HAPPINESS--UNHAPPINESS--AND A MAN OF THE WORLD.
The birth of his son opened up to Ellison a new world. For the first
month of that baby life everything connected with his own past was
forgotten in one intense joy of possession. He began to understand that
hitherto he had only vegetated; now he lived the life of a man who was
not only a husband but a parent. The thread of his existence was a
continuous one, woven and drawn in by the pink tenderness of a baby
fingers. And as he noticed the growth of intelligence in those little
eyes--the first faint dawning of the human soul within--his pleasure and
delight increased a thousand-fold. He could hardly believe that the
child was his own, his very own, bound to him by all the ties of flesh
and blood--a veritable human, with a soul to be lost or to be saved by
his influence. On the strength of his happiness he began to build
gigantic castles in the air, and, what was more, to handsomely furnish
them.
As for Esther, the motherhood that had come to her added a charm to her
sweetness that her husband, much as he loved her, had neither known nor
guessed that she possessed. The child was a perpetual mystery to her,
and a never-ending charm. And yet with it all her husband was always the
chiefest in her eyes. There was a difference in the love she felt for
them--a difference that she could hardly account for or understand. One
was _of_ the other, yet not _the_ other. One was a love she had in a
measure created for herself; the other was nothing more nor less than
herself. Indeed, their home life was now almost as perfect as it was
possible for it to be. With a substantial banking account--how obtained
Ellison never allowed himself to think; the new pearling season
approaching with glowing prospects; a tender, loving wife to care for
and protect; a son and heir to bind them closer to each other, he might
indeed esteem himself a lucky man. Murkard found occasion, one morning,
to tell him so in the store.
"Everything seems to prosper with you now, Ellison. If I had such a wife
and son to work for, there'd be nothing I couldn't do."
"There shall be nothing _I_ can't do. If things _have_ changed, so much
the better. I will make hay while the sun shines, and you must help
me."
"There is nothing I would do more willingly. You know you may always
count on my hearty cooperation."
Ellison shook him warmly by the hand.
"I know," he said. "You have been a good friend to me, Murkard."
"And you will forget it all in a moment."
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. I'm only looking ahead. A habit of mine. Forget it." He turned
to the desk at which he had been writing, and took up some papers. "Now
let us talk business. The season is beginning, as you know. Are you
ready for it?"
"Quite. The boats are in first-class trim; the two new divers will be
here to-morrow; we shall get to sea on Thursday morning, all being
well."
"And you still intend going with them?"
"On this particular trip--yes! I want to see how things work out yonder,
and what chances there are for a floating station."
A floating station, in pearling parlance, is a larger vessel than the
ordinary diving lugger, capable of anchoring in the vicinity of the
fleet, of carrying stores sufficient to supply the boats during their
operations, and of taking over their cargoes of shell when obtained. By
this means the time which would otherwise be occupied in sailing the
distance backward and forward to the land station, not unfrequently a
distance of some hundreds of miles, would be saved, and the luggers
enabled to go on working uninterruptedly. A floating station is also
capable of meeting ships in the open sea, and of transhipping to them
her cargo of shell, packed and addressed direct to the London markets,
by this means again saving agents' fees, storage, wharfage, etc., etc.,
in Thursday Island. The advantages to be gained by employing such a
vessel must be obvious.
"I wonder you like to tear yourself away just at present," said Murkard,
after a little pause.
"I don't like it. I am dreading it like the coward I am; but it's got to
be done, Murkard. Try as I will I can't blink that fact. As I told you a
month ago, I intend to put my shoulder to the wheel now with a
vengeance. I think I've proved since we came here that I'm made of the
right sort of stuff. Well, I'm going to do twice as much now in support
of that assertion. I have made one firm resolve?"
"And that is?"
"That save for the purposes of my business, in the strictest sense of
the word, I will not touch a penny of that five thousand pounds. And I
will deny myself no toil and no thrift that can help me to repay every
farthing of what I _do_ take, and with interest. Then it shall go back
to England."
"But, man, you must be mad! It's your own money. As much yours as the
child in yonder."
