The Black Blow
:
The Mystery Of The Green Ray
"Oh, Ronnie, darling," Myra asked, in a pitiful voice that went to my
heart. "What can it mean? I--I--I can't see--anything at all."
"It's the sun, darling; it will be all right in a minute or two.
There, lie in my arms, dear, and close your poor eyes. It will be all
right soon, dearest."
I tried to comfort her, to assure her that it was just the glare on
the water, that she would be able to
see again in a moment, but I felt
the pitiful inadequacy of my empty words, and it seemed that the light
had gone out of my life. I pray that I may never again witness such a
harrowing sight as that of Myra, leaning her beautiful head on my
shoulder, suddenly stricken blind, doing her best to pacify her dog,
who was heart-broken in the instinctive knowledge of a new, swift
grief which he could not understand.
I must ask the reader to spare me from describing in detail the
terrible agony of the next few days, when the hideous tragedy of
Myra's blindness overcame us all in its naked freshness. I cannot
bring myself to speak of it even yet. I would at any time give my life
to save Myra's sight, her most priceless possession. I make this as a
simple statement of fact, and in no spirit of romantic arrogance, and
I think I would rather die than live again the gnawing agony of those
days.
I took Myra in my arms, and carried her back to the house. Poor child;
she realised almost immediately that I was as dumbfounded as she was
herself at the terrible blow which had befallen her, and that I had no
faith in my empty assurances that it would soon be all right again,
and she would be able to see as well as ever in an hour or two, at
most. So she at once began to comfort me! I marvelled at her bravery,
but she made me more miserable than ever. I felt that she might have a
sort of premonition that she would never see again. As we crossed the
stream above the fall I saw again the reflected light from Hilderman's
window, and a pang shot through me as I remembered her words on that
very spot--that she would rather die than be unable to see her beloved
mountains.
I clutched her in my arms, and held her closer to me in dumb despair.
"Am I very heavy, Ron, dear?" she asked presently. "If you give me
your hand, dear, I could walk. I think I could even manage without it;
but, of course, I should prefer to have your hand at any time." She
gave a natural little laugh, which almost deceived me, and again I
marvelled at her pluck. I had known Myra since she was four, and I
might have expected that she would meet her tragic misfortune with a
smile.
"You're as light as a feather, dearest," I protested, "and, as far as
that goes, I'd rather carry you at any time."
"I'm glad you were here when it happened, dear," she whispered.
"Tell me, darling, how did it happen?" I asked. "I mean, what did it
seem like? Did things gradually grow duller and duller, or what?"
"No," she answered; "that was the extraordinary part of it. Quite
suddenly I saw everything green for a second, and then everything went
out in a green flash. It was a wonderful, liquid green, like the sea
over a sand-bank. It was just a long flash, very quick and sharp, and
then I found I could see nothing at all. Everything is black now, the
black of an intense green. I thought I'd been struck by lightning.
Wasn't it silly of me?"
"My poor, brave little woman," I murmured. "Tell me, where were you
then?"
"Just where you found me, on the Chemist's Rock. I call it the
Chemist's Rock because it's shaped like a cough-lozenge. I was casting
from there; it makes a beautiful fishing-table. I looked up, and
then--well, then it happened."
"We're just coming to the house," said Myra suddenly. "We're just
going to turn on to the stable-path."
"Darling!" I cried, nearly dropping her in my excitement; "you can see
already?"
"Oh, Ronnie, I'm so sorry," she said penitently. "I only knew by
the smell of the peat stacks." I could not restrain a groan of
disappointment, and Myra stroked my face, and murmured again, "I'm
sorry, dearest."
"Will you please put me down now?" she asked. "If daddy saw you
carrying me to the house he'd have a fit, and the servants would go
into hysterics." So I put her tenderly on her feet, and she took my
arm, and we walked slowly to the house. She could see nothing, not
even in the hazy confusion of the nearly blind; yet she walked to the
house with as firm a step and as natural an air as if she had nothing
whatever the matter with her.
"You had better leave dad to me, Ron," she suggested. "We understand
each other, and I can explain to him. You would find it difficult, and
it would be painful for you both. Just tell him that I'm not feeling
very well, and he'll come straight to me. Don't tell him I want to see
him. Give me your arm to my den, dear."
I led her to her "den," a little room opening on to the verandah.
There was a writing-table in the window covered with correspondence
in neat little piles, for Myra was on all the charity committees in
the county, and the rest of the room was given up to a profusion of
fishing tackle, shooting gear, and books. Sholto followed us, every
now and then rubbing his great head against her skirt. I left her
there, and turned into the hall, where I met the General. He had
heard us return.
"You're back early, my boy," he remarked.
"Yes," I said, taking out my cigarette-case to give myself an air of
assurance which was utterly unknown to me. "Myra is not feeling very
well. She's resting for a bit."
