hand of my guide stood on the floor. By its light three things were
visible. First, that we stood at the head of a staircase descending
into a depth of darkness which the eye could not pierce; secondly, that
in all the area about me but two persons stood; and third, that of
these two persons one of them was masked and clad in a long black
garment, such as is worn at masquerade balls under the name of a
domino. Struck with an icy chill, I looked down again. Why had I
allowed myself to be caught in such a trap? Why had I not followed Mr.
Nicholls immediately to Boston when I heard that he was no longer in
town? Or, better still, why had I not manufactured for myself a
safeguard in the form of a letter to that gentleman, informing him of
the important document which I held, and the danger in which it
possibly stood from the family into whose toils I had now fallen? I
could have cursed myself for my dereliction.
"David Barrows," came in imperative tones from the masked figure, "will
you tell us where this will is?"
"No," I returned.
"Is it not on your person?" the inquisitorial voice pursued.
"It is not," I answered, firmly, thankful that I spoke the truth in
this.
"It is in your rooms, then; in your desk, perhaps?"
I remained silent.
"Is it in your rooms?" the indomitable woman proceeded.
"You who have been there should know," I replied, feeling my courage
rise, as I considered that they could not assail my honor, while my
life without my secret would benefit them so little that it might be
said to stand in no danger.
"I do not understand you," the icy voice declared; while Guy, stepping
forward, planted his hand firmly on my shoulder and said:
"Wherever it is, it shall be delivered to our keeping to-night. We are
in no mood for dallying. Either you will give us your solemn promise to
obtain this will, and hand it over to us without delay and without
scandal, or the free light of heaven is shut out from you forever. You
shall never leave this mill."
"But," I faltered, striving in vain to throw off the incubus of horror
which his words invoked, "what good would my death do you? Could it put
Mr. Pollard's will in your hands?"
"Yes," was the brief and decided reply, "if it is anywhere in your
rooms."
It was a word that struck home. The will was in my rooms, and I already
saw it, in my imagination, torn from its hiding-place by the
unscrupulous hand that held me.
Mastering my emotion with what spirit I could, I looked quickly about
me. Was there no means of escape? I saw none. In the remote and
solitary place which they had chosen for this desperate attempt, a cry
would be but waste breath, even if we were in that part of the mill
which looked toward the road. But we were not; on the contrary, I could
see by the aid of the faint glimmer which the lantern sent forth, that
the room in which we had halted was as far as possible from the front
of the building, for its windows were obscured by the brush-wood which
only grew against the back of the mill. To call out, then, would be
folly, while to seek by any force or strategy to break away from the
two relentless beings that controlled me could only end in failure,
unless darkness would come to my aid and hide my road of escape. But
darkness could only come by the extinguishing of the lantern, and that
it was impossible for me to effect; for I was not strong enough to
struggle in its direction with Guy Pollard, nor could I reach it by any
stretch of foot or hand. The light must burn and I must stay there,
unless--the thought came suddenly--I could take advantage of the flight
of steps at the head of which I stood, and by a sudden leap, gain the
cellar, where I would stand a good chance of losing myself amid
intricacies as little known to them as to myself. But to do this I must
be free to move, and there was no shaking myself loose from the iron
clutch that held me.
"You see you are in our power," hissed the voice of the woman from
between the motionless lips of her black mask.
"I see I am," I acknowledged, "but I also see that you are in that of
God." And I looked severely towards her, only to drop my eyes again
with an irrepressible shudder.
For, lay it to my weakness or to the baleful influence which emanated
from the whole ghostly place, there was something absolutely appalling
in this draped and masked figure with its gleaming eyes and cold, thin
voice.
"Shall we have what we want before your death or after?" proceeded Guy
Pollard, with a calm but cold ignoring of my words that was more
threatening than any rudeness.
I did not answer at first, and his grip upon me tightened; but next
moment, from what motive I cannot say, it somewhat relaxed; and,
startled, with the hope of freedom, I exclaimed with a vehemence for
which my former speech must have little prepared them:
"You shall not have it at all. I cannot break my word with your father,
and I will not stay here to be threatened and killed;" and making a
sudden movement, I slipped from his grasp, and plunged down the steps
into the darkness below.