"Not the two in the same breath, as you love your life, Murkard. No!
When I took the money I took it as a loan, and only as a loan. By God's
help I will repay every farthing of it, and with interest. So only can I
hope to satisfy my conscience."
Murkard looked at him. There was determination in every line of
Ellison's face. He lifted his hand from the desk, and put it on the
other's shoulder.
"Ellison, you're a brave man, and I respect you for it."
"That's because you don't know everything."
"I know quite enough to convince me of the justice of what I have just
said. If there's any more at the back of it--I'll respect you the more
for that too."
"Well, at any rate, that's enough on the subject for the present. Of
course, while I'm away you will be in charge here. You understand that,
don't you? I leave everything in your hands, including the safety of my
wife and child. I need not say I trust you."
"You need have no fears on that score. I will guard them as if they
were my own. How long do you expect to be away?"
"At least a month. It is no use going so far for less. If we have much
luck I may stay longer; but it is very doubtful."
"Very doubtful, I should think."
Ellison picked up his hat and left the store. On returning to the house
he found Esther seated on the veranda, the baby sleeping in a cradle by
her side. He took the hammock and stretched himself out. Without
speaking she signed to him, by taking his hand, to look; then stooping
she drew the mosquito netting back from the cradle head, and showed him
the child lying fast asleep. Hand in hand they looked down upon the
little pink face; and the one little arm outside the quilt, with its
tiny fist tight clenched, seemed to draw the father's and mother's
hearts if possible closer even than before. Then she dropped the net
again, and turned towards her husband. She saw that his face was
preternaturally solemn.
"You have something to tell me," she said.
"Something rather unpleasant, I'm afraid," he murmured in reply. "And
yet, after all, looked straight in the face, it is not very much. I
meant to have told you before, but I've been putting it off from day to
day. The fact is, Esther, I'm going away with the luggers the day after
to-morrow for a month."
"You--going--away--and--for--a month! Oh, Cuthbert!"
It was the first real parting since their marriage, and the news came as
an unpleasant shock to her. But Esther knew she must be brave, and not
try to hinder him from what was evidently his duty. Calling Mrs. Fenwick
out to the veranda, she gave the child to her; then, taking her
husband's arm, she went with him down the path towards the shore.
"It is weak of me to think I can expect to keep you with me always," she
said, when they had gone a little way. "But baby and I will miss you
dreadfully."
"It must be, darling. You see, I must work now even harder than before."
"Why must you? We are doing well enough as it is, surely?"
"Yes, things have improved, certainly; but while that loan hangs over me
I shall know no peace. It haunts me night and day. You would not have me
idle my time away here on the strength of that money, would you?"
"Of course not. But I fear whatever you did, I should think right."
"Forgive my doubting that assertion. I'm certain, darling, if you saw me
idle, even your love would not be above telling me so."
"But I should only tell you because I loved you."
"That is precisely why I am going away. I want to work hard, that I may
prevent your ever being called upon to tell me."
"We are getting a little out of our depths, are we not?"
They had reached a little clearing in the jungle. Here she stopped, and
taking his great brown hand in hers, stroked it with her own white
fingers. Then, looking up into his face with a faint little smile,
through which the tears threatened at any moment to burst, she said:
"Go, and may God prosper your labours!"
That was the last of her opposition.
Two days later Ellison gave the signal for departure, and the three
luggers weighed anchor and stood out of the bay. His own boat was the
last to leave, and until the headland shut her from his sight, Ellison
waved a farewell to the white figure standing in the veranda. Then the
sea took him into her arms, and for a month the station knew him no
more.
* * * * *
It was sundown on the twenty-third day at sea. Work was almost over. The
sun was little more than a hand's breadth above the horizon, and another
hour would find him gone. Hardly a ripple disturbed the pearly serenity
of the ocean; the only spot of land to be seen was a tiny island just
peeping up on the sky-line away to starboard. Ellison sat upon the
combing of the main hatch, holding the diver's life-line in his hand,
watching the movements of the other boats, and listening to the
throbbing of the air-pump on the deck beside him. It was nearly time for
the diver to ascend.
