As she sat there, with the rising sun at her back, and the g_The Man from Archangel, and Other Tales of Adventure

Produced by Chris Curnow, Joseph Cooper, Mary Meehan and

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THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL

_and Other Tales of Adventure_

A. CONAN DOYLE

NEW YORK

GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY

1914, 1918, 1919,

BY A. CONAN DOYLE

BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

BY ASSOCIATED SUNDAY MAGAZINES, INC.

BY THE MCCLURE COMPANY

BY THE S. S. MCCLURE COMPANY

D. APPLETON & COMPANY

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

CONTENTS

TALES OF ADVENTURE

I DEBUT OF BIMBASHI JOYCE

II THE SURGEON OF GASTER FELL

III BORROWED SCENES

IV THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL

V THE GREAT BROWN-PERICORD MOTOR

VI THE SEALED ROOM

TALES OF MEDICAL LIFE

VII A PHYSIOLOGIST'S WIFE

VIII BEHIND THE TIMES

IX HIS FIRST OPERATION

X THE THIRD GENERATION

XI THE CURSE OF EVE

XII A MEDICAL DOCUMENT

XIII THE SURGEON TALKS

XIV THE DOCTORS OF HOYLAND

XV CRABBE'S PRACTICE

TALES OF ADVENTURE

THE DEBUT OF BIMBASHI JOYCE

It was in the days when the tide of Mahdism, which had swept in such a

flood from the great Lakes and Darfur to the confines of Egypt, had at

last come to its full, and even begun, as some hoped, to show signs of a

turn. At its outset it had been terrible. It had engulfed Hicks's army,

swept over Gordon and Khartoum, rolled behind the British forces as they

retired down the river, and finally cast up a spray of raiding parties

as far north as Assouan. Then it found other channels to east and to

west, to Central Africa and to Abyssinia, and retired a little on the

side of Egypt. For ten years there ensued a lull, during which the

frontier garrisons looked out upon those distant blue hills of Dongola.

Behind the violet mists which draped them, lay a land of blood and

horror. From time to time some adventurer went south towards those

haze-girt mountains, tempted by stories of gum and ivory, but none ever

returned. Once a mutilated Egyptian and once a Greek woman, mad with

thirst and fear, made their way to the lines. They were the only exports

of that country of darkness. Sometimes the sunset would turn those

distant mists into a bank of crimson, and the dark mountains would rise

from that sinister reek like islands in a sea of blood. It seemed a grim

symbol in the southern heaven when seen from the fort-capped hills by

Wady Halfa.

Ten years of lust in Khartoum, ten years of silent work in Cairo, and

then all was ready, and it was time for civilisation to take a trip

south once more, travelling, as her wont is, in an armoured train.

Everything was ready, down to the last pack-saddle of the last camel,

and yet no one suspected it, for an unconstitutional Government has its

advantages. A great administrator had argued, and managed, and cajoled;

a great soldier had organised and planned, and made piastres do the work

of pounds. And then one night these two master spirits met and clasped

hands, and the soldier vanished away upon some business of his own. And

just at that very time Bimbashi Hilary Joyce, seconded from the Royal

Mallow Fusiliers, and temporarily attached to the Ninth Soudanese, made

his first appearance in Cairo.

Napoleon had said, and Hilary Joyce had noted, that great reputations

are only to be made in the East. Here he was in the East with four tin

cases of baggage, a Wilkinson sword, a Bond's slug-throwing pistol, and

a copy of _Green's Introduction to the Study of Arabic_. With such a

start, and the blood of youth running hot in his veins, everything

seemed easy. He was a little frightened of the General, he had heard

stories of his sternness to young officers, but with tact and suavity he

hoped for the best. So, leaving his effects at Shepheard's Hotel, he

reported himself at headquarters.

It was not the General, but the head of the Intelligence Department who

received him, the Chief being still absent upon that business which had

called him. Hilary Joyce found himself in the presence of a short,

thick-set officer, with a gentle voice and a placid expression which

covered a remarkably acute and energetic spirit. With that quiet smile

and guileless manner he had undercut and outwitted the most cunning of

Orientals. He stood, a cigarette between his fingers, looking at the

new-comer.

"I heard that you had come. Sorry the Chief isn't here to see you. Gone

up to the frontier, you know."

"My regiment is at Wady Halfa. I suppose, sir, that I should report

myself there at once?"

"No; I was to give you your orders." He led the way to a map upon the

wall, and pointed with the end of his cigarette. "You see this place.

It's the Oasis of Kurkur--a little quiet, I am afraid, but excellent

air. You are to get out there as quick as possible. You'll find a

company of the Ninth, and half a squadron of cavalry. You will be in

command."

Hilary Joyce looked at the name, printed at the intersection of two

black lines, without another dot upon the map for several inches round

it.

"A village, sir?"

"No, a well. Not very good water, I'm afraid, but you soon get

accustomed to natron. It's an important post, as being at the junction

of two caravan routes. All routes are closed now, of course, but still

you never know who _might_ come along them."

"We are there, I presume, to prevent raiding?"

"Well, between you and me, there's really nothing to raid. You are there

to intercept messengers. They must call at the wells. Of course you have

only just come out, but you probably understand already enough about the

conditions of this country to know that there is a great deal of

disaffection about, and that the Khalifa is likely to try and keep in

touch with his adherents. Then, again, Senoussi lives up that way"--he

waved his cigarette to the westward--"the Khalifa might send a message

to him along that route. Anyhow, your duty is to arrest every one coming

along, and get some account of him before you let him go. You don't talk

Arabic, I suppose?"

