A BIRD OF ILL OMEN.
Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, the subject of so much heart burning, was
meanwhile, in the scorching heat of Tokyo, striving as speedily as
possible to accomplish the business that had called him to the Capital.
It was a tiresome affair that compelled appointments with Ministers and
endless interviews with men of business, the latter frequently
necessitating the presence of an interpreter--at the best of times a
wearisome and tedious performance, and especially so when the
thermometer marks, as it frequently did during that torrid summer--97°
in the shade. In spite of his somewhat dreary occupations, there were
many weary hours of enforced idleness, and the time had to be killed as
best it could, a difficult operation with scarcely a creature--much less
an acquaintance or a colleague--left in town.
Stanislas' love of reading and research seemed to be a thing of the
past. His own life's drama struck him at this time as being so far more
thrilling and absorbing than the perusal of any treatise or romance, or
even the study of his favourite scientific authors who--until now--had
proved the great resource and stand-by of his lonely hours. He no longer
had taste for these former delights, and though a once beloved volume
might be taken from the bookshelves adorned by the work of many an
ancient and distinguished author, instead of being dipped into, studied,
or perused, it would remain for hours unopened on his knees.
Thoughts of Pearl, plans for the future, hopes for the future and--on
frequent occasions--fears for the future, engrossed instead his mind.
Mrs. Nugent's recent and fairly constant fits of irritability had by no
means escaped the observation of de Güldenfeldt. Though, so far, he had
hardly succeeded in fathoming the true cause of this strange and
uncomfortable deviation in a disposition which--he was wont to flatter
himself--he had after three years' study thoroughly solved--he,
nevertheless, genuinely lamented the existence of these--until
now--concealed and undreamt-of traits of character. More than once had
he been brought into intimate contact with these uncertain and
capricious moods. More than once had he suffered from these fits of
nervous excitement, indulged in by one whom he hitherto had considered
not only the sweetest and the best, but, above all, an unusually just
and reasonable specimen of her sex.
He at times consoled himself with the thought that once married, once
leading the daily routine of a calm and settled existence--Pearl would
regain that former buoyancy of spirits, that previous equanimity of
temperament which in his eyes, had constituted the greater part of her
fascination and her charm.
He felt he had indeed achieved much in getting fixed the approximate
date of the wedding. He recalled the sweet face which he had kissed so
ardently when Pearl had summoned him back on the mountain pass, and the
delicious words of love and repentance that in the fulness of her heart,
with her arms encircling his neck, she then had uttered,--and his pulses
beat, and once more his heart throbbed with joyful anticipation at the
thought of that happiness which--he flattered himself--must surely one
day be his lot.
He longed with an indescribable longing to be back to her. And it was
with genuine relief that he saw the termination of his business
approaching, and knew that those dreary days of enforced absence from
her side must soon be reckoned as among the dark chronicles of the past.
It was the beginning of September and a most unusual season for the
visit of the ubiquitous globe-trotter. Stanislas was therefore
considerably, but none the less most agreeably, surprised, when one
morning, just at the time he was feeling his dullest and forlornest, a
note was brought him from the Imperial Hotel, announcing the
arrival--accompanied by a young son and daughter--of a former London
friend, and a connection of his English mother's, a certain Mrs.
Millward-Fraser.
"We arrived in Japan by the last 'Empress' a fortnight ago" she
wrote, "and have since been hard at work doing the sights of
this most fascinating city. We called at the Legation, but were
told that you were ruralising in the hills. Now we hear that you
have returned to Town, so we allow ourselves to hope that you
will look in upon us one day soon. It will be so pleasant to
meet again, and to talk over family news," etc., etc., etc.
Stanislas went promptly, that same day, to see his old friend. And an
invitation to lunch at the Swedish Legation for the following morning
was the outcome of the visit.
Mrs. Millward-Fraser had been reckoned a beauty in her day, and was
still a very good looking woman. She was a widow, having lost her
husband, an energetic and well-known M.P., a few years previously.