Suddenly the line he held twitched violently in his hand. It was a
signal to haul up the canvas bag containing the oysters gathered. He
hauled in, and having emptied the contents on the deck, lowered the bag
to be re-filled. Then with his knife he set to work to open the oysters.
The first and second were valuable shells, but destitute of pearls; the
third contained an almost insignificant gem; the fourth he opened
carefully, with a sort of premonition that it would be found to contain
something valuable. If the truth were known, he was thinking more of
Esther than the work upon which he was engaged. When he did look inside,
he almost dropped the shell in amazement. Tangled among the beard, and
half hidden from his sight, was an enormous black pearl, perfect, so
far as he could make out, in symmetry, and larger than a hazel-nut.
Trembling with eagerness, yet without allowing a sign to escape him to
show his crew that he had made a find out of the ordinary, he
disentangled the gem from its bearded setting, and with exquisite care
removed it altogether from the shell. He could hardly believe his good
fortune. Perfect in shape, of enormous size, and, as far as he could
tell, without a flaw, it was a jewel fit for a royal crown. He was
afraid to think of its value, but from what he knew of pearls, five
thousand pounds would hardly buy it.
He had barely time to conceal it in his pocket and order one of the
Kanakas to stow the shells in their proper places, when the diver
signalled that he was coming up. As soon as he had seen him disrobed he
descended to his cabin, and after another careful examination of the
gem, put it away in a place of safety. If his calculation of its value
proved anything like correct, he would now be able to pay off his debt,
relieve his mind of its weight of anxiety, and start again with a fresh
sheet. But even without this marvellous bit of good fortune their trip
had been phenomenally successful; now, with this additional piece of
good luck, he felt that he was justified in weighing anchor the
following morning and setting sail for home.
And what a home-coming it was, to be sure! What questions had to be
asked and answered; how every change in the son and heir had to be
described and noted. And indeed, as Ellison was only too glad to admit
to himself, he was indeed a bonny boy. His heart throbbed with joy and
pride as he held him in his arms.
And who shall paint Esther's delight in having her husband with her
again? She could hardly bear him out of her sight.
When luncheon was over, and they had adjourned to the veranda, she came
to business.
"You have not yet told me what success you met with, Cuthbert? I have
prayed that you might be fortunate--night and morning."
"Then your prayers have been answered, darling, as any prayers of yours
would be."
He led her back into the sitting room, and having made certain that no
one was near to spy upon them, took from his pocket the little box which
contained the pearl. In her soft white hand the gem looked as black as
night.
"Oh, Cuthbert!" she cried, in supreme astonishment; "a black pearl! and
such a large one. Oh, this is the greatest luck that could possibly
befall us. Have you any idea what it is worth!"
"I hardly know, but at least I should think enough to liquidate that
debt, and lay the foundation of our future fortunes."
"As much as that? Oh, husband mine, it is indeed an answer to my
prayers. And now you will be quite free?"
"Yes, free--quite free."
His voice took a fuller tone as he said it. He threw his head back and
laughed like his old happy self. Then, seating himself beside her, he
began to question her on other subjects.
"It's a funny thing that Murkard should have chanced to be away just
when I arrived. What time did he cross to the township?"
"About eleven o'clock, I think. Cuthbert, I want to talk to you about
him."
"Well," he said, looking at her laughingly, "what has the old fellow
been up to while I've been away? Making love to you? I'll certainly
break his head for him if he has."
"Don't be silly! I want to talk to you seriously; I am alarmed about
him. He frightens me terribly at times."
"Come, come, you mustn't be silly. There's nothing but what's honest
about Murkard, I'll stake my life on that. He wouldn't willing hurt a
fly. But in what way does he frighten you?"
"He looks so queer, and once or twice when I've sent for him he hasn't
been able to come. I have serious suspicions that he has been drinking
heavily lately."
"Is that so? Well, I'll soon stop that. And yet we must not be too hard
on him, poor fellow, he has much to put up with. Hark! that sounds like
his voice."
