A Man And A Maid
: The DoomsmanIn spite of that brave "to-morrow," it was several days before Constans
found opportunity to revisit Arcadia House. A misstep upon an icy
flag-stone had resulted in a sprained ankle, and for that there was no
remedy but patience.
Yet the time was not wasted. Here was a fascinating problem to be
solved, and, yielding to importunity, Prosper was finally induced to
talk freely of the sacred mysteries of the
persuaded to put the machinery in operation, outside the canonical
hours, in order that Constans might test the theories derived from his
books. One experiment interested them greatly.
Constans took a "live" wire and allowed its free end to hang in close
proximity to a leaden water-pipe. Then he placed a piece of oily rag
near by and saw it answer his expectation by bursting into flame. He
looked triumphantly around at Prosper, to whom he had previously
explained the nature of the experiment.
"Would the fire descend wherever the wire led?" demanded the priest.
"Yes," answered Constans, confidently. "Under the same conditions, of
course--a broken circuit and inflammable material close at hand."
The old man frowned. "It is wonderful," he said, grudgingly, "but it
proves nothing. Is your viewless, formless electricity anything more or
anything less than my god? What am I to believe? Is it the spirit of the
lightning-cloud that thrills in this little wire, or have you learned
how to bottle fire and thunder, even as a House-dweller who fills his
goat-skins with apple-wine? Is the Shining One at once so great and so
small that we can be both his servants and his lords?"
Constans would not be drawn into an argument, being as little versed in
theological subtleties as was the old priest in scientific terminology.
But he noticed that Prosper was studying the subject after his own
fashion. Nearly every night now he would start up the machinery and
spend hours in watching the revolutions of the giant dynamo. It was not
unusual for Constans to fall to sleep, lulled by the monotonous humming
of the vibratory motor and awake to find the machinery still in motion.
It was within this week that the Black Swan returned to port. On the
fourth day after the accident to his ankle Constans managed to hobble to
one of his posts of observation, and he discovered immediately that the
galley was lying at her accustomed pier. It was vexatious! to have
Quinton Edge return at this precise time. Annoying! that this fair field
should be closed before he had had a chance to explore it. Well, it was
fortune, and he must accept it; he was all the more eager now to make a
second call at Arcadia House.
It was a dull, thawy afternoon when Constans found himself standing
again before the closed door that bore the name of the inhospitable Mr.
Richard van Duyne. He had brought with him a rope ladder, provided with
grappling-hooks, and the mere scaling of the barrier should not present
any great difficulty. It would be well, however, to reconnoitre a little
further before he attempted it.
Following the wall down to the river, he saw that it was continued to
the very edge of the water, where it joined a solidly constructed
sea-wall. There were the remains of a wooden pier running out from the
end of the street proper, and Constans adventured upon its worm-eaten
timbers, intent on obtaining a more extended view of this singular
domain of Arcadia House.
A large and somewhat imposing structure it was, albeit of a curiously
composite order of architecture.
Originally, it must have been a villa of the true Dutch type built of
stuccoed brick, with many-gabled roof and small-paned, deeply embrasured
windows. A subsequent proprietor had enlarged its ground-plan, added an
upper story, and changed the roof to one of flat pitch crowned by a
hideous cupola. Still a third meddler had tried to make it over into a
colonial homestead by painting the stucco white and joining on an
enormous columned porch. The final result could hardly have been
otherwise than an artistic monstrosity, yet the old house had acquired
that certain unanalyzable dignity which time confers, and the gentle
fingers of the years had softened down insistent angles and smoothed out
unlovely curves. It was a house with a soul, for men had lived and died,
rejoiced and suffered within its walls.
A house--and such a house!--set in its own garden amid the incongruous
surroundings of tenement buildings and malodorous gas-works. How to
account for it, what theory could be invented to reconcile facts so
discordant? In reality, the explanation was simple enough; as between
the house and its environment, the former had all the rights of prior
possession. In the early days of the settlement of the city the banks of
the Lesser river had been a favorite place of residence for well-to-do
burghers and merchants. But foot by foot the muddy tide of trade and
utilitarianism had risen about these green water-side Edens; one by one
their quiet-loving owners had been forced farther afield.