"I am learning, sir."

"Well, well, you'll have time enough for study there. And you'll have a

native officer, Ali something or other, who speaks English, and can

interpret for you. Well, good-bye--I'll tell the Chief that you reported

yourself. Get on to your post now as quickly as you can."

Railway to Baliani, the post-boat to Assouan, and then two days on a

camel in the Libyan Desert, with an Ababdeh guide, and three

baggage-camels to tie one down to their own exasperating pace. However,

even two and a half miles an hour mount up in time, and at last, on the

third evening, from the blackened slag-heap of a hill which is called

the Jebel Kurkur, Hilary Joyce looked down upon a distant clump of

palms, and thought that this cool patch of green in the midst of the

merciless blacks and yellows was the fairest colour effect that he had

ever seen. An hour later he had ridden into the little camp, the guard

had turned out to salute him, his native subordinate had greeted him in

excellent English, and he had fairly entered into his own.

It was not an exhilarating place for a lengthy residence. There was one

large bowl-shaped, grassy depression sloping down to the three pits of

brown and brackish water. There was the grove of palm trees also,

beautiful to look upon, but exasperating in view of the fact that Nature

has provided her least shady trees on the very spot where shade is

needed most. A single widespread acacia did something to restore the

balance. Here Hilary Joyce slumbered in the heat, and in the cool he

inspected his square-shouldered, spindle-shanked Soudanese, with their

cheery black faces and their funny little pork-pie forage caps. Joyce

was a martinet at drill, and the blacks loved being drilled, so the

Bimbashi was soon popular among them. But one day was exactly like

another. The weather, the view, the employment, the food--everything was

the same. At the end of three weeks he felt that he had been there for

interminable years. And then at last there came something to break the

monotony.

One evening, as the sun was sinking, Hilary Joyce rode slowly down the

old caravan road. It had a fascination for him, this narrow track,

winding among the boulders and curving up the nullahs, for he remembered

how in the map it had gone on and on, stretching away into the unknown

heart of Africa. The countless pads of innumerable camels through many

centuries had beaten it smooth, so that now, unused and deserted, it

still wound away, the strangest of roads, a foot broad, and perhaps two

thousand miles in length. Joyce wondered as he rode how long it was

since any traveller had journeyed up it from the south, and then he

raised his eyes, and there was a man coming along the path.

For an instant Joyce thought that it might be one of his own men, but a

second glance assured him that this could not be so. The stranger was

dressed in the flowing robes of an Arab, and not in the close-fitting

khaki of a soldier. He was very tall, and a high turban made him seem

gigantic. He strode swiftly along, with head erect, and the bearing of a

man who knows no fear.

Who could he be, this formidable giant coming out of the unknown? The

percursor possibly of a horde of savage spearmen. And where could he

have walked from? The nearest well was a long hundred miles down the

track. At any rate the frontier post of Kurkur could not afford to

receive casual visitors. Hilary Joyce whisked round his horse, galloped

into camp, and gave the alarm. Then, with twenty horsemen at his back,

he rode out again to reconnoitre.

The man was still coming on in spite of these hostile preparations. For

an instant he had hesitated when first he saw the cavalry, but escape

was out of the question, and he advanced with the air of one who makes

the best of a bad job. He made no resistance, and said nothing when the

hands of two troopers clutched at his shoulders, but walked quietly

between their horses into camp. Shortly afterwards the patrols came in

again. There were no signs of any Dervishes. The man was alone. A

splendid trotting camel had been found lying dead a little way down the

track. The mystery of the stranger's arrival was explained. But why, and

whence, and whither?--these were questions for which a zealous officer

must find an answer.

Hilary Joyce was disappointed that there were no Dervishes. It would

have been a great start for him in the Egyptian army had he fought a

little action on his own account. But even as it was, he had a rare

chance of impressing the authorities. He would love to show his capacity

to the head of the Intelligence, and even more to that grim Chief who

never forgot what was smart, or forgave what was slack. The prisoner's

dress and bearing showed that he was of importance. Mean men do not ride

pure-bred trotting camels. Joyce sponged his head with cold water, drank

a cup of strong coffee, put on an imposing official tarboosh instead of

his sun-helmet, and formed himself into a court of inquiry and judgment

under the acacia tree.

He would have liked his people to have seen him now, with his two black

orderlies in waiting, and his Egyptian native officer at his side. He

sat behind a camp-table, and the prisoner, strongly guarded, was led up

to him. The man was a handsome fellow, with bold grey eyes and a long

black beard.

"Why!" cried Joyce, "the rascal is making faces at me."

A curious contraction had passed over the man's features, but so swiftly

that it might have been a nervous twitch. He was now a model of Oriental

gravity.

"Ask him who he is, and what he wants?"

The native officer did so, but the stranger made no reply, save that the

same sharp spasm passed once more over his face.

"Well, I'm blessed!" cried Hilary Joyce. "Of all the impudent

scoundrels! He keeps on winking at me. Who are you, you rascal? Give an

account of yourself! D'ye hear?"