He rose and looked out across the veranda. Murkard was standing at his
hut door, calling to a Kanaka on the beach. Ellison put on his hat and
went across to him. Hearing steps behind him, Murkard turned round, and
the other saw his face. It was of a whitey-gray colour, almost that of
zinc; the pouches under his eyes were dark and swollen, while the eyes
themselves had a shifty trick of roaming about as he talked. His hair
was now almost entirely gray over the temples. His hands shook
violently. He seemed to have aged years in that one month.
"Why, Murkard, how's it with you?" Ellison began briskly, resolved not
to show that he noticed the queerness of his greeting. "But you're not
looking well, man."
"I am quite well--quite well. I've had a touch of fever lately, but I'm
better now. I'm glad to see you back. I hope you think I've taken proper
care of your wife and child in your absence."
"I'm sure you have, old man. And now take my arm and come in here for a
chat. I've great news for you."
They went into the store together, and Ellison seated himself on a bale
of rope. Murkard picked idly at the edge of the counter with nervous,
trembling hands. A figure passed the door, but neither of them saw it.
"Murkard, this has been a wonderful month for me."
"How--how? Why don't you speak out? Why do you keep me in suspense?"
"Nerves," said Ellison to himself. "I must stop this as soon as
possible." Then aloud he continued, taking out the gem and placing it on
the counter: "Three hundred pounds' worth of shell in the luggers, and
that beauty."
Murkard picked up and turned the great black pearl over and over without
answering. Finally he said:
"I suppose you will be a rich man now?"
"I shall be able, at least, to square that debt and start afresh, if
that's what you mean. It's the greatest luck that ever came to a man.
Congratulate me, old chap."
"I do congratulate you, from the bottom of my heart. You'll be able to
square that debt, you say? Well, well, perhaps so--perhaps so."
"I feel as if a new life had been given me."
"Nonsense, nonsense, nonsense! We want no new lives. What should we do
with new lives, when we don't know how to make use of those we've got?
It's hell-fire for some of us, I tell you--hell-fire."
"Steady, old man, steady!"
"Listen to me, Cuthbert Ellison." He leaned over the counter, and
dropped his voice to a whisper. "What's the worth of money when your
immortal soul's in danger? Look at me and answer me that; look at me, I
say. Stung with empoisonment and robed in fire, as somebody says:
"'What was their tale of someone on a summit?
Looking, I think, upon the endless sea;
One with a fate, and sworn to overcome it,
One who was fettered and who should be free.'"
He sawed the air with his hands, while Ellison gazed at him in complete
astonishment.
"My dear fellow, what on earth's the matter with you?"
Murkard laughed nervously, and tried to pull himself together.
"Nothing--nothing; why should there be? I'm not very well to-day, that's
all. Glad to see you home again--can't you understand?"
"I understand that. But I know also that you must go steady, old man.
You're trembling like a day-old kitten. This won't do at all, you know."
"I shall be better to-morrow. It's only transi--trans--what the devil
word do I want?--transitory."
"And now about this beauty," Ellison tapped the pocket containing the
pearl. "We must put it away somewhere where it will be safe. In the
meantime, 'mum's' the word; do you understand?"
Murkard nodded, and moved towards the safe standing in a corner of the
office. Again the figure passed the door unnoticed.
"You'd better put it in here," suggested Murkard, placing the key in the
lock, and swinging the heavy door open. Suddenly he jumped back as if he
had been shot, and stood trembling against the counter.
"What's wrong with you now, man?" Ellison cried almost angrily.
"Can't you see? can't you see? For Heaven's sake, come back!" He seized
Ellison by the shoulder, and pulled him back towards the other side of
the hut. "Can't you see that the floor's giving way, and if we're not
careful we shall both fall into the pit? The sea washes under it, and
it's over two thousand feet deep!"
His face was the colour of note-paper, and great beads of perspiration
stood upon his forehead.
"Nonsense!" said Ellison. "The floor's as strong as I am, and there's no
pit to fall into, even if it did give way. Murkard, my friend, I don't
like the look of this at all. I shall have to put you to bed."