"Not well?" he exclaimed, in surprise. "Very unusual, very unusual
indeed." And he turned straight into Myra's room without waiting for
an answer to his quiet tap on the door. With a heavy heart I went
upstairs to the old schoolroom, now given over to Mary McNiven, Myra's
old nurse.
"Master Ronald! I am glad," she cried, when I accepted her
invitation to "come in." Mary had boxed my ears many times in my
boyhood, and the fact that we were old friends made it difficult for
me to tell her my terrible news. I broke it as gently as I could, and
warned her not to alarm the servants, and very soon she wiped away her
tears and went downstairs to see what she could do. I went out into
the fresh air for a moment to pull myself together, marvelling at the
unreasoning cruelty of fate. I turned into the hall, and met the
General coming out of Myra's room. He was talking to Mary and one of
the housemaids.
"These things often occur," he was explaining in a very matter-of-fact
voice. "They are unusual, though not unheard-of, and very distressing
at the time. But I am confident that Miss Myra will be quite herself
again in a day or two. Meanwhile, she had better go to bed and rest,
and take care of herself while Angus fetches Doctor Whitehouse. No
doubt he will give her some lotion to wash her eyes with, and it will
be only a day or two before we see Miss Myra about again as usual. You
must see that she has no light near her, and that she rests her eyes
in every possible way. There is nothing whatever for you girls to get
anxious or frightened about. I have seen this sort of thing before,
though usually in the East."
The old man dismissed the maids, and went into the drawing-room, while
I spent a few moments with Myra. I was delighted to see the General
taking it so well, as I had even been afraid of his total collapse, so
I took what comfort I could from his ready assurance that he was quite
accustomed to that sort of thing. But when, some twenty minutes later,
I went to look for him in the drawing-room, and found him prostrate on
the sofa, his head buried in his arms, I realised whence Myra had
derived her pluck. He looked up as he heard the door open, and tears
were streaming down his rugged old face.
"Never mind me, Ronald," he said brokenly. "Never mind me. I shall be
all right in a minute. I--I didn't expect this, but I shall be all
right in a minute." I closed the door softly and left him alone.
I found Angus had harnessed the pony, and was just about to start for
Glenelg to fetch Doctor Whitehouse. So I told him to tell the General
that I should be better able to explain to the doctor what had
happened, and, glad of the diversion, I drove in for him myself. But
when he arrived he made a long and searching examination, patted
Myra's head, and told her the nerve had been strained by the glare on
the water, and rest was all that was needed; and, as soon as he got
outside her door, he sighed and shook his head. In the library he made
no bones about it, and her father and I were both grateful to him.
"It's not a bit of use my saying I know when I don't," the doctor
declared emphatically. "I'm puzzled--indeed, I'm absolutely beaten.
This is a thing I've not only never come across before, but I've never
even read about it. This green flash, the suddenness of it, the
absence of pain--she says she feels perfectly well. She could see
wonderfully well up to the second it happened; no warning headaches,
and nothing whatever to account for it. I have known a sudden shock to
the system produce instantaneous blindness, such as a man in a very
heated state diving into ice-cold water. But in this case there is
nothing to go by. I can only do her harm by pretending to know what I
don't know, and you know as much as I do. She must see a specialist,
and the sooner the better. I would recommend Sir Gaire Olvery; that
would mean taking her up to London. Mr. Herbert Garnesk is the second
greatest oculist in the country; but undoubtedly Sir Gaire is first.
Meanwhile I will give her a little nerve tonic; it will do her no
harm, and will give her reason to think that we know how to treat her,
so that it may do her good. She must wear the shade I brought her, and
take care her eyes are never exposed to the light."
"The fact that you yourself can make nothing of it is for us or
against us?" asked the General, in an anxious voice.
He was looking haggard and tired out.
"In what way?" queried the doctor.
"I mean that if she had--er--totally lost her--the use of her
eyes--for all time, could you be certain of that or not? Or can
you give us any reason to hope that the very fact of your not
understanding the nature of the case points to her getting over it?"
"Ah," said the doctor, "I'm not going to be so unfair to you as to say
that. I will say emphatically that she has not absolutely hopelessly
lost her sight. The nerves are not dead. This green veil may be
lifted, possibly, as suddenly as it fell; but I am talking to men, and
I want you to understand that I can give no idea as to when that may
be. I pray that it may be soon--very soon."
"I'm glad you're so straightforward about it, Whitehouse," said the
old man, as he sank into a chair. "I don't need to be buoyed up by any
false hopes. You can understand that it is a very terrible blow to Mr.
Ewart and myself."
"I can indeed," said the doctor solemnly. "I brought her into the
world, you know. It is a tragic shock to me. I'll get back now, if
you'll excuse me. I have a very serious case in the village, but I'll
be over first thing in the morning, and I'll bring you a small bottle
of something with me. You'll need it with this anxiety."