Stanislas had known the family intimately during the years he was posted
in London, and in those days was not only a valued friend of the elders,
but an equal favourite with both boy and girl. Since those jolly days of
romps and fun, Alfred, the son, had emerged from Eton a cheerful, fairly
well mannered, and fairly well educated, though somewhat raw
stripling--while the daughter Muriel had developed into a bright and
extremely pretty young woman, of which beauty she had indeed given full
promise in her juvenile days.
"You bring it forcibly before my mind into what a regular old buffer I
am degenerating," de Güldenfeldt remarked to the latter as they strolled
into lunch, "and yet it only seems the other day since I nursed you on
my knee."
"Nevertheless, it is ten years ago at the very least," laughed the girl.
"I am seventeen now, and I am firmly convinced that I never permitted
such a liberty after the age of seven or eight."
"And a nice fat lump you must have been even at that age. I pity poor
cousin Stanny if he often indulged in the amusement of dancing you up
and down on his knee," chaffed young Millward-Fraser, with brotherly
politeness and candour.
"Alfred, it was impressed upon our minds by Mamma when we were children
that personal remarks were considered particularly odious," retorted his
sister. "Do you think me so very fat, cousin Stanislas? Ally is always
teasing me, and laughing at me for being what he calls 'rotund.'"
Stanislas, thus appealed to, looked admiringly at the pretty plump girl
beside him and laughed.
"You are perfectly enormous," he said; "a female Tichborne in fact.
Fortunately there are, however, many men who, like myself, admire 'a
little plump partridge.' Wait till you see Carlitti. He'll not hesitate
long in falling a slave to your charms."
"Who is Carlitti?" enquired Mrs. Millward-Frazer.
"Count Carlitti is a colleague of mine. A dear fellow, and an immense
admirer of your sex, and extremely susceptible in consequence. He is
bound to lose his heart to Muriel, when he meets you all, as he will no
doubt do later, at Chuzenji."
"Talking of hearts reminds me, Muriel, that we have forgotten the
fortune-teller. You know we arranged to go there to-day," exclaimed
Alfred.
"My dear children! such nonsense. He will only cram your head with
fables," remonstrated Mrs. Millward-Fraser.
"Dearest mother, we have come here to study the habits and customs of
the country. No one would dream of leaving Japan without visiting one of
its famous soothsayers. Would they, cousin Stan?"
"I blush to confess, Muriel, that during all the years I have lived in
the East I have never, so far, penetrated into the sacred precincts of a
fortune-teller's house," replied de Güldenfeldt as they seated
themselves on the verandah, where coffee was served. "But then, you
know, it is always the G.T.'s who see and do everything. We poor
ignorant residents are very much behind the times, and are unacquainted
with half the sights of Tokyo."
"Better late than never," said Muriel. "Come with us to-day. They are
really marvellous people, you know. I have the address of a particularly
clever one, much consulted by the Japanese."
"Isn't it rather hot for such exciting interviews?" feebly remonstrated
Stanislas, knowing all the time that when once Miss Muriel took it into
her pretty head to command, the sole thing was to surrender with a good
grace. So, without further discussion, the carriage was promptly
ordered.
In spite of the heat the young people were in the highest spirits during
their drive, seeming greatly to enjoy the brightness and animation of
the crowded streets, as the _betto_,[16] with his peculiar warning cry,
cleared the way which led to the picturesque suburbs of the city. It was
with regret when, after over an hour's transit, the carriage stopped
before a black wooden ancient gateway, and they knew that they had
arrived at the entrance to the _Ninso mi's_[17] domain.
[16] Running footman.
[17] The name given to a class of fortune-teller.
"I feel as if I were leaving the Occidental, the modern existence behind
me. It is all so old-world and weird," whispered Muriel to her mother,
as they proceeded from under the gateway and entered the quaint,
well-kept garden.