"Stuff! I'm as well as you are. I see my mistake now; it was the shadow
that frightened me. But for the moment I really did think the floor was
giving way. My nerves are not quite the thing. It's overwork. I must
have a tonic."
Ellison put the pearl in the lower drawer of the safe, and then securely
locked the door again. Both he and Murkard held keys, and for the moment
he was in some doubt as to whether he should give the duplicate back to
the other in his present state. Yet he hardly liked to refuse, for fear
of offending him.
"Are you afraid to trust me with my key again, _Mr._ Ellison?" snarled
Murkard.
"Afraid to trust _you_--what are you thinking about? Of course not;
there's your key? Now you just come along with me, and I'll put you to
bed."
"Bosh! I'm not going to bed; I've got my work to do, and I'll thank you
to mind your own business. When I want your sympathy I'll ask you for
it. In the meantime, be so good as to spare me the indignity of offering
it."
"It is certainly time I looked after him," said Ellison to himself.
"This is the liquor again, with a vengeance!"
But in spite of his first refusal, Murkard allowed himself to be led to
his hut. Once there, he threw himself on his bed, and announced his
intention of going to sleep.
"The best thing you can possibly do. I'll come back in a little while
and have a look at you."
He left him picking at the pattern on his counterpane, and went back to
the house. When he got there, to his surprise he discovered his wife
sitting in the veranda talking to a stranger--a tall man about thirty
years of age, neatly dressed, and boasting a handsome, aristocratic
face.
As Ellison approached he heard his wife say:
"This is my husband."
The stranger rose, and came across the veranda to meet him. He lifted
his hat politely, and smiled in a most bewitching manner.
Ellison thought he had seldom seen a pleasanter face.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Ellison. I have the pleasure of bearing a letter of
introduction to you from the Government Resident over yonder."
He took a letter from the breast-pocket of his coat, and gave it to
Ellison. On the envelope was written, "Introducing the Hon. George
Merton."
"Won't you sit down, Mr. Merton? I am very pleased to have the
opportunity of making your acquaintance. Have you been long in the
settlement?"
"I arrived in the China boat last week. I am globe-trotting, I may as
well tell you--though it will probably prejudice you against me. I have
been three months in Japan, and am now on my way to Melbourne."
"Don't you find your stay in Thursday Island rather uninteresting?"
"On the contrary, I am so far interested that I am thinking of spending
another month here. I want to see all I can of the pearling industry in
that time."
"Then perhaps I can help you."
"The Resident was kind enough to say he felt sure you would."
"If you will give us the pleasure of your company, my wife and I will
try to make your stay as pleasant as possible."
"I am vastly obliged to you. You are really a most hospitable people. I
hope, if ever you visit England, you'll let me return the compliment."
"Thank you. We're rough and ready, but we're always glad to see folk
from the outside world. Our intellectual circle, you see, is rather
limited."
Esther rose to go into the house. She turned to their guest:
"You will hear a great deal about shell, copra, beche-de-mer, etc.,
before you leave us. But I hope it won't bore you. Now I will go and
prepare your room for you. Cuthbert, will you send one of the boys
across to the settlement for Mr. Merton's bag?"
"With pleasure."
"It's really very good of you to take me in like this," said Mr. Merton,
when they were alone.
Ellison replied in suitable terms. Hospitality was one of his strong
points, and the stranger was evidently a cultivated man. He looked
forward to a week or so of very pleasant intercourse. It was years since
he had enjoyed an intellectual conversation.
"You have a pretty place here, Mr. Ellison," said the other, after a
brief stroll. "The jungle on the hill, and the cluster of houses among
the palms at the foot, present a charming effect."
"I hope you will be able to say you like it when you have seen more of
it. It is pretty, but one is apt to find it a little quiet."
"How many men do you employ?"
"About a dozen; mostly Kanakas."
"But surely I saw you walking with a white man just now. Rather
afflicted, I think."
"Ah, yes; my storekeeper, Mr. Murkard. A very old friend. I'm sorry to
say he's not well enough to assist in welcoming you. By the same token,
I think if you'll excuse me for a few minutes, I'll go across and see
how he is. I'm rather anxious about him."