But the tall Arab was as impervious to English as to Arabic. The

Egyptian tried again and again. The prisoner looked at Joyce with his

inscrutable eyes, and occasionally twitched his face at him, but never

opened his mouth. The Bimbashi scratched his head in bewilderment.

"Look here, Mahomet Ali, we've got to get some sense out of this fellow.

You say there are no papers on him?"

"No, sir; we found no papers."

"No clue of any kind?"

"He has come far, sir. A trotting camel does not die easily. He has come

from Dongola, at least."

"Well, we must get him to talk."

"It is possible that he is deaf and dumb."

"Not he. I never saw a man look more all there in my life."

"You might send him across to Assouan."

"And give some one else the credit! No, thank you. This is my bird. But

how are we going to get him to find his tongue?"

The Egyptian's dark eyes skirted the encampment and rested on the cook's

fire.

"Perhaps," said he, "if the Bimbashi thought fit----" He looked at the

prisoner and then at the burning wood.

"No, no, it wouldn't do. No, by Jove, that's going too far."

"A very little might do it."

"No, no. It's all very well here, but it would sound just awful if ever

it got as far as Fleet Street. But, I say," he whispered, "we might

frighten him a bit. There's no harm in that."

"No, sir."

"Tell them to undo the man's galabeeah. Order them to put a horseshoe in

the fire and make it red-hot."

The prisoner watched the proceedings with an air which had more of

amusement than of uneasiness. He never winced as the black sergeant

approached with the glowing shoe held upon two bayonets.

"Will you speak now?" asked the Bimbashi savagely.

The prisoner smiled gently and stroked his beard.

"Oh, chuck the infernal thing away!" cried Joyce, jumping up in a

passion. "There's no use trying to bluff the fellow. He knows we won't

do it. But I _can_ and I _will_ flog him, and you tell him from me that

if he hasn't found his tongue by to-morrow morning, I'll take the skin

off his back as sure as my name's Joyce. Have you said all that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, you can sleep upon it, you beauty, and a good night's rest may it

give you!"

He adjourned the Court, and the prisoner, as imperturbable as ever, was

led away by the guard to his supper of rice and water.

Hilary Joyce was a kind-hearted man, and his own sleep was considerably

disturbed by the prospect of the punishment which he must inflict next

day. He had hopes that the mere sight of the koorbash and the thongs

might prevail over his prisoner's obstinacy. And then, again, he thought

how shocking it would be if the man proved to be really dumb after all.

The possibility shook him so that he had almost determined by daybreak

that he would send the stranger on unhurt to Assouan. And yet what a

tame conclusion it would be to the incident! He lay upon his angareeb

still debating it when the question suddenly and effectively settled

itself. Ali Mahomet rushed into his tent.

"Sir," he cried, "the prisoner is gone!"

"Gone!"

"Yes, sir, and your own best riding camel as well. There is a slit cut

in the tent, and he got away unseen in the early morning."

The Bimbashi acted with all energy. Cavalry rode along every track;

scouts examined the soft sand of the wadys for signs of the fugitive,

but no trace was discovered. The man had utterly disappeared. With a

heavy heart Hilary Joyce wrote an official report of the matter and

forwarded it to Assouan. Five days later there came a curt order from

the Chief that he should report himself there. He feared the worst from

the stern soldier, who spared others as little as he spared himself.

And his worst forebodings were realised. Travel-stained and weary, he

reported himself one night at the General's quarters. Behind a table

piled with papers and strewn with maps the famous soldier and his Chief

of Intelligence were deep in plans and figures. Their greeting was a

cold one.

"I understand, Captain Joyce," said the General, "that you have allowed

a very important prisoner to slip through your fingers."

"I am sorry, sir."

"No doubt. But that will not mend matters. Did you ascertain anything

about him before you lost him?"

"No, sir."

"How was that?"

"I could get nothing out of him, sir."

"Did you try?"

"Yes, sir; I did what I could."

"What did you do?"

"Well, sir, I threatened to use physical force."

"What did he say?"

"He said nothing."

"What was he like?"

"A tall man, sir. Rather a desperate character, I should think."

"Any way by which we could identify him?"

"A long black beard, sir. Grey eyes. And a nervous way of twitching his

face."

"Well, Captain Joyce," said the General, in his stern, inflexible voice,

"I cannot congratulate you upon your first exploit in the Egyptian army.

You are aware that every English officer in this force is a picked man.

I have the whole British army from which to draw. It is necessary,

therefore, that I should insist upon the very highest efficiency. It

would be unfair upon the others to pass over any obvious want of zeal or

intelligence. You are seconded from the Royal Mallows, I understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"I have no doubt that your Colonel will be glad to see you fulfilling

your regimental duties again."

Hilary Joyce's heart was too heavy for words. He was silent.

"I will let you know my final decision to-morrow morning."

Joyce saluted and turned upon his heel.

"You can sleep upon that, you beauty, and a good night's rest may it

give you!"

Joyce turned in bewilderment. Where had those words been used before?

Who was it who had used them?

The General was standing erect. Both he and the Chief of the

Intelligence were laughing. Joyce stared at the tall figure, the erect

bearing, the inscrutable grey eyes.

"Good Lord!" he gasped.

"Well, well, Captain Joyce, we are quits!" said the General, holding out

his hand. "You gave me a bad ten minutes with that infernal red-hot

horseshoe of yours. I've done as much for you. I don't think we can

spare you for the Royal Mallows just yet awhile."