Yet now and then the standard of rebellion had been raised; here and
there might be found a Dutchman as stiff-necked as the fate that he
defied. His father and his father's father had lived here upon the
Lesser river, and nothing short of a cataclysm of nature should avail to
budge him. The commissioners might cut up his cabbage-patch into
building sites and reduce his garden to the limits of a city block, but
they could not touch his beloved Arcadia House, with its white-porticoed
piazza that gave upon the swirl and toss of the river--a delectable spot
on a hot June morning. Let them lower their accursed streets to their
thrice-accursed grade; it would but leave him high and dry in his
green-embowered island, secure of contamination to his fruit trees from
unspeakable gas and sewer pipes. A ten-foot brick wall, with its top set
with broken bottles, would defend his quinces and apricots from the
incursion of the street Arabs, and wind and sky were as free as ever.
Yes, he would hold his own against these vandals of commercialism,
while one brick of Arcadia House remained upon another. So, let us
fancy, quoth Mynheer van Duyne away back in anno Domini 1803, and when
he died in 1850 or thereabouts, the estate, having but a moderate value
as city property goes, was allowed to remain in statu quo; the heirs
had ground-rents enough and to spare without it, and Arcadia House might
be considered a proper memorial of the ancient state and dignity of the
Van Duynes. But this is getting to be pure conjecture; let us return to
Constans and the facts as he saw them.
The main house stood close to the river, there being but a strip of lawn
between the piazza and the top of the sea-wall. On the left, as Constans
faced, an enclosed vestibule led to a secondary structure, which
probably contained the domestic offices and servants' quarters. Still
farther on, and under the same continuous albeit slightly lower
roof-line, were the stables and cattle barns, the wood and other
storehouses forming the extreme left wing. In its day, Arcadia House had
been an eminently respectable and comfortable dwelling, and even now it
presented a tolerably good appearance; certainly it might be called
habitable. Constans, straining his eyes, for the afternoon was
advancing, thought he saw smoke ascending from one of the chimneys, and
this incited him to an actual invasion of the premises.
He chose the southwestern corner of the block as being farthest removed
from the range of the house windows. A lucky throw made the grapples
fast, and it took but an instant to run up the rungs. There was no one
in sight, so Constans, shifting the ladder to the inner side, made the
descent quite at his ease, and found himself in a little plantation of
spruce-trees.
The evergreens grew so thickly together that he had some difficulty in
forcing his way through them. Breaking free at last, he stepped out into
the open, and stood vis-a-vis with a girl who had been advancing, as it
were, to meet him. Constans knew instantly that this could be none other
than Mad Scarlett's daughter, and there, indeed, were the proofs--the
red-gold hair and the tawny eyes, just as Elena had described them in
her message and Ulick in his endless lover's rhapsodies.
She stood mute and wide-eyed before him, the color in her cheeks coming
and going like a flickering candle. Constans naturally concluded that
his appearance had frightened her. He retreated a step or two; he tried
to think of something to say that would reassure her. Perhaps he might
use Ulick's name by way of introduction. He ended by blurting out:
"Don't be afraid; I will go whenever you say."
Her lips formed rather than uttered the warning, "Sh!" She listened
intently for a moment or two, but there was only the distant dripping of
water to be heard, the air being extraordinarily still and windless.
"Come!" she panted, and, clutching at her skirts, led the way to a
thatched pavilion some eighty yards distant, a storehouse, perhaps, or a
building once used as a farm office. Constans tried to question, to
protest, but for the moment his will was as flax in the flame of her
resolution; he yielded and ran obediently at her side.
