THE WAY BACK
"_She is coming, my life, my sweet,
Were it never so airy a tread,
My heart would hear it and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed.
My dust would hear it and beat
Had I lain for a century dead,
Would start and tremble under her feet
And blossom in purple and red!_"--Tennyson.
The entrance to the lead mine cave had now been artificially widened to
allow of free entrance. From the valley below a light wooden stair had
been erected, up which the visitors passed. Some good workmen from a
similar mine elsewhere were now busy on the premises, making the final
tests before the experts would pronounce that there was really money in
the scheme.
The party came presently upon a spot where a big underground stream
gushed from a tunnel, crossed a space about twenty feet wide, and
disappeared in another tunnel on the opposite side of the cavern. It
emerged three miles away, far down Branterdale. Nobody knew whence it
came.
Since first the caves were discovered, great progress had been made;
and only the previous day the men had chipped open a crack in the rock
wall, discovering within another big space with a very dangerous floor.
"We've all got to be careful in here," remarked Percy, as he marshalled
his party. "Perhaps, Joey, you and Mrs. Gaunt would be happier outside,
for it's a case of crawling in."
Virgie and Joey, however, were not going to be left behind. They
neither of them had any objection to crawling. With the help of their
escort, they both got through quite easily, and found themselves in a
curious place. Under their feet were spikes of rock, with deep
inequalities between. The men had laid down planks, and warned the
visitors to be careful not to step off them. On the further side of
this cavern was a very deep cleft which had not yet been explored, as
the men had found the air down there too foul for them to venture to
descend.
"Like an old well--they don't know how deep," said Percy, indicating a
black hole, or chasm, on the further side of the irregular-shaped space
in which they stood. "They got a big bundle of hay, set it alight, and
pitched it in, burning fiercely. The air down there put it out in no
time."
"Not much chance for anybody who went over," remarked Gaunt, moving
nearer.
"Not much. Don't stand too close," replied Percy. "You see, the men put
in a stake, and rigged up a rope, meaning to go down and explore; but
they will have to wait till something has been done before they can
make use of it."
"What will they do?" asked Virgie, with interest.
"Pump air down, I think, and force the bad gas upwards," replied Percy,
who was in his element, showing and explaining.
Gaunt stood on the plank near the hole, gazing at it as if it
fascinated him. His hands were in his pockets. Virgie had made a little
movement when he first approached it, putting out her hand as if to
grasp his arm. She checked herself, for since his rebuff she had never
touched him. But as he still stood there, seeming lost in his own
thoughts, some kind of dread fell upon her. "Osbert," she said.
He turned sharply at the sound of her voice, and moved towards her.
"I believe my--my shoe-lace has come untied," said she.
It was the first thing that occurred to her to say, and she knew it was
a lame excuse. He looked so intently at her that she almost thought he
was aware that it was a pretext merely. Never before had she asked him
to render her any such small personal service.
"Lean against the wall, and give me your foot," said he. "I'll do it
up."
"Thanks. The--the air is rather close in here, isn't it?" she faltered,
as she went to stand against the cave side. "Will you take me out? I
feel a bit faint."
"We shall all go out in a minute or two," was his reply, as he knelt
upon the plank at her feet.
He tried to steady himself as he bent over his task. He had seen
something in her eyes which shook his purpose--a dawning anxiety, or
fear, or.... Was that all? Was there not more? He could not be sure.
But, if her suspicions were awake, he might have to let this chance go.
The cave echoed to Joey's loud, jolly laugh. She and Gerald were
standing upon a plank which see-sawed slightly, and it amused her to
make it move up and down.
"Don't play the fool there, Joe," said Ferris sharply. "This place is
really not safe, you know. You and Mrs. Gaunt had better creep out
again. Come along, there's nothing to see."
He took her somewhat roughly by the arm. Her weight, suddenly removed
from the plank, caused Gerald, who was at the further end, to stumble.
He had been balanced upon one foot, and the uneven nature of the rocky
floor gave him no place upon which to put the other foot down. It went
into a hollow, quite a foot in depth. He gave a lurch, in the effort to
reach the next plank, which was not quite near, and came down with all
his weight upon one edge of it. It turned over, throwing him completely
off his balance. He staggered, slipped, and before Joey had time to
shriek, was over the edge of the poisonous gulf and had disappeared.
It all took place in a single instant. At one moment Joey and he were
balancing one each end of the board, at the next Ferris had pulled her
away, Gerald was crashing and stamping in the vain effort to regain his
lost poise; and even as Ferris, hampered by the displaced planks,
sprang to help him he was gone, and the place echoed to Joey's screams.