"But, sir; but----!"

"The fewer questions the better, perhaps. But of course it must seem

rather amazing. I had a little private business with the Kabbabish. It

must be done in person. I did it, and came to your post in my return. I

kept on winking at you as a sign that I wanted a word with you alone."

"Yes, yes. I begin to understand."

"I couldn't give it away before all those blacks, or where should I have

been the next time I used my false beard and Arab dress? You put me in a

very awkward position. But at last I had a word alone with your Egyptian

officer, who managed my escape all right."

"He! Mahomet Ali!"

"I ordered him to say nothing. I had a score to settle with you. But we

dine at eight, Captain Joyce. We live plainly here, but I think I can do

you a little better than you did me at Kurkur."

THE SURGEON OF GASTER FELL

I: HOW THE WOMAN CAME TO KIRKBY-MALHOUSE

Bleak and wind-swept is the little town of Kirkby-Malhouse, harsh and

forbidding are the fells upon which it stands. It stretches in a single

line of grey-stone, slate-roofed houses, dotted down the furze-clad

slope of the rolling moor.

In this lonely and secluded village, I, James Upperton, found myself in

the summer of '85. Little as the hamlet had to offer, it contained that

for which I yearned above all things--seclusion and freedom from all

which might distract my mind from the high and weighty subjects which

engaged it. But the inquisitiveness of my landlady made my lodgings

undesirable and I determined to seek new quarters.

As it chanced, I had in one of my rambles come upon an isolated dwelling

in the very heart of these lonely moors, which I at once determined

should be my own. It was a two-roomed cottage, which had once belonged

to some shepherd, but had long been deserted, and was crumbling rapidly

to ruin. In the winter floods, the Gaster Beck, which runs down Gaster

Fell, where the little dwelling stood, had overswept its banks and torn

away a part of the wall. The roof was in ill case, and the scattered

slates lay thick amongst the grass. Yet the main shell of the house

stood firm and true; and it was no great task for me to have all that

was amiss set right.

The two rooms I laid out in a widely different manner--my own tastes are

of a Spartan turn, and the outer chamber was so planned as to accord

with them. An oil-stove by Rippingille of Birmingham furnished me with

the means of cooking; while two great bags, the one of flour, and the

other of potatoes, made me independent of all supplies from without. In

diet I had long been a Pythagorean, so that the scraggy, long-limbed

sheep which browsed upon the wiry grass by the Gaster Beck had little to

fear from their new companion. A nine-gallon cask of oil served me as a

sideboard; while a square table, a deal chair and a truckle-bed

completed the list of my domestic fittings. At the head of my couch hung

two unpainted shelves--the lower for my dishes and cooking utensils, the

upper for the few portraits which took me back to the little that was

pleasant in the long, wearisome toiling for wealth and for pleasure

which had marked the life I had left behind.

If this dwelling-room of mine were plain even to squalor, its poverty

was more than atoned for by the luxury of the chamber which was destined

to serve me as my study. I had ever held that it was best for my mind to

be surrounded by such objects as would be in harmony with the studies

which occupied it, and that the loftiest and most ethereal conditions of

thought are only possible amid surroundings which please the eye and

gratify the senses. The room which I had set apart for my mystic studies

was set forth in a style as gloomy and majestic as the thoughts and

aspirations with which it was to harmonise. Both walls and ceilings were

covered with a paper of the richest and glossiest black, on which was

traced a lurid and arabesque pattern of dead gold. A black velvet

curtain covered the single diamond-paned window; while a thick, yielding

carpet of the same material prevented the sound of my own footfalls, as

I paced backward and forward, from breaking the current of my thought.

Along the cornices ran gold rods, from which depended six pictures, all

of the sombre and imaginative caste, which chimed best with my fancy.

And yet it was destined that ere ever I reached this quiet harbour I

should learn that I was still one of humankind, and that it is an ill

thing to strive to break the bond which binds us to our fellows. It was

but two nights before the date I had fixed upon for my change of

dwelling, when I was conscious of a bustle in the house beneath, with

the bearing of heavy burdens up the creaking stair, and the harsh voice

of my landlady, loud in welcome and protestations of joy. From time to

time, amid the whirl of words, I could hear a gentle and softly

modulated voice, which struck pleasantly upon my ear after the long

weeks during which I had listened only to the rude dialect of the

dalesmen. For an hour I could hear the dialogue beneath--the high voice

and the low, with clatter of cup and clink of spoon, until at last a

light, quick step passed my study door, and I knew that my new

fellow-lodger had sought her room.

On the morning after this incident I was up be-times, as is my wont; but

I was surprised, on glancing from my window, to see that our new inmate

was earlier still. She was walking down the narrow pathway, which

zigzags over the fell--a tall woman, slender, her head sunk upon her

breast, her arms filled with a bristle of wild flowers, which she had

gathered in her morning rambles. The white and pink of her dress, and

the touch of deep red ribbon in her broad drooping hat, formed a

pleasant dash of colour against the dun-tinted landscape. She was some

distance off when I first set eyes upon her, yet I knew that this

wandering woman could be none other than our arrival of last night, for

there was a grace and refinement in her bearing which marked her from

the dwellers of the fells. Even as I watched she passed swiftly and

lightly down the pathway, and turning through the wicket gate, at the

further end of our cottage garden, she seated herself upon the green

bank which faced my window, and strewing her flowers in front of her,

set herself to arrange them.