Arrived at the little house, the girl pushed him bodily through the
doorway and entered herself, turning quickly to slip into place the
oaken bar that secured the door from the inside. Constans swelled with
indignation at this singular treatment. He was a man grown, not a truant
child to be led away by the ear for punishment. Yet she would not abate
one jot of her first advantage, and his anger melted under the quiet
serenity of her gaze; in spite of himself he let her have the first
word.
"Did you think I was afraid for myself?" she asked, with a slow smile
that made Constans's cheeks burn. "You see, I remembered that Fangs and
Blazer are generally out by this time, a full hour before dark."
"Fangs and Blazer?"
"The dogs, I mean. They will track a man even over this half-melted
snow, and old Kurt has trained them to short work with trespassers. You
did not know that?"
"No," answered Constans, simply. "But then it would not have made any
difference."
"You mean that you are not afraid?"
He had to be honest. "I'm not sure about that, but still I should have
come."
The girl's eyes swept him approvingly.
"Of course," she said, well pleased, for a woman delights in placing her
own valuation upon the courage of which a man speaks diffidently.
"I am Esmay," she announced, and paused a little doubtfully.
"I know," assented Constans.
"Then you do remember? Even the bracelet with the carbuncles, and how
you would not make up because I was a girl and knew no better?"
"It was a very foolish affair from beginning to end," said Constans,
loftily, intent upon disguising his embarrassment.
"Of course I knew you at once," she went on, meditatively. "You were so
awkward in your ridiculous priest robes that morning in the temple of
the Shining One. How Nanna and I did laugh!"
Constans winced a trifle at this, but he could not think of anything to
say. She laughed again at the remembrance--provokingly. Then she turned
on him suddenly. "Why have you come to Arcadia House?" she asked.
Constans hesitated, tried to avoid the real issue, and of course put
himself in the wrong.
"It was on Ulick's account. I had promised him----"
"Oh!" The look was doubly eloquent of the disappointment inherent in the
exclamation, and Constans thrilled under it. What delicious flattery in
this unexpected frankness! He made a step forward, but Esmay in her turn
drew back, her eyes hardened, and he stopped, abashed.
It had been a sudden remembrance of her childish threat--"a woman ...
and some day you will know what that means"--that had tempted her to the
rashness which she had so quickly regretted. For she had forgotten that
a proposition is generally provided with a corollary. If she had become
a woman he no less had grown to manhood, and that one forward step had
forced her to recognize the fact. She was silent, feeling a little
afraid and wondering at herself. Constans, in more evident discomfiture,
blundered on, obsessed by a vague sense of loyalty to his friend.
"Ulick is away--on the expedition to the southland. He was anxious that
you should be found, and I promised to do my best. He will be glad to
know."
"When is he coming back?" demanded Esmay, with an entire absence of
enthusiasm.
"This month, certainly; indeed, it may be any day now."
"You must promise me that you will not tell him where I am or even that
you have seen me."
"But--but----"
"Remember now that you have promised."
Constans felt himself called upon to speak with some severity to this
unreasonable young person.
"You are giving a great deal of trouble to your friends," he said,
reprovingly.
"My friends!" she echoed, mockingly.
"There was your mother and her message to your uncle Hugolin in Croye."
"Yes, I know," she broke in. "Then it was received--the message----?"
She stopped, unable to go on; an indefinable emotion possessed her.
"My uncle has sent you to fetch me," she whispered. "You are his
messenger."
Constans had to answer her honestly, and was sorry.
"No," he said, bluntly. "Messer Hugolin could not see his way to
anything."
Her pride came to her aid. "Oh, it does not matter," she said, and so
indifferently that Constans was deceived.
"But you cannot stay here," he insisted--"here among the Doomsmen."
"They are my father's people, and you have just told me that my uncle
Hugolin does not want me."
"And what does Quinton Edge desire of you?" he asked.
"I do not know," she answered, returning his gaze fearlessly, whereof
Constans was glad, although he could not have told her why.
"Yet you are a prisoner?"