It was a lovely, poetical little garden, restful and secluded. Its many
narrow paths were paved with grey pebbles, and in the centre of a plot
of bright green turf was a miniature lake or pond edged with divers
shrubs of various sizes and shapes. Uprising from the lake was a tiny
island, on which flourished equally tiny and twisted maple, plum and
cherry trees, shrined by one gnarled and quaint shaped pine, many
centuries old. Floating on the surface of the little pond, and swaying
gracefully in the summer breeze, were regal lotus plants, some bearing,
amidst their glossy cup-shaped leaves, giant flowers of soft rose-pink,
while other plants were crowned with marvellous white blossoms, standing
erect on their long stems.
August is the month in which the lotus plants are in full and glorious
flower, and the travellers were in raptures at the richness of growth,
their delicate loveliness, as their eyes rested on this entrancing and,
to them, unknown sight. The party lingered long on the large flat stones
that forming a natural bridge, traversed the pond, gazing with unbounded
admiration at these unrivalled bell-shaped flowers. The colossal leaves
of green almost as striking as the lovely blossoms themselves, were full
to overflowing of glistening dewdrops, that sparkled like diamonds in
the afternoon sun, as the plants swayed gracefully above the water with
every breath of the quiet air.
The Millward-Frazer family at length tore themselves away from admiring
these lovely blossoms and left the garden. The party passed through the
grotesquely carved porch of the old-fashioned building, with its many
gabled, peaked Chinese roof, and were received by a servant, who, after
greeting them kneeling and with her forehead touching the threshold of
the doorway, rose, assisted in taking off their shoes, and finally
ushered them into a fairly sized Japanese room. The _shoji_ were wide
open, acting as a simple frame to the picturesque garden without, its
gnarled and twisted trees, its ancient stones and lanterns, and its pond
of slumbering lotus blooms.
In the middle of the matted room, which--with the exception of the
little shrine before which the evening and morning prayers are offered
up--was almost devoid of furniture, was a square lacquer table that rose
about a couple of feet from the floor, and on which was piled a heap of
ancient volumes. Before the table, with huge horn spectacles perched on
his nose, and with a glistening and entirely shaven pate, was squatting
on his heels, a wrinkled and solemn looking Bonze of benign countenance,
holding upright in his hand a partly opened fan. He was adorned in the
richest vestments of purple silk, which stuck out in stiff, straight
lines around his bending body.
As each of the visitors filed in, filling the little room, the old
priest from behind his great round spectacles examined them from head to
foot with the piercing eye of an eagle. His glance finally fell and
rested on the interpreter of the Legation, a young man whom Stanislas
had recently appointed to fill the post left empty by poor Suzuki's
tragic death.
From studying the impassive face of Ito, the old man's eyes travelled to
de Güldenfeldt, on whom they remained, though the latter made vain
attempts to keep himself as far as possible in the background.
The Bonze, never once taking his eyes from Stanislas, murmured something
to Ito in a low and impressive manner.
"The _Ninsomi-san_ says he wishes to interview you first," Ito said,
turning to his master. "He has something of the utmost importance to say
to you."
"Nonsense," replied de Güldenfeldt impatiently. "He can have absolutely
nothing to say. Why, it is impossible for him to know even who I am.
Besides, I pay no attention to such things, and have no intention
whatsoever of having my fortune told. Miss Millward-Fraser wishes to
hear her fate. He will speak to her."
The message was transmitted, and the old man, mournfully nodding his
head, said the _Danna sama_[18] should be obeyed; but that later he
would himself be the first to regret the unnecessary delay. He begged
humbly to be allowed to say what he had to say to the _Danna sama_
immediately after he had spoken to the _O' Fo-sama_.[19]
[18] The honourable master.
[19] The honourable young lady.
Muriel thereupon knelt on the floor in front of the table, and the old
Seer, wrinkling up his face and closing his narrow eyes, devoid of
eyelashes, mumbled and muttered incantations between his toothless lips.