Gaunt, whose back had been turned to the scene, sprang up and realised
instantly what had happened. In that same instant, like a flash, he saw
what he must do. His chance had come to him, one in a thousand. In that
same heart-beat he knew that he did not want to go--that never in all
his existence had he loved life as he loved it now.
There was, however, not a moment for delay. None of the workmen were
with them in the small cave; they were alone. A few minutes' hesitation
might be fatal to the victim. Gaunt turned away from Virginia without
looking at her, moved rapidly along a plank, took the rope which the
workmen had left ready for a descent, and began to fasten it to his own
body.
"Gaunt--no!" Ferris, who had stood for a moment paralysed like a man
distraught, without moving or speaking, leapt at him.
"He is dead; he must be. Don't fling away your life. It's not only the
bad air, it's the depth; these places go down nobody knows how deep!"
"One can but try," was the reply, as Gaunt completed the swift knotting
of the rope.
"Listen to me!" he said, laying his hand upon the shaking Percy's
nerveless arm, and speaking quietly and naturally with the intention of
calming the other's hysteria. "Summon the men--get another rope. If I
find him, I will signal by three tugs for you to pull him up. Do you
understand?"
"Let--let one of the men go down," shrieked Ferris wildly.
"There isn't time. Virginia!" He raised his voice a little, and the
white, still girl started.
"Crawl out at once and summon the men--as many as you can. Then send
Ransom with the car for Dr. Dymock. Can you hear me?"
"Yes, I am going."
That was all. So he dismissed her, so he flung love and life away from
him out of the struggle. He sat upon the edge of the hole, his electric
torch fixed upon his chest, the rope about his middle, and began to tie
a handkerchief over his mouth.
"Don't go--don't go; he's dead by now. Oh, can't somebody come? Help!
Help!" cried Ferris distractedly. "Your fault, confound you!" he
shrieked to the trembling, ashy Joey.
"Silence, Ferris; I think he is calling!"...
Percy's cries ceased abruptly, and in the sudden pause a moan came up
to them from the echoing depths.
In another instant Gaunt had disappeared.
The die was cast, and a curious peace descended upon him. The pressure
of the emergency held his brain to the exclusion of all else. For the
moment he had no regrets; consciousness was bounded by the difficulties
of his descent. This was not nearly as awful as he had expected. There
was plenty of foothold, and he went down rapidly, coming upon Gerald's
body some time before he thought it possible.
Most providentially the victim had fallen upon the bundle of hay which
the workmen on the previous day had set alight and thrown in to dispel
the noxious gas. The hole, at this point, was not very deep--not deeper
than a well, though further along the cleft he saw a yawning gulf of
unexplored horror and blackness. He stooped over Rosenberg, who was
still groaning and not completely unconscious, though evidently much
hurt.
"If you can hear what I say, try to do as I tell you," said he,
speaking with great distinctness close to his ear. "Can you sit up?"
Gerald moved slightly, muttering something that sounded like "Let me
alone!"
On that Gaunt saw that he had but one course. He must not attempt to
reach the surface with him. He must transfer the rope from his own
waist, and send up the injured man first.
He was still just capable of doing this, but he was growing deadly sick
and faint. With the feeling that it was a race--a grim race between his
failing faculties and time--he detached the cord. He succeeded, after
what seemed to him like a protracted struggle, in fastening the knots
round Gerald securely. Now what must he do? His brain was swimming, his
breath came short, but he knew there was something else. Yes, of
course! He must jerk the rope. Once--twice--thrice! He did it and
waited.
Something was about to happen. He had forgotten what it was. His mind
was swimming aimlessly round, like a fish in warm water, as he said to
himself. He lay down. Then the thing upon which he was leaning his
heavy head began to move; it was lifted; he tried to sit up, grasping
in his hands the hay upon which he was crouched. The space was very
narrow. Was it wide enough to serve him for a--for a--one of those
things they use to bury the dead?
It was his last thought. Immediately upon thinking it he was asleep.
* * * * *
"Fifty pounds to the man who brings him up!" cried Virgie, kneeling
upon the very brink.
Gerald had been hauled up, dragged forth from the cave, through the
hole, hurried into the open air. He was alive, and they thought he
would recover. But the man who had risked his life to save him lay
still in the deadly abyss.
One of the workmen, however, speedily upon her appeal, roped himself up.