"Do, by all means. I'll walk back to the house." Ellison went down the
path to the hut. He listened for a moment at the door, but only the
sound of heavy breathing came from within. He went in, to find Murkard
lying prone upon the floor insensible. The hut reeked of brandy, and
Ellison was not surprised when he found an empty bottle underneath the
bed.
"This is getting to be too much of a good thing, my friend," he said,
addressing the recumbent figure. "I shall have to keep a sharper eye on
you for the future, I can see."
He lifted him up, and placed him on the bed. Then he began his search
for concealed spirit. At the end of five minutes he was almost convinced
that the bottle he had discovered was the only one. And yet it seemed
hardly likely that it could be so. Suddenly his eye lighted on a hole in
the palm leaf thatch. Standing on a box he could thrust his hand into
it. He did so, and felt the smooth cold side of a bottle. He drew it
out--an unopened bottle of Hennessey's Cognac. Again he inserted his
hand, and again he drew out a bottle--another--and still another. There
was enough concealed there to kill a man in Murkard's present state. He
wrapped them up in a towel, so that none of the hands should suspect,
and conveyed them across to his own room. Once there, he sat down to
think.
"He'll not move for an hour or two, then he'll wake and look for these.
When he can't find 'em he'll probably go off his head right away, and we
shall have to watch him in grim earnest. Poor old Murkard! Poor old
chap!"
Fortunately for his spirits that evening, Merton proved a most
sympathetic and agreeable companion. He ingratiated himself with Ellison
by praising his wife, and he won Esther to his side by the interest and
admiration he displayed for the baby. He was a fluent and clever
conversationalist, and by the time dinner was over both husband and wife
had agreed that he was a very pleasant addition to their party. But the
triumph of the stranger was yet to come. They sat smoking in the
veranda, watching the wonderful southern stars and listening to the
murmur of the wavelets on the beach. Only their pipes showed their
whereabouts, and when Esther joined them she could hardly distinguish
between her husband and their guest.
"Won't you play us something, Mrs. Ellison?" Merton said, after a few
moments. "I feel sure you are a musician. Indeed, I saw a pile of music
by the piano."
"Do you play or sing, Mr. Merton?" she said, as she turned to comply
with his request.
"A little," he replied. "If you will perform first, I will do my best to
follow you."
"A bargain," said Ellison. And his wife sat down to the piano.
When she had finished both men thanked her, and Merton rose from his
chair and went in to fulfil his promise.
Esther seated herself by her husband's side and her hand found his.
Merton struck a few chords and then began to sing. The attention of the
couple in the veranda was riveted immediately. Few men could sing as
Merton sang; his voice was a tenor of the richest quality, his execution
faultless. He sang as one inspired, and the song he chose suited him
exactly; it was "Si j'etais Roi!" When he had finished not a sound came
from the veranda; he smiled to himself. That silence was greater praise
than any thanks. He knew his power, and he had discovered by intuition
that the man and woman were in sympathy with him. He began to play
again; this time the song was an English one. The music was his own, the
words some of the most beautiful Tennyson ever wrote:
"Sweet is true Love tho' given in vain, in vain;
And sweet is Death who puts an end to pain:
I know not which is sweeter, no, not I.
"Love, art thou sweet? Then bitter Death must be:
Love, thou art bitter; sweet is Death to me.
Oh, Love, if Death be sweeter, let me die.
"Sweet Love, that seems not made to fade away,
Sweet Death, that seems to make us loveless clay,
I know not which is sweeter, no, not I.
"I fain would follow Love, if that could be;
I needs must follow Death, who calls for me;
Call and I follow, I follow! Let me die."
His voice sank almost to a whisper as he uttered the last words. They
seemed to hang and tremble upon the silent air for some seconds after
he had finished; the effect was complete upon his audience. He left the
piano and came out again to the veranda.
"Thank you. You are a wonderful singer," said Esther, tears still wet
upon her eyelashes. "I have never heard anything like your voice before,
and yet we have had many well-known singers among the pearlers in the
settlement."