But, scarcely had my feet touched the cellar floor, before I heard the
warning cry shrill out from above:
"Take care! There is an open vat before you. If you fall into that, we
shall be free of your interference without lifting a hand."
An open vat! I had heard of the vats in the old mill's cellar.
Instinctively recoiling, I stood still, not knowing whether to advance
or retreat. At the same moment I heard the sound of steps descending
the stairs.
"So you think this a better place for decision than the floor above?"
exclaimed Guy Pollard, drawing up by my side. "Well, I not sure but you
are right," he added; and I saw by the light of the lantern which his
companion now brought down the stairs, the cold glimmer of a smile
cross his thin lips and shine for a moment from his implacable eyes.
Not knowing what he meant, I glanced anxiously about, and shrank with
dismay as I discerned the black hole of the vat he had mentioned,
yawning within three feet of my side. Was it a dream, my presence in
this fearful spot? I looked at the long stretch of arches before me
glooming away into the darkness beyond us, and felt the chill of a
nameless horror settle upon my spirit.
Was it because I knew those circles of blackness held many another such
pit of doom as that into which I had so nearly stumbled? Or was it that
the grisly aspect of the scene woke within me that slumbering demon of
the imagination which is the bane of natures like mine.
Whatever it was, I felt the full force of my position, and scarcely
cared whether my voice trembled or not as I replied:
"You surely have me in your hands; but that does not mean that it is I
who must make a decision. If I understand the situation, it is for you
to say whether you will be murderers or not."
"Then you do not intend to put us in possession of my father's will?"
"No," I murmured, and bowed my head for the blow I expected from him.
But he dealt me no blow. Instead of that he eyed me with a look which
grew more and more sinister as I met his glance with one which I meant
should convey my indomitable resolution. At last he spoke again:
"I think you will reconsider your determination," said he, with a
meaning I did not even then fathom, and exchanging a quick glance with
the silent figure at his right, he leaned towards me and--what
happened? For a moment I could not tell, but soon, only too soon, I
recognized by my stunned and bleeding body, by the closeness of the air
I suddenly breathed, and by the circle of darkness that shut about me,
and the still more distinct circle of light that glimmered above, that
I had been pushed into the pit whose yawning mouth had but a few short
moments before awakened in me such dismay.
Aghast, almost mad with the horror of a fate so much more terrible than
any I had anticipated, I strove to utter a cry; but my tongue refused
its office, and nothing but an inarticulate murmur rose from my lips.
It was not piercing enough to clear the edge of the vat, and my soul
sunk with despair as I heard its fruitless gurgle and realized by the
sound of departing steps, and the faint and fainter glimmer of the
circle of light which at my first glance had shone quite brightly above
my hideous prison-house, that my persecutors had done their worst and
were now leaving me alone in my trap to perish.
God! what an instant it was! To speak, to shriek, to call, nay plead
for aid, was but the natural outcome of the overwhelming anguish I
felt, but the sound of steps had died out into an awful stillness, and
the glimmering circle upon which my staring eyes were fixed had faded
into a darkness so utter and complete, that had the earth been piled
above my head, I could not have been more wholly hidden from the light.
I had fallen on my knees, and desperate as I was, had made no attempt
to rise. Not that I thought of prayer, unless my whole dazed and
horrified being was a prayer. The consolations which I had offered to
others did not seem to meet this case. Here was no death in the
presence of friends and under the free light of heaven. This was a
horror. The hand of God which could reach every other mortal, whatever
their danger or doom, seemed to stop short at this gate of hell. I
could not even imagine my soul escaping thence. I was buried; body and
soul, I was buried and yet I was alive and knew that I must remain
alive for days if not for weeks.
I do not suppose that I remained in this frightful condition of
absolute hopelessness for more than five minutes, but it seemed to me
an eternity. If a drowning man can review his life in an instant, what
was there not left for me to think and suffer in the lapse of those
five horrible minutes? I was young when the unscrupulous hand of this
daring murderer pushed me into this pit; I was old when with a thrill
of joy such as passes over the body but once In a life-time, I heard a
voice issue from the darkness, saying severely, "David Barrows, are you
prepared for a decision now?" and realized that like the light which
now sprang into full brilliance above my head, hope had come again into
my life, and that I had to speak but a dozen words to have sunshine and
liberty restored to me.