"Can't be very deep, 'm," he said consolingly. "If I take two ropes
with me, that'll be all right. We've got a plenty hands now, and my
mates can pull."
He disappeared, and Virgie crouched there on the brink, huddled and
shivering, counting the terrible moments.
As she knelt in the dark, dreadful place, full of booming, terrifying
noises, all life changed its values before her eyes.
This was a man who had a touch of greatness in him. He made big
mistakes; he was also capable of big heroism. She knew in her heart
that, if Gaunt had not been there, if the accident had happened with
only the Ferrises and herself in the cave, the delay--while men were
fetched to do what her husband had immediately and simply done
himself--might have been, would have been, fatal. The contrast between
Percy, helplessly unnerved, and Gaunt, ready to rise at once to the
height of the moment, had flashed itself upon her like an instantaneous
photograph. She had herself risen with Osbert. He had called her, given
her something to do--quiet, definite orders to carry out. Without a
question, she went and did his bidding, though she was longing to break
into cowardly pleading, to cry out to him not to throw away his life.
And she returned to find them all busy with Gerald, and nobody
apparently giving a thought to the man still in the pit.
She soon changed that. Her beauty, her distress, her urgency, made
stronger appeals to the men than her promise of liberal reward. And now
everything, everything, hung upon the result--whether the man they
brought to the surface would be still alive or not.
When the signal to draw up was given, she felt as if each passing
clock-tick were a year. The dread which had sprung up in her, when she
saw Gaunt hang brooding over the chasm, could never be dispersed, if he
were dead. She would never know whether he truly wished to die or
whether life was sweet to him.
How slowly they were hauling in the rope! How endlessly long it seemed.
Then, at last, she saw him drawn from the living tomb--limp, inert,
ghastly. She rose, though her knees would hardly support her, and
crawled to him as they undid the rope from about him.
The man who had gone down stood near, wiping the sweat from his eyes,
and reeling slightly on his feet. He coughed, and spat, and seemed as
if he would be sick. "Just hell down there, 'm," he told her,
apologetically. "I'm afraid it's all over with him, God help you!"
* * * * *
Gaunt was adrift upon a summer sea. The waves rose and fell, with a
lulling cadence. He felt only one desire--the desire for sleep; but a
perpetual calling kept him perversely awake. When he reached the land
he would, he knew, attain perfect repose. He made an inquiry of some
unseen companion as to what was the name of the land which they would
reach. The answer to this was: "They call it Virginia."
This answer delighted him. Virginia! Country of all joy and beauty. He
was going to Virginia, if only this summons would cease--if only some
far away, disturbing voice was not calling to him from infinite
distance, begging him to make some response. He tried to plead that
this voice might be silenced. But it grew more and more insistent. He
could not hear what it said, but he knew that he was wanted. He might
not drift out into the peace he craved. He must stop, and answer, and
find out what was expected of him. He tried as hard as he could to turn
a deaf ear to the calling. He almost succeeded, several times, in
dropping off into real, sound sleep. But just as he was sure that now
he would be let alone, something shook him, something interfered with
him; and there was a pulsing in his ear, terribly loud, like the voice
of a drum, so that one could not escape it.
The calling went on. "Osbert! Osbert! I want you! Do you hear me?"
Quite suddenly his mind changed, and he knew that it was of supreme
importance that he should answer. The difficulty lay in the manner of
so doing. How can one communicate with the beating of a drum? He wished
that he could explain how unreasonable it was to expect any response
from him. He heard right enough, but how could he let anybody know that
he heard, with the sea lapping all about and the drum beating in his
ears?...
Then came a curious sensation, touching a chord which vibrated
throughout his entire being. He remembered quite long ago that he had
been carrying a girl upstairs. Her arms were round his neck, and her
heart beat, beat, against his ear. _Was_ that noise the sound of a
drum after all, or was it the quick throbbing of a girl's heart?
The moment this idea occurred, it was as though a door had been
unclosed, releasing him into the world of which hitherto he had been
unconscious. He heard somebody saying:
"Lay him down, Mrs. Gaunt, you had much better. He will come round
sooner if his head is quite flat."
Another voice replied, very, very near him: "I tell you I saw his lips
move. All the time he was lying flat he never moved, and directly I
lifted him up he sighed. There! Look! I tell you he is alive! I said he
was! I knew he would come back if I called!--Osbert! Osbert! Can you
hear?"