"It seems so, and my sister Nanna as well. But we have nothing of which
to complain, and doubtless our master will acquaint us with his pleasure
in good time."
"It is always that way," said Constans, bitterly. "His will against mine
at every turn; a rock upon which I beat with naked hands."
"He is a strong man," answered Esmay, thoughtfully, "but I think I know
where his power lies. It is simply that neither his friends nor his
enemies are aware of how they stand with him."
But Constans did not even notice that she was speaking; the remembrance
of his unfulfilled purpose seized and racked him. He had hated this man,
Quinton Edge, from that first moment in which their eyes had
clashed--ever and always. At first instinctively; then with reason
enough and to spare; and yet this small world still held them both. How
long were his hands to be tied? Once and again his enemy had stood
before him and had gone his way insolently triumphant. He might be now
in the house yonder, and Constans looked at it eagerly. A master
passion, primitive and crude, possessed him.
The girl divined the hostile nature of the power which held him, and
instinctively she put forth her own strength against it.
"Listen!" she said, and plucked him by the sleeve. Constans looked at
her.
"I am going to trust you," she went on, quickly. "The time may come when
I can no longer remain in safety at Arcadia House. When it does I will
let you know by displaying a white signal in the western window of the
cupola. Then you will come?"
"I will come," he answered, albeit a little slowly and heavily as one
who seeks to find himself.
Esmay opened the door and looked out. It was almost dark, and after
listening a moment she seemed satisfied.
"You have a ladder? Very well, you need not be afraid of the dogs, for
when you see the signal I will arrange that they are kept in leash. And
now you had better go; they are surely unchained by this time, and any
moment may bring them ranging about. Good-bye, and remember your
promise."
They walked along together until they came to the plantation of
spruce-trees. Constans could see that his ladder was still in place on
the wall; his path of retreat was open. He put out his hand, and her
slim, cool palm rested for a moment in his. She nodded, smiled, and left
him, going directly towards the house.
Moved by an inexplicable impulse, Constans followed for a short
distance, keeping under the shelter of the trees. Then suddenly to him,
straining his eyes through the dusk, there appeared a second figure,
that of a woman, clothed wholly in white, hovering close upon the
retreating steps of the girl.
Constans felt his knees loosen under him, the ancient superstitions
being still strong in his blood for all of his studies and new-found
philosophy.
"It is her sister Nanna," he muttered to himself, and knew that he lied
in saying it. The old wives' tales, at which he had shuddered in
boyhood, came crowding back upon him--grisly legends of vampire shapes
and of the phantoms, invariably feminine in form, who were said to
inhabit ruined places. A panic terror seized him as he watched the
apparition gliding so swiftly and noiselessly upon the unconscious girl.
Yet he continued to run forward, stumbling and slipping on the
treacherous foothold of melting snow.
Esmay had reached a side door of the main building; quite naturally she
entered and closed the door behind her, while the white-robed figure,
after hesitating a moment, walked to a far corner of the house and
disappeared. Out of the indefinite distance came the deep-throated bay
of a hound. Constans turned and fled for his life.
Safely astride the wall coping he looked back. All was quiet in the
garden, and at that instant a light shone out at an upper window of the
house.
"She is safe," he told himself, and that was enough to know.
As he walked slowly westward, the thought of Ulick came again to him.
Had he really promised the girl that he would tell Ulick nothing?
Ridiculous as it may appear, he could not remember.
