"Sherry, sir?"
"No, thank you."
The decanter stopper went back into the bottle with a loud click, the
decanter was thumped down, and the butler walked back past Kenneth's
chair.
"Hallo, Granty! waxey?" said Kenneth; but the butler did not condescend
to answer.
"Much sport, father?"
"Eh? Yes, my boy. Two good stags."
"I say, father, I wish I had been there."
"Eh? Yes, I wish you had, Ken. But you had your guest to welcome. I
hope you had a pleasant run up from Glasgow."
"Pretty good," faltered Max, who became scarlet as he saw Kenneth's
laughing look.
"That's right," said the host. "You must show Mr Blande all you can,
Ken," he continued, softening a little over the salmon. "Sorry we have
no lobster sauce, Mr Blande. This is not a lobster shore. Make
Kenneth take you about well."
"I did show him the Grey Mare's Tail, father," said Kenneth, with a
merry look across the table.
"Ah yes! a very beautiful fall."
The dinner went on, but, though he was faint, Max did not make a hearty
meal, for, in addition to everything seeming so strange, and the manners
of his host certainly constrained, from time to time it seemed to the
visitor that all of a sudden the table, with its white cloth, glittering
glass and plate, began to rise up, taking him with it, and repeating the
movements of the steamer where they caught the Atlantic swell. Then it
subsided, and, as a peculiar giddy feeling passed off, the table seemed
to move again; this time with a quick jerk, similar to that given by
Kenneth's boat.
Max set his teeth; a cold perspiration broke out upon his forehead, and
he held his knife and fork as if they were the handles to which he must
cling to save himself from falling.
He was suspended between two horrors, two ideas troubling him. Would
his host see his state, and should he be obliged to leave the table?
And all the while the conversation went on between father and son, and
he had to reply to questions put to him. Then, as the table rose and
heaved, and the room began to swing gently round, a fierce-looking eye
seemed to be glancing at him out of a mist, and he knew that the butler
was watching him in an angry, scornful manner that made him shrink.
He had some recollection afterwards of the dinner ending, and of their
going into a handsome drawing-room, where The Mackhai left them, as
Kenneth said, to go and smoke in his own room. Then Max remembered
something about a game of chess, and then of starting up and oversetting
the table, with the pieces rattling on the floor.
"What--what--what's the matter?" he exclaimed as he clapped his hand to
his leg, which was tingling with pain.
"What's the matter? why, you were asleep again. Never did see such a
sleepy fellow. Here, let's go to bed."
"I beg your pardon; I'm very sorry, but I was travelling all last
night."
"Oh, I don't mind," said Kenneth, yawning. "Come along."
"We must say good-night to your father."
"Oh no! he won't like to be disturbed. He's in some trouble. I think
it's about money he has been losing, and it makes him cross."
Kenneth led the way up-stairs, chattering away the while, and making all
manner of plans for the morning.
"Here you are," he cried. "You'd like a bath in the morning?"
"Oh yes, I always have one."
"All right. I'll call you."
As soon as he was alone, Max went to the window and opened it, to admit
the odour of the salt weed and the thud and rush of the water as it beat
against the foot of the castle and whispered amongst the crags. The
moon was just setting, and shedding a lurid yellow light across the sea,
which heaved and gleamed, and threw up strange reflections from the
black masses of rock which stood up all round.
A curious shrinking sensation came over him as he gazed out; for down
below the weed-hung rocks seemed to be in motion, and strange monsters
appeared to be sporting in the darkness as the weed swayed here and
there with the water's wash.
He closed the window, after a long look round, and hurriedly undressed,
hoping that after a good night's rest the sensation of unreality would
pass off, and that he would feel more himself, but he had no sooner put
out the candle and plunged into bed than it seemed as if he were once
more at sea. For the bed rose slowly and began to glide gently down an
inclined plane toward one corner of the room, sweeping out through the
wall, and then rising and giving quite a plunge once more.
It all seemed so real that Max started up in bed, and grasped the head,
and stared round.
It was all fancy. The bed was quite still, and the only movement was
that of the waves outside as they beat upon the rocks.
He lay down once more, and, as his head touched the pillow, and he
closed his eyes, the bed heaved up once more, set sail, and he kept
gliding on and on and on.
This lasted for about an hour, and then, as the boat-like bed made one
of its slow, steady glides, down as it were into the depths of the sea,
it went down and down, lower and lower, till all was black and solemn
and still, and it was as if there was a restful end of all trouble, till
the stern struck with a tremendous thud upon a rock, and a hollow voice
exclaimed,--
"Now, old chap! Six o'clock! Ready for your bath?"