The rush of emotion which this startling change brought was almost too
much for my reason. Looking up into the sardonic face, I could now
discern peering over the edge of the vat, I asked with a frantic
impulse that left me no time for thought, if an immediate restoration
to freedom would follow my compliance with his wishes, and when he
answered: "Yes," I beheld such a vision of sunshiny fields and a happy,
love-lighted home, that my voice almost choked as I responded, that I
did not think his father would have wished me to sacrifice my life or
force a son of his into the crime of murder, for the sake of any
reparation which money could offer. And as I saw the face above me grow
impatient, I told in desperate haste where I had concealed the will and
how it could be obtained without arousing the suspicions of my
neighbors.
He seemed satisfied and hastily withdrew his face; but soon returned
and asked for the key of my house. I had it in my pocket and hurriedly
pitched it up to him, when he again disappeared.
"When shall I be released?" I anxiously called out after him.
But no answer came back, and presently the light began to fade as
before, and the sound of steps grow fainter and fainter till silence
and darkness again settled upon my dreadful prison-house.
But this time I had hope to brighten me, and shutting my eyes, I waited
patiently. But at last, as no change came and the silence and darkness
remained unbroken, I became violently alarmed and cried to myself: "Am
I the victim of their treachery? Have they obtained what they want and
now am I to be left here to perish?"
The thought made my hair stand on end and had I not been a God-fearing
man I should certainly have raised my voice in curses upon my credulity
and lack of courage. But before my passion could reach its height, hope
shone again in the shape of returning light. Some one had entered the
cellar and drawn near the edge of the vat; but though I strained my
gaze upward, no face met my view, and presently I heard a voice which
was not that of Guy Pollard utter in tones of surprise and apprehension:
"Where is the clergyman? Guy said I should find him here in good
condition?"
The masked figure, who was doubtless the one addressed, must have
answered with a gesture towards the hole in which I lay, for I heard
him give vent to a horrified exclamation and then say in accents of
regret and shame: "Was it necessary?" and afterwards: "Are you sure he
is not injured?"
The answer, which I did not hear, seemed to satisfy him, for he said no
more, and soon, too soon, walked away again, carrying the light and
leaving me, as I now knew, with that ominous black figure for my watch
and guardian,--a horror that lent a double darkness to the situation
which was only relieved now by the thought that Dwight Pollard's
humanity was to be relied on, and that he would never wantonly leave me
there to perish after the will had been discovered and destroyed.
It was well that I had this confidence, for the time I now had to wait
was long. But I lived it through and at last had the joy of hearing
footsteps and the voice of Guy saying in a dry and satisfied tone: "It
is all right," after which the face of Dwight looked over the edge of
the vat and he gave me the help which was needed to lift me out.
I was a free man again. I had slipped from the gates of hell, and the
world with all its joys and duties lay before me bright and beautiful
as love and hope could make it. Yet whether it was the gloom of the
cellar in which we still lingered, or the baleful influence that
emanated, from the three persons in whose presence I once more stood, I
felt a strange sinking at my heart and found myself looking back at the
pit from which I had just escaped, with a sensation of remorse, as if
in its horrid depths I had left or lost something which must create a
void within me forever.
My meditations in this regard were interrupted by the voice of Guy.
"David Barrows," said he, "we hold the paper which was given you by my
father."
I bowed with a slight intimation of impatience.
"We have looked at it and it is as he said, his will. But it is not
such a one as we feared, and to-morrow, or as soon as we can restore
the seal, we shall return it to you for such disposition as your
judgment suggests."
I stared at him in an amazement that made me forget my shame.
"You will give it back?" I repeated.
"To-morrow," he laconically replied.
XXII
THE CYPHER.
Ah, my false heart, what hast thou done?
This is a story of fact; it is also a story of mental struggle. I shall
not, therefore, be considered too diffuse if I say that this unlooked
for ending to my unhappy adventure threw me into a strange turmoil of
feeling, from which I had no rest until the next day came. That they
should promise to restore the will, to obtain which they had resorted
to measures almost criminal in their severity, awoke in me the greatest
astonishment. What could it mean? I waited to see the will before
replying.