More
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The Projectile being not quite 30 miles from the Moon's north pole when the startling phenomenon, recorded in our last chapter, took place, a few seconds were quite sufficient to launch it at once from the brightest day into the unknown realms of ... A Nocturnal Evasion
Promptly at the appointed time, Copernicus Droop might have been seen approaching the white cottage. Still nursing a faint hope, he walked with nervous rapidity, mumbling and gesticulating in his excitement. He attracted but little attention. His ... A Note Of Invitation
The next day was the 9th of November. I awoke after a long sleep of twelve hours. Conseil came, according to custom, to know "how I passed the night," and to offer his services. He had left his friend the Canadian sleeping like a man who had neve... A Novel Proposal Of Captain Nemo's
On the 28th of February, when at noon the Nautilus came to the surface of the sea, in 9 deg. 4' N. lat., there was land in sight about eight miles to westward. The first thing I noticed was a range of mountains about two thousand feet high, the sha... A Parley
I TURNED again and went on down towards the sea. I found the hot stream broadened out to a shallow, weedy sand, in which an abundance of crabs and long-bodied, many-legged creatures started from my footfall. I walked to the very edge of the salt ... A Parley At Aldershot
Lord Kitchener had probably never had so bitter an experience as he had when the Auriole began to slow down over the plain of Aldershot. Never could he, or any other British soldier, have dreamt six months ago that the German, Austrian, French and... A Pearl Of Ten Millions
The next morning at four o'clock I was awakened by the steward whom Captain Nemo had placed at my service. I rose hurriedly, dressed, and went into the saloon. Captain Nemo was awaiting me. "M. Aronnax," said he, "are you ready to start?" "... A Pendent World
The Mahars set me free as they had promised, but with strict injunctions never to approach Phutra or any other Mahar city. They also made it perfectly plain that they considered me a dangerous creature, and that having wiped the slate clean in so f... A Place In The Sun
Mayhem, the man of many bodies, had been given some weird assignments in his time, but saving The Glory of the Galaxy wasn't difficult--it was downright impossible! The SOS crackled and hummed through subspace at a speed whic... A Plagiarist Of Dreams
Being unable to sleep, I arose early to get the refreshment of a morning walk. I passed quietly through the next room, where the doctor was still sleeping soundly, out into the courtyard. I was scarcely outside when I heard a familiar, excited bar... A Play To The Death
Clear and sweet a trumpet spoke across The Fields of Jetan. From The High Tower its cool voice floated across the city of Manator and above the babel of human discords rising from the crowded mass that filled the seats of the stadium below. It calle... A Prisoner
We had gone perhaps ten miles when the ground began to rise very rapidly. We were, as I was later to learn, nearing the edge of one of Mars' long-dead seas, in the bottom of which my encounter with the Martians had taken place. In a short time... A Prisoner With Power
As I entered and saluted, Lorquas Ptomel signaled me to advance, and, fixing his great, hideous eyes upon me, addressed me thus: "You have been with us a few days, yet during that time you have by your prowess won a high position among us. Be t... A Prize For Edie
The Committee had, unquestionably, made a mistake. There was no doubt that Edie had achieved the long-sought cancer cure ... but awarding the Nobel Prize was, nonetheless, a mistake ... The letter from America arrived too late... A Prophet Of Evil
Standing at Dom Gillian's side Quinton Edge bent down and whispered a few words in his ear, inaudible even to those who stood nearest. And yet the people knew that woe had fallen upon Doom. Like flame upon flax the voiceless signal leaped from hea... A Question Of Courage
I smelled the trouble the moment I stepped on the lift and took the long ride up the side of the "Lachesis." There was something wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it but five years in the Navy gives a man a feeling for these things. From... A Rainy Morning
The next morning it rained so heavily that Mr. Evringham was obliged to forego his ride. Wet weather was an unmixed ill to him. It not only made riding and golf miserable, but it reminded him that rheumatism was getting a grip on one of his shoulder... A Rapid Recovery
When I returned to the consciousness of existence, I found myself surrounded by a kind of semiobscurity, lying on some thick and soft coverlets. My uncle was watching his eyes fixed intently on my countenance, a grave expression on his face, a tea... A Realized Hope
One afternoon Mr. Evringham did not return from the city at the usual time. Jewel, watching for him, was surprised after a while to see him walking up from the gate. "Why, what's happened?" she asked. "Zeke went for you." "Yes; but he found he ...