As she sat there, with the rising sun at her back, and the glow of the

morning spreading like an aureole around her stately and well-poised

head, I could see that she was a woman of extraordinary personal beauty.

Her face was Spanish rather than English in its type--oval, olive, with

black, sparkling eyes, and a sweetly sensitive mouth. From under the

broad straw hat two thick coils of blue-black hair curved down on either

side of her graceful queenly neck. I was surprised, as I watched her, to

see that her shoes and skirt bore witness to a journey rather than to a

mere morning ramble. Her light dress was stained, wet and bedraggled;

while her boots were thick with the yellow soil of the fells. Her face,

too, wore a weary expression, and her young beauty seemed to be clouded

over by the shadow of inward trouble. Even as I watched her, she burst

suddenly into wild weeping, and throwing down her bundle of flowers ran

swiftly into the house.

Distrait as I was and weary of the ways of the world, I was conscious of

a sudden pang of sympathy and grief as I looked upon the spasm of

despair which seemed to convulse this strange and beautiful woman. I

bent to my books, and yet my thoughts would ever turn to her proud

clear-cut face, her weather-stained dress, her drooping head, and the

sorrow which lay in each line and feature of her pensive face.

Mrs. Adams, my landlady, was wont to carry up my frugal breakfast; yet

it was very rarely that I allowed her to break the current of my

thoughts, or to draw my mind by her idle chatter from weightier things.

This morning, however, for once, she found me in a listening mood, and

with little prompting, proceeded to pour into my ears all that she knew

of our beautiful visitor.

"Miss Eva Cameron be her name, sir," she said: "but who she be, or where

she came fra, I know little more than yoursel'. Maybe it was the same

reason that brought her to Kirkby-Malhouse as fetched you there

yoursel', sir."

"Possibly," said I, ignoring the covert question; "but I should hardly

have thought that Kirkby-Malhouse was a place which offered any great

attractions to a young lady."

"Heh, sir!" she cried, "there's the wonder of it. The leddy has just

come fra France; and how her folk come to learn of me is just a wonder.

A week ago, up comes a man to my door--a fine man, sir, and a gentleman,

as one could see with half an eye. 'You are Mrs. Adams,' says he. 'I

engage your rooms for Miss Cameron,' says he. 'She will be here in a

week,' says he; and then off without a word of terms. Last night there

comes the young leddy hersel'--soft-spoken and downcast, with a touch of

the French in her speech. But my sakes, sir! I must away and mak' her

some tea, for she'll feel lonesome-like, poor lamb, when she wakes under

a strange roof."

II: HOW I WENT FORTH TO GASTER FELL

I was still engaged upon my breakfast when I heard the clatter of dishes

and the landlady's footfall as she passed toward her new lodger's room.

An instant afterward she had rushed down the passage and burst in upon

me with uplifted hand and startled eyes. "Lord 'a mercy, sir!" she

cried, "and asking your pardon for troubling you, but I'm feared o' the

young leddy, sir; she is not in her room."

"Why, there she is," said I, standing up and glancing through the

casement. "She has gone back for the flowers she left upon the bank."

"Oh, sir, see her boots and her dress!" cried the landlady wildly. "I

wish her mother was here, sir--I do. Where she has been is more than I

ken, but her bed has not been lain on this night."

"She has felt restless, doubtless, and went for a walk, though the hour

was certainly a strange one."

Mrs. Adams pursed her lip and shook her head. But then as she stood at

the casement, the girl beneath looked smilingly up at her and beckoned

to her with a merry gesture to open the window.

"Have you my tea there?" she asked in a rich, clear voice, with a touch

of the mincing French accent.

"It is in your room, miss."

"Look at my boots, Mrs. Adams!" she cried, thrusting them out from under

her skirt. "These fells of yours are dreadful places--_effroyable_--one

inch, two inch; never have I seen such mud! My dress, too--_voila_!"

"Eh, miss, but you are in a pickle," cried the landlady, as she gazed

down at the bedraggled gown. "But you must be main weary and heavy for

sleep."

"No, no," she answered laughingly, "I care not for sleep. What is sleep?

it is a little death--_voila tout_. But for me to walk, to run, to

breathe the air--that is to live. I was not tired, and so all night I

have explored these fells of Yorkshire."

"Lord 'a mercy, miss, and where did you go?" asked Mrs. Adams.

She waved her hand round in a sweeping gesture which included the whole

western horizon. "There," she cried. "O comme elles sont tristes et

sauvages, ces collines! But I have flowers here. You will give me water,

will you not? They will wither else." She gathered her treasures in her

lap, and a moment later we heard her light, springy footfall upon the

stair.

So she had been out all night, this strange woman. What motive could

have taken her from her snug room on to the bleak, wind-swept hills?

Could it be merely the restlessness, the love of adventure of a young

girl? Or was there, possibly, some deeper meaning in this nocturnal

journey?

Deep as were the mysteries which my studies had taught me to solve, here

was a human problem which for the moment at least was beyond my

comprehension. I had walked out on the moor in the forenoon, and on my

return, as I topped the brow that overlooks the little town, I saw my

fellow-lodger some little distance off amongst the gorse. She had raised

a light easel in front of her, and, with papered board laid across it,

was preparing to paint the magnificent landscape of rock and moor which

stretched away in front of her. As I watched her I saw that she was

looking anxiously to right and left. Close by me a pool of water had

formed in a hollow. Dipping the cup of my pocket-flask into it, I

carried it across to her.

