell into a deep sleep, which was the best

thing I could have done. When I awoke I was lying in bed, in total

darkness, in Dennis's extra room. I sat up, and called out in my

surprise, for I had been many miles away in my slumbers, and my first

hope was that the whole adventure had been a hideous nightmare. But

Dennis, hearing my shout, walked in to see if I wanted anything.



"Now, how do you feel?" he asked, as he sat on the side of the bed.



"Did you carry me in here and put me to bed?" I asked idly.



"You certainly didn't look like walking, and I thought you'd be more

comfortable in here," he laughed.



"Great Scott, man!" I cried, suddenly remembering his heart trouble,

"you shouldn't have done that, Dennis. You promised me you'd take no

risks."



"Heavens! that was nothing," he declared emphatically. "You're as

light as a feather. There was no risk in that."



Indeed, as events were to prove, it was only the first of many, but

being ignorant of that at the time, I contented myself with pointing

out that very few feathers turned the scale at twelve-stone-three.



"Now look here, old son," said Dennis, in an authoritative voice. "You

mustn't imagine I'm dealing with your trouble, whatever it is (for you

are in trouble, Ronald), in a matter-of-fact and unsympathetic way.

But what you've got to do now is to get up, have a tub, slip into a

dressing-gown, and have a quiet little dinner with me here. It's just

gone eight, so you ought to be ready for it."



He disappeared to turn on the bath-water, and then, when he met me in

the passage making for the bathroom, he handed me a glass.



"Drink this, old chap," he said.



"What is it?" I asked suspiciously. "I don't want any fancy

pick-me-ups. They only make you worse afterwards."



"That was prescribed by Doctor Common Sense," he answered lightly.

"It's peach bitters!"



After my tub I was able to tackle my dinner, with the knowledge that I

was badly in need of something to eat, a feeling which surprised me

very much. Throughout the meal Dennis told me of the enlistment of

Jack and poor Tommy Evans, and we discussed their prospects and the

chances of my seeing them before they disappeared into the crowded

ranks of Kitchener's Army. Dennis himself had been ruthlessly refused.

He spoke of trying his luck again until they accepted him, but I knew,

from what he told me of the doctor's remarks, that he had no earthly

chance of being passed. He seemed to have entirely mastered his regret

at his inability to serve his country in the ranks, but I understood

at once that he was merely putting his own troubles in the background

in face of my own. The meal over, we "got behind" two of Dennis's

excellent cigars, and made ourselves comfortable.



"Now then, old man," said my friend, "a complete and precise account

of what has happened to you since you left King's Cross two days ago."



"It has all been so extraordinary and terrible," I said, "that I

hardly know where to begin."



"I saw you last at the station," he said, laying a hand on my knee.

"Begin from there." So I began at the beginning, and told him just

what had happened, exactly as I have told the reader.



Dennis was deeply moved.



"And then you saw Olvery?" he asked. "What did he say?"



I got up, paced the room. What had Olvery said? Should I ever forget

those blistering words to the day of my death?



"Come, old boy," said Dennis kindly. "You must remember that Olvery is

merely a man. He is only one of the many floundering about among the

mysteries of Nature, trying to throw light upon darkness. You mustn't

imagine that his view is necessarily correct, from whichever point he

looked at the case."



"Thank you for that," I said. "I am afraid I forgot that he might

possibly be mistaken. He says he knows nothing of this case at all; he

can make nothing of it; it is quite beyond him. He is certain that no

such similar case has been brought to the knowledge of optical

science. His view is that there is the remotest possibility that this

green veil may lift, but he says he is sure that if there were any

scientific reason for saying that her sight will be restored he would

be able to detect it."



"I prefer your Dr. Whitehouse to this man any day," said Dennis

emphatically. "He took just the opposite view. This man Olvery, like

so many specialists, is evidently a dogmatic egotist."



"I'm very glad you can give us even that hope. But the eyes are such a

delicate instrument. It is difficult to see how the sight can be

recovered when once it has gone. Of course, Olvery is going to do

what he can. He has suggested certain treatment, and massage, and so

forth, and he has no objection to her going back home again. Myra, of

course, is tremendously anxious for me to take her back to her father.

She is worrying about him already; and, fortunately, Olvery knows

Whitehouse, and has the highest opinion of him."



"Go back as soon as you can, old chap," Dennis advised. "Wire me if

there is anything I can do for you at this end. I'll make some

inquiries, and see if I can find out anything about any similar cases,

and so on. But you take the girl back home if she wants to go."



While we were still talking, Dennis's man, Cooper, entered.



"Telegram for Mr. Ewart, sir," he said.



I took the yellow envelope and opened it carelessly.



"What is it?" cried Dennis, springing to his feet as he saw my face.



"Read it," I said faintly, as I handed it to him. Dennis read the

message aloud:



"Come back at once. I can't stand this. Sholto is blind.--McLEOD."



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