She held out the palm of her hand. He did not even glance at it, but
lifting the divining rods reverentially and solemnly to his forehead, he
for a moment leant his forehead in deep thought on-to the table, always
muttering and groaning to himself. After this performance he slowly
raised his bald old head looking at Muriel with a quick and
comprehensive glance. He next enquired her age, and reckoning by the
Japanese signs of the Zodiac, he parted the divining rods into two
bundles, then taking up the magnifying glass, he examined intently the
lines of the face. So intently and so long indeed did he gaze as to
considerably embarrass poor Muriel, who blushed furiously under this
prolonged examination of her features. He seemed apparently satisfied
with this inspection, for a grim smile gleamed from his cunning old
eyes, and he proceeded to count the number of twigs in each of the
already separated packets of divining rods. Then once more he took the
magnifying glass, and carefully re-examining her face he spoke, pausing
every now and then to allow the interpreter to translate his prophecies.
"You have," he mumbled in a low monotone, interspersed with various
"oh's" and "ah's," and a curious hissing sound between the wrinkled
lips, "you have crossed many miles of water"--("I could have told you
that," whispered Alfred Millward-Fraser, "without having the honour of
being a Japanese soothsayer")--"but you will not cross it again for many
months, and perhaps years."--("Why, we are returning home in three
months," continued the irrepressible youth.)--"In a few days you will
travel to a country high in the hills, a beautiful fertile country,
where there is much water and beautiful vegetation, but a dangerous and
difficult journey over rocks and fallen trees and broken bridges. You
will meet a male, a stranger, on the road, and before two months have
passed and gone, you will have told that man that you will become his
wife. The ninth month and the tenth month of this year of Meiji will be
your most fortunate months. They will bring you much happiness. You will
have a long and happy and healthy life, for your pretty face is likewise
a lucky face, and much money and many children and good fortune will be
your lot. I have spoken."
The young girl's eyes were sparkling with excitement and merriment as
she rose from her lowly seat.
"How wonderful it is," she exclaimed. "I am actually to meet my fate in
a few days. Do you hear, Ally? you, who are always scoffing and telling
me I shall never succeed in securing a husband."
"Bosh! I bet you ten dollars, Muriel, it is all humbug," said Alfred,
boy-like, ashamed to show how much impressed he was.
"No doubt. But what delightful humbug, nevertheless. Now, Cousin Stanny,
it is your turn. He is looking at you all the time. He evidently finds
you by far the most interesting member of the party. I am sure I have
suffered by this absorbing interest, and that he has cut my fortune
short in consequence."
"Very well, to please you, Muriel," replied de Güldenfeldt with a smile.
"But pray don't run away with the notion that I for one instant believe
in this nonsense. Alfred is right. It is all humbug from beginning to
end. I sacrifice myself on the sole condition that your mother promises
to be the next victim."
Mrs. Millward-Fraser smiled rather sadly and shook her head. "I live in
the past, not in the future," she said, as de Güldenfeldt, folding up
his long legs as best he could, squatted down in front of the little
table, and prepared himself to be scrutinized.
This time, however, the Seer employed neither magnifying glass nor
divining rods. He looked steadily at Stanislas for a few minutes with
his penetrating black eyes. Then turning to the interpreter he spoke
rapidly, in a low sing-song voice, charging his monologue with many
ominous shakings of the head, and with dreary groans and sighs.
"Well, Ito, what does he say?" asked de Güldenfeldt, when the old man,
ceasing to speak, leant his head on the table in a state of breathless
exhaustion. The interpreter hesitated.
"Pardon me, your Excellency, but he says many bad, many false things. Do
you wish me to repeat them?"
"Certainly," and de Güldenfeldt laughed rather uneasily, "let us hear
everything. Keep nothing from me, false or true, good or bad."