"Miss Cameron, I believe," said I. "I am your fellow-lodger. Upperton is

my name. We must introduce ourselves in these wilds if we are not to be

for ever strangers."

"Oh, then, you live also with Mrs. Adams!" she cried. "I had thought

that there were none but peasants in this strange place."

"I am a visitor, like yourself," I answered. "I am a student, and have

come for quiet and repose, which my studies demand."

"Quiet, indeed!" said she, glancing round at the vast circle of silent

moors, with the one tiny line of grey cottages which sloped down beneath

us.

"And yet not quiet enough," I answered, laughing, "for I have been

forced to move further into the fells for the absolute peace which I

require."

"Have you, then, built a house upon the fells?" she asked, arching her

eyebrows.

"I have, and hope within a few days to occupy it."

"Ah, but that is _triste_," she cried. "And where is it, then, this

house which you have built?"

"It is over yonder," I answered. "See that stream which lies like a

silver band upon the distant moor? It is the Gaster Beck, and it runs

through Gaster Fell."

She started, and turned upon me her great dark, questioning eyes with a

look in which surprise, incredulity, and something akin to horror seemed

to be struggling for mastery.

"And you will live on the Gaster Fell?" she cried.

"So I have planned. But what do you know of Gaster Fell, Miss Cameron?"

I asked. "I had thought that you were a stranger in these parts."

"Indeed, I have never been here before," she answered. "But I have heard

my brother talk of these Yorkshire moors; and, if I mistake not, I have

heard him name this very one as the wildest and most savage of them

all."

"Very likely," said I carelessly. "It is indeed a dreary place."

"Then why live there?" she cried eagerly. "Consider the loneliness, the

barrenness, the want of all comfort and of all aid, should aid be

needed."

"Aid! What aid should be needed on Gaster Fell?"

She looked down and shrugged her shoulders. "Sickness may come in all

places," said she. "If I were a man I do not think I would live alone on

Gaster Fell."

"I have braved worse dangers than that," said I, laughing; "but I fear

that your picture will be spoiled, for the clouds are banking up, and

already I feel a few raindrops."

Indeed, it was high time we were on our way to shelter, for even as I

spoke there came the sudden, steady swish of the shower. Laughing

merrily, my companion threw her light shawl over her head, and, seizing

picture and easel, ran with the lithe grace of a young fawn down the

furze-clad slope, while I followed after with camp-stool and paint-box.

* * * * *

It was the eve of my departure from Kirkby-Malhouse that we sat upon the

green bank in the garden, she with dark, dreamy eyes looking sadly out

over the sombre fells; while I, with a book upon my knee, glanced

covertly at her lovely profile and marvelled to myself how twenty years

of life could have stamped so sad and wistful an expression upon it.

"You have read much," I remarked at last. "Women have opportunities now

such as their mothers never knew. Have you ever thought of going

further--of seeking a course of college or even a learned profession?"

She smiled wearily at the thought.

"I have no aim, no ambition," she said. "My future is black--confused--a

chaos. My life is like to one of these paths upon the fells. You have

seen them, Monsieur Upperton. They are smooth and straight and clear

where they begin; but soon they wind to left and wind to right, and so

mid rocks and crags until they lose themselves in some quagmire. At

Brussels my path was straight; but now, _mon Dieu!_ who is there can

tell me where it leads?"

"It might take no prophet to do that, Miss Cameron," quoth I, with the

fatherly manner which two-score years may show toward one. "If I may

read your life, I would venture to say that you were destined to fulfil

the lot of women--to make some good man happy, and to shed around, in

some wider circle, the pleasure which your society has given me since

first I knew you."

"I will never marry," said she, with a sharp decision, which surprised

and somewhat amused me.

"Not marry--and why?"

A strange look passed over her sensitive features, and she plucked

nervously at the grass on the bank beside her.

"I dare not," said she in a voice that quivered with emotion.

"Dare not?"

"It is not for me. I have other things to do. That path of which I spoke

is one which I must tread alone."

"But this is morbid," said I. "Why should your lot, Miss Cameron, be

separated from that of my own sisters, or the thousand other young

ladies whom every season brings out into the world? But perhaps it is

that you have a fear and distrust of mankind. Marriage brings a risk as

well as a happiness."

"The risk would be with the man who married me," she cried. And then in

an instant, as though she had said too much, she sprang to her feet and

drew her mantle round her. "The night air is chill, Mr. Upperton," said

she, and so swept swiftly away, leaving me to muse over the strange

words which had fallen from her lips.

Clearly, it was time that I should go. I set my teeth and vowed that

another day should not have passed before I should have snapped this

newly formed tie and sought the lonely retreat which awaited me upon the

moors. Breakfast was hardly over in the morning before a peasant dragged

up to the door the rude hand-cart which was to convey my few personal

belongings to my new dwelling. My fellow-lodger had kept her room; and,

steeled as my mind was against her influence, I was yet conscious of a

little throb of disappointment that she should allow me to depart

without a word of farewell. My hand-cart with its load of books had

already started, and I, having shaken hands with Mrs. Adams, was about

to follow it, when there was a quick scurry of feet on the stair, and

there she was beside me all panting with her own haste.