It came, as Guy Pollard had promised, at noon of the following day. It
was in a new envelope, and was sealed just as it had been before it
left my possession. Had I not known into what unscrupulous hands it had
fallen, I should have doubted if it had ever been opened. As it was, I
was not only confident that it had been read from end to end, but
fearful that it had been tampered with, and perhaps altered. To get it
out of my hands, and if possible, my mind also, I carried it at once to
Mr. Nicholls, who, I had ascertained that morning, had returned to town
the day before.
He received me with affability, but looked a little surprised when he
learned my errand.
"I was just going to call on the family," said he; "I drew up Mr.
Pollard's will myself, and---"
"You drew up Mr. Pollard's will?" I hastily interrupted. "You know,
then, its contents, and can tell me---"
"Pardon me," he as hastily put in, "the family have the first right to
a knowledge of what Mr. Pollard has done for them."
I felt myself at a loss. To explain my rights and the great desire
which I experienced to ascertain whether the tenor of the paper he now
held coincided with that which he had submitted to Mr. Pollard for his
signature, necessitated a full relation of facts which I was not yet
certain ought to be made public. For if the will had not been meddled
with, and Mr. Pollard's wishes stood in no danger of being slighted or
ignored, what else but a most unhappy scandal could accrue from the
revelation which I should be forced to make? Then, my own part in the
miserable affair. If not productive of actual evil, it was still
something to blush for, and I had not yet reached that stage of
repentance or humility which made it easy to show the world a weakness
for which I had no pity nor sympathy myself. Yet to guard the interests
with which I had been entrusted, it was absolutely necessary that the
question which so much disturbed me should be answered. For, if any
change had been made in this important paper by which the disposition
of Mr. Pollard's property should be turned aside from the channel in
which he had ordered it, I felt that no consideration for the public
welfare or my own good fame should hinder me from challenging its
validity.
My embarrassment evidently showed itself, for the acute lawyer, after a
momentary scrutiny of my face, remarked:
"You say Mr. Pollard gave you this will to hand to me. Do you know the
cause of this rather extraordinary proceeding, or have you any
suspicion why, in the event of his desiring me to have in charge a
paper which ought to be safe enough in his own house, he choose his
pastor for his messenger instead of one of his own sons?"
"Mr. Nicholls," I returned, with inward satisfaction for the
opportunity thus given me for reply, "the secrets which are confided to
a clergyman are as sacred as those which are entrusted to a lawyer. I
could not tell you my suspicions if I had any; I can only state the
facts. One thing, however, I will add. That owing to circumstances
which I cannot explain, but greatly regret, this paper has been out of
my hands for a short time, and in speaking as I did, I wished merely to
state that it would be a satisfaction to me to know that no harm has
befallen it, and that this is the very will in spirit and detail which
you drew up and saw signed by Mr. Pollard."
"Oh," exclaimed the lawyer, "if that is all, I can soon satisfy you."
And tearing open the envelope, he ran his eye over the document and
quietly nodded.
"It is the same," he declared. "There has been no meddling here."
And feeling myself greatly relieved, I rose without further
conversation and hastily took my leave.
But when I came to think of it all again in my own room, I found my
equanimity was not yet fully restored. A doubt of some kind remained,
and though, in consideration of the manifold duties that pressed upon
me, I relentlessly put it aside, I could not help its lingering in my
mind, darkening my pleasures, and throwing a cloud over my work and the
operations of my mind. The sight which I now and then caught of the
Pollards did not tend to allay my anxieties. There was satisfaction in
their countenances, and in that of Guy, at least, a certain triumphant
disdain which could only be partly explained by the victory which he
had won over me through my fears. I awaited the proving of the will
with anxiety. If there were no seeming reparation made in it, I should
certainly doubt its being the expression of Mr. Pollard's wishes.
What was my surprise, then, when the will having been proved, I
obtained permission to read it and found that it not only contained
mention of reparation, but that this reparation was to be made to
Margaret his wife.
