THE RECOVERY.—THE SEXTON’S FRIGHT.—THE COMPACT.
What pen shall describe the abject fright of Master Will Stephens, the
sexton, as the cold clammy fingers of the supposed corpse closed upon
his hand.
The blood seemed to curdle at his very heart—a film spread itself
before his eyes—he tried to scream, but his tongue clove to the roof of
his mouth, and he could utter no sound.
In good truth he was within an ace of fainting, and it was rather a
wonder that he did not go clean off.
Power to withdraw his hand from the horrible grasp he had not, and
there he knelt, shivering and shaking, and with his mouth wide open,
and the hair literally bristling upon his head.
How long he and the dead man remained in this way together in silence,
he knew not, but he was aroused from the state of almost frenzy in
which he was, by a deep sepulchral voice—the voice of the apparently
dead.
“What has happened?” it said, “what has happened? Is this the world
which was to come?”
“M-m-mer-cy—help,” stammered the sexton. “I—I—I—am a poor man—I—I
don’t want your rings, good Mr.—Mr. Ghost. Oh—oh—oh—have mercy upon me
I—I—implore you.”
The only reply was a frightful groan.
The perspiration rolled down the sexton’s face.
“Oh, don’t—oh, pray don’t—hold—hold me so—so tight.”
“Now,” said the dead man, “I know all. The die is cast; my fate has
again spoken. Steel shall not slay me, the bullet shall kill me not,
fire shall not burn me, and water will not drown while yon bright
satellite sails on ’twixt earth and heaven.”
“Yes—yes, sir.”
“The fiat has gone forth, and I am wretched, oh, Heaven so unutterably
wretched!”
“Perhaps, good Mr. Ghost, you—you will let me go now. Here’s your ring,
I don’t want to keep it. Here’s the only one I took off your worshipful
fingers, good Mr. Ghost.”
A very thin filmy sort of cloud had been going over the moon’s disc,
but now had passed completely away, and such a flood of unchecked
untempered brilliancy poured in at the open window, if it might be so
called of the dead-house that it became quite radiant with the silvery
beams.
The drowned man rose with a wild howling cry of rage, and springing at
the throat of the sexton, bore him down to the earth in an instant, and
placed his knee upon his chest.
“Villain,” he groaned out between his clenched teeth, “you shall die,
although you have made me live. There shall be one victim to the fell
destroyer.”
The sexton thought his hour was come.
“Wretch!” pursued the revived corpse, “wretch, what devil prompted you
to do this most damnable deed? Speak—speak, I say, who are you?”
“What—what deed?” gasped the sexton.
“The deed of restoring me to life—of dragging me from the ocean, and
forcing me to live again.”
“I—I—oh dear.”
“Speak. Go on.”
“I didn’t do anything of the sort. The truth is, I only came to—to—to——”
“To what?”
“To borrow a ring of you, that’s all, and the greatest calamity that
ever happened to me is your coming to life.”
“How came I here?”
“That I can’t tell your worship. I am the sexton of this place, it’s
called Culburn, and is in Suffolk, and they picked your worship up
at sea, and brought you here. That’s all I know about it, as I hope
for mercy. It can’t do you any good to kill a poor fellow like me.
I don’t think you are a ghost now, but some ugly—no I mean handsome
fellow—supposed only to be drowned.”
“Do you tell me truth?”
“As I live, and hope your worship will let me live I do. And here’s the
ring, I came to borrow of you, sir, as a proof.”
“Of what?”
“Of—of—of—I hardly know what to say to you, sir.”
“If you are not the great enemy to me that I thought you—you are a mere
thief. You came to steal the jewels I had upon my fingers. Is not that
the truth?”
“I—I rather think it is, sir.”
“You may save your wretched life if you like. If you promise me that
you will keep all that has happened a secret, except so much of it as I
shall empower you to reveal, I will spare you; but if after having so
promised, you break faith with me, and let your tongue wag further than
I wish it, you will not live twenty-four hours afterwards, be assured,
for I will find you out, and twist your head from your shoulders.”
“Anything, sir, I will promise anything, I will swear if you like.”
“I heed no oaths. Consideration for your own safety will keep you
silent. Rise.”
He took his knee off the chest of the sexton and his hand off his
throat, and then Will Stephens tremblingly rose to his feet. The
idea did cross him for a moment of measuring his strength with the
resuscitated man, but when he beheld the tall, bony, gaunt figure
before him, he saw he had not the shadow of a chance in a personal
struggle.
Moreover he had a lively remembrance of a most vice-like pressure upon
his throat, which seemed to say that the ugly stranger was by no means
in an exhausted state.
Upon the whole, then, the sexton was glad to have escaped so well.
“You have only to say, sir, what you would have me do,” he said.
“Answer me first. Have you always lived here? Is this your native
place?”
“Oh, no, sir, I came from London; but then it’s years ago.”
“Very well. You must say that you remember me in London, as a gentleman
of good repute, and you must add that you came to the bone-house here,
and found me reviving, and that you took measures to complete my
recovery.”
“Yes, sir. And here is your ring.”
“Keep it as a memento of this affair.”
“Many thanks, sir. Will it please you to tell me your name and
condition?”
“John Smith, a foreign merchant; and now tell me, minutely, how I was
rescued from the ocean, or did the waves themselves give up their dead?”
The sexton who was now assured in his own mind that it was no ghost
he was speaking to, entered as far as he knew into the story of the
finding the body, and bringing it to the bone-house, but as that
information was not great, he volunteered, if Mr. Smith would go with
him to his cottage, to get him all the particulars.
To this the other consented, and they both left the bone-house together.
On the short bit of road, the sexton began to think that his companion
must be some madman, for ever and anon when the moon was brightest, he
saw him lift up both his arms to it, as if he were worshipping it, and
at those times too, he heard him mutter some words in a language that
he did not comprehend. At length the singular being spoke in English.
“Henceforth,” he cried, as if quite forgetful of the presence of
another, “henceforth, begone remorse, begone despair. The great sea has
rejected me, and not again will I seek destruction; I will live, and I
will live to be the bane and curse of the beautiful.”
“Sir,” said the sexton, “here is my house, sir; if you will step in,
I will soon dish you up a little something in the way of refreshment.
You see, sir, I live alone, that is to say, an old woman who keeps my
cottage in order and waits upon me goes away at night, and comes again
in the morning, but as it is not her time yet, I will get you anything
you like to eat or to drink.”
“I never eat nor drink.”
“Not eat!—nor—drink! Never, sir?”
“Never. I shall cost you nothing to entertain me. I want some rest, and
while I am taking it, do you go and get me such information as you can
regarding me. Make no concealment that I am alive, but go at once, and
return with what expedition you may, and remember that your fate is in
my hands.”
“I will, sir.”
The sexton was quite terrified enough to do what he was bidden, and
perhaps, the consciousness that the strange and mysterious man whom
he had for a guest might accuse him of the projected robbery of the
jewellery he had about his person influenced him more than the rather
obscure threat of personal vengeance by the promised screwing his head
off.
But the matter, take it for all in all, was anything but an agreeable
one for Master Will Stephens, and most heartily did he wish he had
remained in his bed and left the stranger to recover, if was to
recover, by himself. Will did not attribute that recovery to the
moonlight he had himself let in.