"In what he says there is no good, no truth, Excellency. It is all bad,
all false words. He says that you must hasten away up into the hills. He
says the wind is rising, that it is already beginning to sing in the
trees, and that there will be a great and terrible storm. The storm in
the mountains will be a raging tempest, very, very dreadful and
destructive. He says that one whom you love will be in the midst of it,
at the mercy of the wind and of the waves, and what is worse, at the
mercy of a man who is mad, of a man who hates you with a great and
bitter hatred. You must go to her, Excellency, he says, if you ever wish
to again see the honourable and gracious lady whom you love. Every
moment is precious. There is not a minute to be lost, you must
hasten--hasten. Soon it may be too late. For the wind is already
beginning to sing drearily in the eaves of the house, and the raindrops
are already overflowing from the cups of the lotus leaves."
And truly, as Ito spoke, a violent gust of wind shook the woodwork of
the little house, and huge rain drops splashed into the lake outside.
Stanislas had turned pallid at Ito's interpretation of the old
soothsayer's mumbled words. For, in spite of all his former professions
of incredulity, it was impossible not to be strangely and alarmingly
impressed at the unhappy forebodings contained in this ominous prophecy.
The mountains--the woman he loved--the madman, what and who else could
they mean but Chuzenji--Pearl--Martinworth? He did not pause to ask
himself how the old Bonze, living buried in his little wooden house,
miles away from any European, could have obtained knowledge of who he
was, or of his intimate concerns. There was a mystery, a weirdness in
the whole strange proceedings, that baffled investigation, or defied
analysis. Perhaps at some future time he would try and solve the
problem. But for the present he was consumed with an unquestionable and
confident belief that the Seer's warning permitted of no
discussion--that what he foretold was indeed occurring or about to
occur, and that Pearl, the being whom he loved most on earth, was in
some great danger, was helpless and alone, and what was more, was
needing him.
A merciful Providence in the form of a giddy girl had guided his
footsteps to this distant neighbourhood and house. By these unforeseen
and unexpected means he had been warned of this danger threatening the
woman who was to be his wife. And not for one instant did Stanislas, the
contemptuous sceptic of half an hour ago--the practical product of a
practical age--hesitate, or think of ignoring this warning delivered in
so unusual a manner, from so unthought-of and so strange a quarter.
"Ask him," he said to Ito, "if the danger is imminent, and if it can by
any possible means be averted?"
Ito put the question.
"He says, Excellency, that you must hasten, hasten with all possible
speed if you wish to see the lady again. But he will not, he says--he
cannot, say more."
Stanislas glanced at his watch. It was past five o'clock.
"Ito," he said, "is there another train to Nikko to-night?"
"No Excellency, the last one left at three o'clock."
"But there is one I know shortly for Utsunomiya. I will take that, sleep
the night there, and get up to Chuzenji early to-morrow. Thank God! I am
near the station here. Ito, you will take these ladies and this
gentleman back to the hotel, go to the Legation, get me some clothes,
and follow me by the first train to-morrow. Now call me a _'ricksha_ at
once. I have just time to catch the train."
The Millward-Frasers had been silent and inactive, but deeply interested
and distressed spectators of this scene. They saw that their friend,
restrained and composed though he was in manner, was possessed not only
with the very greatest anxiety, but likewise with an overwhelming dread.
They longed to be of help to him, but knew not how.
He turned to the elder lady, "You will forgive me," he said, "leaving
you thus unceremoniously. But I look upon that old man's words as a
warning sent from heaven. I feel that not only are they not to be
ignored, but that they must be obeyed. And what is more, obeyed without
delay. One whom I love, who is to be my wife in a few months time,
is--according to this old man--in imminent danger, and I must reach her,
and go to her assistance as speedily as lies in my power. Listen to the
wind and rain! Good God! the first part of his prophecy is already
coming true."
"Can we help you, dear friend? Do anything for you at the Legation? Give
any message?" asked Mrs. Millward-Fraser with tears of sympathy in her
eyes.
"You can do nothing, dear Mrs. Millward-Fraser, but pray for me in this
the moment of the greatest distress, the greatest agony of my life.
Stay, I will on second thoughts, take the carriage. It is quicker, and
the rain is coming down in torrents. I will send it back to you, and
also Ito, who will return and see you safely home. Adieu!"
And he was gone!