"Then you go--you really go?" said she.

"My studies call me."

"And to Gaster Fell?" she asked.

"Yes; to the cottage which I have built there."

"And you will live alone there?"

"With my hundred companions who lie in that cart."

"Ah, books!" she cried, with a pretty shrug of her graceful shoulders.

"But you will make me a promise?"

"What is it?" I asked, in surprise.

"It is a small thing. You will not refuse me?"

"You have but to ask it."

She bent forward her beautiful face with an expression of the most

intense earnestness. "You will bolt your door at night?" said she; and

was gone ere I could say a word in answer to her extraordinary request.

It was a strange thing for me to find myself at last duly installed in

my lonely dwelling. For me, now, the horizon was bounded by the barren

circle of wiry, unprofitable grass, patched over with furze bushes and

scarred by the profusion of Nature's gaunt and granite ribs. A duller,

wearier waste I have never seen; but its dulness was its very charm.

And yet the very first night which I spent at Gaster Fell there came a

strange incident to lead my thoughts back once more to the world which I

had left behind me.

It had been a sullen and sultry evening, with great livid cloud-banks

mustering in the west. As the night wore on, the air within my little

cabin became closer and more oppressive. A weight seemed to rest upon my

brow and my chest. From far away the low rumble of thunder came moaning

over the moor. Unable to sleep, I dressed, and standing at my cottage

door, looked on the black solitude which surrounded me.

Taking the narrow sheep path which ran by this stream, I strolled along

it for some hundred yards, and had turned to retrace my steps, when the

moon was finally buried beneath an ink-black cloud, and the darkness

deepened so suddenly that I could see neither the path at my feet, the

stream upon my right, nor the rocks upon my left. I was standing groping

about in the thick gloom, when there came a crash of thunder with a

flash of lightning which lighted up the whole vast fell, so that every

bush and rock stood out clear and hard in the vivid light. It was but

for an instant, and yet that momentary view struck a thrill of fear and

astonishment through me, for in my very path, not twenty yards before

me, there stood a woman, the livid light beating upon her face and

showing up every detail of her dress and features.

There was no mistaking those dark eyes, that tall, graceful figure. It

was she--Eva Cameron, the woman whom I thought I had for ever left. For

an instant I stood petrified, marvelling whether this could indeed be

she, or whether it was some figment conjured up by my excited brain.

Then I ran swiftly forward in the direction where I had seen her,

calling loudly upon her, but without reply. Again I called, and again no

answer came back, save the melancholy wail of the owl. A second flash

illuminated the landscape, and the moon burst out from behind its cloud.

But I could not, though I climbed upon a knoll which overlooked the

whole moor, see any sign of this strange midnight wanderer. For an hour

or more I traversed the fell, and at last found myself back at my little

cabin, still uncertain as to whether it had been a woman or a shadow

upon which I gazed.

III: OF THE GREY COTTAGE IN THE GLEN

It was either on the fourth or the fifth day after I had taken

possession of my cottage that I was astonished to hear footsteps upon

the grass outside, quickly followed by a crack, as from a stick upon the

door. The explosion of an infernal machine would hardly have surprised

or discomfited me more. I had hoped to have shaken off all intrusion for

ever, yet here was somebody beating at my door with as little ceremony

as if it had been a village ale-house. Hot with anger, I flung down my

book and withdrew the bolt just as my visitor had raised his stick to

renew his rough application for admittance. He was a tall, powerful man,

tawny-bearded and deep-chested, clad in a loose-fitting suit of tweed,

cut for comfort rather than elegance. As he stood in the shimmering

sunlight, I took in every feature of his face. The large, fleshy nose;

the steady blue eyes, with their thick thatch of overhanging brows; the

broad forehead, all knitted and lined with furrows, which were strangely

at variance with his youthful bearing. In spite of his weather-stained

felt hat, and the coloured handkerchief slung round his muscular brown

neck, I could see at a glance he was a man of breeding and education. I

had been prepared for some wandering shepherd or uncouth tramp, but this

apparition fairly disconcerted me.

"You look astonished," said he, with a smile. "Did you think, then, that

you were the only man in the world with a taste for solitude? You see

that there are other hermits in the wilderness besides yourself."

"Do you mean to say that you live here?" I asked in no conciliatory

voice.

"Up yonder," he answered, tossing his head backward. "I thought as we

were neighbours, Mr. Upperton, that I could not do less than look in and

see if I could assist you in any way."

"Thank you," I said coldly, standing with my hand upon the latch of the

door. "I am a man of simple tastes, and you can do nothing for me. You

have the advantage of me in knowing my name."

He appeared to be chilled by my ungracious manner.

"I learned it from the masons who were at work here," he said. "As for

me, I am a surgeon, the surgeon of Gaster Fell. That is the name I have

gone by in these parts, and it serves as well as another."

"Not much room for practice here?" I observed.

"Not a soul except yourself for miles on either side."

"You appear to have had need of some assistance yourself," I remarked,

glancing at a broad white splash, as from the recent action of some

powerful acid, upon his sunburnt cheek.

"That is nothing," he answered, curtly, turning his face half round to

hide the mark. "I must get back, for I have a companion who is waiting

for me. If I can ever do anything for you, pray let me know. You have

only to follow the beck upward for a mile or so to find my place. Have

you a bolt on the inside of your door?"