"Nonsense, Whitehouse," declared the General stoutly. "I'm perfectly
all right. There's nothing at all the matter with me. I don't need any
of your begad slush."
"Now, my dear friend," said the medical man cunningly, "it's my
business to look ahead. In the next few days you'll be too anxious to
eat, so I'm going to bring you something that will simply stimulate
your appetite and make you want to eat. It's not good for any man to
go without his meals, especially when that man's getting on for
sixty."
"Thank ye, my dear fellow," said the old man, more graciously.
"I'm sorry to be such a boor, but I thought you meant some begad
tonic." The General was getting on for seventy; to be exact, he was
sixty-nine--he married at forty-six--and when the medicine came he
took it, "because, after all, it was begad decent of Whitehouse to
have thought of it."
I spent a miserable night. I went to bed early, and lay awake till
daybreak. The hideous nightmare of the green ray kept me awake for
many nights to come. The General agreed with me that we must waste no
time, and it was arranged that we should take Myra up to London the
next day.
"You know, Ronald," said the old man to me as we sat together after
the mockery that would otherwise have been an excellent dinner, "I
was particularly glad to see you to-day. I've been very worried
about--well, about myself lately. I had an extraordinary experience
the other day which I should never dare to relate to anyone whom I
could not absolutely rely on to believe me. I've been fidgeting for
the last month or two, and that window that you say you saw to-day has
got very much on my nerves. I've been imagining that it's a heliograph
from an enemy encampment. Simply nerves, of course; but nerves ought
not to account for extraordinary optical delusions or hallucinations."
"Hallucinations?" I asked anxiously. "What sort of hallucinations?"
"I hardly like to tell you, my boy," he answered, nervously twirling
his liqueur glass in his fingers. "You see, you're young, and
I'm--well, to tell you the truth, I'm getting old, and when you get
old you get nerves, and they can be terrible things, nerves." I looked
up at the haggard face, drawn into deep furrows with the new trouble
that had fallen on the old man, and I was shocked and startled to see
a look of absolute fear in his eyes. I leaned forward, and laid my
hand on his wrist.
"Tell me," I suggested, as gently as I could. He brightened at once,
and patted my arm affectionately.
"I couldn't tell the little woman," he muttered. "She--she'd have been
frightened, and she might have thought I was going mad. I couldn't
bear that. I hadn't the courage to tell Whitehouse either; but you're
a good chap, Ronald, and you're very fond of my girlie, and your
father and I were pals, as you boys would say. I daresay it was only
a sort of waking dream, or----" He broke off and stared at the
table-cloth. I took the glass from his hand, and filled it with
liqueur brandy, and put it beside him. He sipped it thoughtfully.
Suddenly he turned to me, and brought his hand down on the table with
a bang.
"I swear I'm not mad, Ronald!" he cried fiercely. "There must be some
explanation of it. I know I'm sane."
"What was it exactly?" I asked quietly. "Nothing on God's earth will
persuade me that you are mad, sir."
"Thank you, my boy. I'll tell you what happened to me. You won't be
able to explain it, but you shall hear just what it was. You may think
it's silly of me to get nervous of what sounds like an absurdity, but
you see it happened where--where to-day's tragedy happened."
"What Myra calls the Chemist's Rock?" I asked, by this time intensely
interested.
"At the Chemist's Rock," he replied. "It was a lovely afternoon, just
such an afternoon as to-day. I had been going to fish with girlie, but
I was a little tired, and--er--I had some letters to write, so I said
I would meet her later in the afternoon. It was agreed we should meet
at the Chemist's Rock at half-past four. I left the house about a
quarter-past, and strolled down the river to the Fank Pool, crossed
the stream in the boat that lies there, and walked up the opposite
bank past Dead Man's Pool towards the Chemist's Rock. I mention all
this to show you that I was feeling well enough to enjoy a stroll, and
a very rocky stroll at that, because, if I hadn't been feeling
perfectly fit, I should have gone up the back way past the stable, the
way you came back this afternoon. So you see, I was undoubtedly quite
well, my boy. However, to get on with the tale. As soon as I came in
sight of our meeting-place I looked up to see if girlie had got there
before me. She was not there. I looked further up stream, and saw
Sholto come tearing down over the rocks. I knew that he had seen me,
and that she was following him. I naturally strolled on to go to the
rock--I say I went----" He broke off, and passed his hands across his
eyes.
"Yes," I said softly; "you went to the rock, and Myra met you----"
"No," he said; "I didn't. I didn't go to the rock."
"But I don't understand," I said, as he remained silent for some
moments. The old man leaned forward, and laid a trembling,
fever-scorched hand on mine.
"Ronald," he said, in a voice that shook with genuine horror, and sent
a cold shiver down my spine, "I did not go to the rock. The rock came
to me."