Ellison was silent. The influence of the music and the wail of the song
were still upon him, and he could not shake them off. They seemed in
some mysterious fashion to remind him of his dead but not forgotten
past.
Merton seated himself, and turned the conversation into another channel.
He had created the effect he desired, and that was sufficient for the
present. He did not want to appear conceited.
"Hark!" said Esther suddenly, holding up her hand. "I thought I heard
someone calling."
They all listened, but no sound rewarded their attention.
"The sea," said her husband, "or a night-bird in the scrub."
"Where is Mr. Murkard to-night?" asked Esther. "I have not seen him
since you returned."
Merton suddenly leaned forward, and then as suddenly sat back. Ellison
noticed his action, but attached no importance to it.
"He's not at all well, dear. As I'm rather anxious about him, I induced
him to go to bed."
Merton sat suddenly upright.
"You were quite right, Mrs. Ellison. _I_ heard someone call then. Who
can it be?"
Again they listened, this time with more success. It was the voice of a
man in deadly terror, and it came from the hut opposite. Ellison sprang
to his feet.
"Murkard!" he cried. "I must go to him."
He dashed across the veranda and down the path to the hut. On the
threshold, and before opening the door, he paused to light a match. When
he entered, the room was in total darkness. He knew a candle stood on
the table near the door, and having found it, he lit it; then holding it
aloft, he looked about him. The bed was disordered, half the clothes
were lying on the floor. A moment later he sighted the man of whom he
was in search. He was crouched in the furthest corner, staring wildly
before him. His long legs were drawn up close to his chin--his broad
shoulders seemed to overlap his body. But his eyes were his chief
horror; they seemed to be starting from their sockets. Streams of
perspiration--the perspiration of living fear--rolled down his cheeks,
and every now and then he uttered a cry of abject terror.
"Hold me back--hold me back!" he yelled. "I'm falling--falling--falling!
Is there no help--my God--no help! Help! Help! Help!"
Ellison put down the candle and ran towards him.
"Murkard, what on earth does this mean? Pull yourself together! You're
all right!"
But the man took no notice. He only drew himself further into his corner
and clutched at the woodwork of the wall.
"Don't come near me," he cried; "for pity's sake, don't come near me!
You're shaking me, you're loosening my hold, and I shall fall!" His
voice went up to a shriek again. "I shall fall! I'm falling, falling,
falling! Help! Help! Help!"
Again and again he shrieked. Then he suddenly sprang to his feet,
tottered to and fro, and next moment fell forward unconscious. At the
same moment Ellison heard a footstep behind him. Looking round he saw
Merton standing in the doorway.
"What is the matter with him?" he asked. "Can I be of any assistance?"
"D. T., I'm afraid. And a pretty bad case, I think. What can we do?"
"Get him on to his bed, I should say, and send for the doctor."
"Well, let's try."
Between them they picked him up and carried him to his bed. Having laid
him there, Ellison said:
"Would you mind staying with him for a minute while I send a hand across
to the settlement for the medico?"
"Go ahead, I'll watch him."
Ellison went out and left them alone together. As soon as the door had
closed upon him Merton leaned over the bed and looked fixedly at the man
stretched upon it.
"Yes," he said, when he had finished his scrutiny, "I thought I couldn't
be mistaken. It's the very man himself. This is getting interesting. My
friend,--what do you call yourself? Oh, Murkard--when you recover your
wits again you'll have a little surprise in store for you. In the
meantime I've got to play my cards carefully, or that fool may suspect."
Five minutes later Ellison returned. Merton turned to him.
"What are you going to do now?"
"Watch him till the doctor comes. Don't you stay. Go to bed and try to
forget all about him."
"Sure I can be of no use?"
"Certain."
"Then I think I will take your advice and say good-night!"
"Good-night!"
As he went across to the house Merton smiled to himself.
"Forget him? When I forget him may my right hand forget its cunning. No,
no, my friend, you and I have a score to settle before we can forget! In
the meantime Diplomacy must be my watchword."