"Yes," I answered, rather startled at this question.

"Keep it bolted, then," he said. "The fell is a strange place. You never

know who may be about. It is as well to be on the safe side. Good-bye."

He raised his hat, turned on his heel and lounged away along the bank of

the little stream.

I was still standing with my hand upon the latch, gazing after my

unexpected visitor, when I became aware of yet another dweller in the

wilderness. Some distance along the path which the stranger was taking

there lay a great grey boulder, and leaning against this was a small,

wizened man, who stood erect as the other approached, and advanced to

meet him. The two talked for a minute or more, the taller man nodding

his head frequently in my direction, as though describing what had

passed between us. Then they walked on together, and disappeared in a

dip of the fell. Presently I saw them ascending once more some rising

ground farther on. My acquaintance had thrown his arm round his elderly

friend, either from affection or from a desire to aid him up the steep

incline. The square burly figure and its shrivelled, meagre companion

stood out against the sky-line, and turning their faces, they looked

back at me. At the sight, I slammed the door, lest they should be

encouraged to return. But when I peeped from the window some minutes

afterward, I perceived that they were gone.

All day I bent over the Egyptian papyrus upon which I was engaged; but

neither the subtle reasonings of the ancient philosopher of Memphis, nor

the mystic meaning which lay in his pages, could raise my mind from the

things of earth. Evening was drawing in before I threw my work aside in

despair. My heart was bitter against this man for his intrusion.

Standing by the beck which purled past the door of my cabin, I cooled my

heated brow, and thought the matter over. Clearly it was the small

mystery hanging over these neighbours of mine which had caused my mind

to run so persistently on them. That cleared up, they would no longer

cause an obstacle to my studies. What was to hinder me, then, from

walking in the direction of their dwelling, and observing for myself,

without permitting them to suspect my presence, what manner of men they

might be? Doubtless, their mode of life would be found to admit of some

simple and prosaic explanation. In any case, the evening was fine, and a

walk would be bracing for mind and body. Lighting my pipe, I set off

over the moors in the direction which they had taken.

About half-way down a wild glen there stood a small clump of gnarled and

stunted oak trees. From behind these, a thin dark column of smoke rose

into the still evening air. Clearly this marked the position of my

neighbour's house. Trending away to the left, I was able to gain the

shelter of a line of rocks, and so reach a spot from which I could

command a view of the building without exposing myself to any risk of

being observed. It was a small, slate-covered cottage, hardly larger

than the boulders among which it lay. Like my own cabin, it showed signs

of having been constructed for the use of some shepherd; but, unlike

mine, no pains had been taken by the tenants to improve and enlarge it.

Two little peeping windows, a cracked and weather-beaten door, and a

discoloured barrel for catching the rain water, were the only external

objects from which I might draw deductions as to the dwellers within.

Yet even in these there was food for thought, for as I drew nearer,

still concealing myself behind the ridge, I saw that thick bars of iron

covered the windows, while the old door was slashed and plated with the

same metal. These strange precautions, together with the wild

surroundings and unbroken solitude, gave an indescribably ill omen and

fearsome character to the solitary building. Thrusting my pipe into my

pocket, I crawled upon my hands and knees through the gorse and ferns

until I was within a hundred yards of my neighbour's door. There,

finding that I could not approach nearer without fear of detection, I

crouched down, and set myself to watch.

I had hardly settled into my hiding place, when the door of the cottage

swung open, and the man who had introduced himself to me as the surgeon

of Gaster Fell came out, bareheaded, with a spade in his hands. In front

of the door there was a small cultivated patch containing potatoes, peas

and other forms of green stuff, and here he proceeded to busy himself,

trimming, weeding and arranging, singing the while in a powerful though

not very musical voice. He was all engrossed in his work, with his back

to the cottage, when there emerged from the half-open door the same

attenuated creature whom I had seen in the morning. I could perceive now

that he was a man of sixty, wrinkled, bent, and feeble, with sparse,

grizzled hair, and long, colourless face. With a cringing, sidelong

gait, he shuffled toward his companion, who was unconscious of his

approach until he was close upon him. His light footfall or his

breathing may have finally given notice of his proximity, for the worker

sprang round and faced him. Each made a quick step toward the other, as

though in greeting, and then--even now I feel the horror of the

instant--the tall man rushed upon and knocked his companion to the

earth, then whipping up his body, ran with great speed over the

intervening ground and disappeared with his burden into the house.

Case hardened as I was by my varied life, the suddenness and violence of

the thing made me shudder. The man's age, his feeble frame, his humble

and deprecating manner, all cried shame against the deed. So hot was my

anger, that I was on the point of striding up to the cabin, unarmed as I

was, when the sound of voices from within showed me that the victim had

recovered. The sun had sunk beneath the horizon, and all was grey, save

a red feather in the cap of Pennigent. Secure in the failing light, I

approached near and strained my ears to catch what was passing. I could

hear the high, querulous voice of the elder man and the deep, rough

monotone of his assailant, mixed with a strange metallic jangling and

clanking. Presently the surgeon came out, locked the door behind him and

stamped up and down in the twilight, pulling at his hair and brandishing

his arms, like a man demented. Then he set off, walking rapidly up the

valley, and I soon lost sight of him among the rocks.