Ah, now, indeed, it would be a grand thing had one the means of letting
other people, in other universes, know one's thoughts! He knew he must
obey the voice that spoke, yet he was dumb, deaf, blind, because he was
so far off. He was sinking away again into the tempting slumber that
invited him, in spite of his ardent desire to remain here, where he
could be sensible to the beating that was like the beating of a girl's
heart.
"Well, lift him again then," said a doubtful voice; and once more he
heard the drum, close to his ear. Now it was urgent that he should let
it be understood that he knew what was going on. He must step over the
edge of the plane on which he moved, and come into that upon which
these others were moving; since it was clear that they would not come
to him.
"There! I tell you it isn't fancy! He took quite a long breath! Osbert,
can you hear me? Open your eyes, and then I shall know."
"By Jove," said another voice, "his eyelids flickered then. I saw it."
"Go on calling him, Mrs. Gaunt. You're right, I believe, it is the only
way."
"Another whiff of that oxygen!"
Something like the wind of life swept through him. With an immense
effort he opened his eyes.
All that he could see was Virgie's face as she stooped over him.
He knew--though how he could hardly say--that he was lying in her arms.
A keen air blew upon him, his hand, which lay at his side, could feel
short turf beneath it. He was coming back--beginning to make use once
more of his outward senses.
"Do you know me?" she asked, bending over him. Her eyes were full of an
intense purpose; there was no shyness, no consciousness--only a
vehement desire.
He took a long breath, gathered all his force, and whispered huskily:
"My--wife!"
He saw the sweet face into which he gazed contract pitifully, and the
shoulders shake with sobbing.
"There, there, that will do, Mrs. Gaunt," ordered Dr. Dymock
peremptorily. "He will be all right now. You're utterly worn out. Lay
him down and come away."
"Try--try first, if he will drink," she gasped, while the heart against
his ear functioned violently.
He drank, for she told him that he must do so. Obviously she had to be
obeyed. Then they laid him down, and raised her up, and took her away,
out of his sight. This was too much. He felt it to be an outrage, when
he had come back such a tremendous distance, just to be with her.
"Virginia," he said, quite clearly.
Dymock bent towards him. "All right, old man, she is close by. You
shall go home with her quite soon. She is a bit tired, that's all. You
must try not to be inconsiderate."
A vague smile dawned on Gaunt's face. He made an effort or two, and
finally achieved the repetition of the doctor's term.
"In-con-sid-erate," he murmured. "That's--that's a word, isn't it?"
"Yes, a word. What did you expect?" asked the doctor gently.
"I thought I had done with words," sighed the patient, lifting his eyes
to the grey autumnal sky.
"So did we all--all except your wife," was the reply. "She was certain
that you would revive, if she went on calling you."
Gaunt filled his lungs with the sharp air. The brandy they had given
him began to course in his veins. "Lift me up," he said.
Dr. Dymock raised him against his knee, and slowly, as though it were
something of a feat, he lifted his hand and touched his forehead.
Around him was the grassy sloping of the Dale. Workmen's tools and
sheds were close by. At a distance were the two cars, in one of which
Joey Ferris was bending over some one. Memory returned in a rolling
flood.
"Rosenberg. Is he alive?"
"Oh, yes. Broken collar-bone, and I think a rib as well, but I am not
sure yet. A good many cuts and bruises, but he'll do."
"You ought to--set his bones?"
"Yes, the delay is bad, but it was inevitable. With you it was a matter
of life and death. However, you are all right now. Drink some more of
this stuff, and then you had better get home as fast as you can."
Gaunt's eyes were fixed upon the figure of his wife, sitting on a heap
of stones not far off. Ferris was standing awkwardly by, evidently
trying to comfort her. Her face was hidden and her handkerchief was
held to her eyes.
"Virginia--Virginia's crying," he said in slow surprise. "What for?"
The doctor laughed. "Women are like that when it's all over," was his
reply. "Those are tears of joy. She has been strung up to a high point,
for I tell you candidly that I think, had it not been for her
persistence I should have given you up about a quarter of an hour ago,
and gone to attend upon the man who is alive. But she held on.
Everybody else thought you were gone."
"She mustn't cry," said Gaunt anxiously.
"She won't, now that she has got you back," was the reply; and the
doctor, after administering another drink, smiled kindly and with
meaning. "You are a lucky fellow, Gaunt--you have your reward for your
forbearance with her last month. Do you remember I told you then that
if you had patience you would win her in the end? Well, you did as I
asked, and I was a true prophet, was I not?"