"For sums loaned by her to me and lost, I desire to make reparation by
an added bequest--" so it read; and I found myself nonplussed and
thrown entirely out in all my calculations and conjectures. The anxiety
he had shown lest the will should fall into this very woman's hands,
did not tally with this expression of justice and generosity, nor did
the large sums which he had left to his three children show any of that
distrust which his countenance had betrayed towards the one who was
present with him at the time of his death. Could it be that he had
given me the wrong paper or was he, as Mrs. Pollard had intimated, not
responsible for his actions and language at that time. I began to think
the latter conjecture might be true, and was only hindered in the
enjoyment of my old tranquility by the remembrance of the fearful
ordeal I had been subjected to in the mill, and the consideration which
it brought of the fears and suspicions which must have existed to make
the perpetration of such an outrage possible.
But time, which dulls all things, soon began to affect my memory of
that hideous nightmare, and with it my anxiety lest in my
unfaithfulness to my trust, I had committed a wrong upon some unknown
innocent. Life with its duties and love with its speedy prospect of
marriage gradually pushed all unpleasant thoughts from my mind, and I
was beginning to enjoy the full savor of my happy and honorable
position again, when my serenity was again, and this time forever,
destroyed by a certain revelation that was accidentally made to me.
The story of it was this. I had taken by mistake with me to a funeral
the prayer-book with which Mr. Pollard had presented me. I was
listening to the anthem which was being sung, and being in a nervous
frame of mind, was restlessly fingering the leaves of the book which I
held in my hand, when my eye, running over the page that happened to
open before me, caught sight of some of the marks with which the text
was plentifully bestowed. Mechanically I noticed the words under which
they stood, and mechanically I began reading them, when, to my great
astonishment and subsequent dismay, I perceived they made sense, in
short had a connection which, when carried on from page to page of the
book, revealed sentences which promised to extend themselves into a
complete communication. This is the page I happened upon, with its
lines and dots. Note the result which accrues from reading the marked
words alone.
[Illustration:
THE EPIPHANY.
with haste, and found Mary and Joseph, and the babe lying in a manger.
And when they had seen it, they made known _abroad_ the saying which
told them concerning this child. And all they that heard it wondered at
those things which were told them by the shepherds. But Mary kept all
these things, and pondered
them in her heart.
And the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the
things that they had heard and seen, as it was told unto them. And when
eight days were accomplished for the circumcising of the child, his
name was called JESUS, which was so named of the angel before he was
conceived in the womb.
_The same Collect, Epistle, and Gospel shall serve for every day after,
unto the Epiphany._
_The Epiphany,_
_Or the Manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles._
THE COLLECT.
O God, who by the leading of _a_ star didst manifest thy only-begotten
Son to the Gentiles, Mercifully grant that we, who know thee now by
faith, may after this life have the fruition of thy glorious Godhead
through Jesus Christ our Lord. _Amen._
THE EPISTLE. Eph iii. I.
For this cause, I Paul the _prisoner_ of Jesus Christ for you Gentiles,
if ye have heard of the dispensation of the grace of God, which is
given me to you ward. How that by _revelation_ he _made_ _known_ unto
me the mystery (as I wrote afore _in_ _few_ _words_, _whereby_, _when_
_ye_ _read_, _ye_ _may_ _understand_ my knowledge in _the_ _mystery_ of
Christ) _which_ in other ages _was_ not _made_ _known_ _unto_ _the_
_sons_ of men, as it is now revealed unto his holy Apostles and
Prophets by the Spirit, that the Gentiles should be _fellow-heirs_, and
_of_ the same body, and partakers of his promise in Christ, by the
Gospel whereof I was made a minister, according to the gift of the
_grace_ of God given unto me by the effectual working of his power.
Unto me, who am less than the least of all saints is this grace given,
that I should preach among the Gentiles the unsearchable riches of
Christ, and to make all men see what is the fellowship of the mystery,
which from the beginning of the world hath been hid in God, who created
all things by Jesus Christ: to the intent that now unto the
principalities and powers in heavenly]
It was but one of many, and you can imagine how difficult I found it to
continue with the service and put the subject from my mind till the
funeral was over and I could return to solitude and my third and final
examination into the meaning of this mysterious gift.