My last day in Upsidonia had arrived, and the time was fast approaching
when I was about to rob that country of its brightest jewel. Towards the
evening, feeling restless, I set out for a walk. Miriam was with her
mother, and as there was no one else whose company I desired at that
time I went alone.
I thought I might as well see exactly how long it would take to walk to
the other side of Culbut so as to run no risk of meeting many people
when I should take the same road with Miriam, very early the next
morning.
When I got into the busier part of Culbut, I bought an evening paper,
and running my eye idly over its columns, came upon one headed: "The
Truth about John Howard at Last. Arrest Shortly Expected. New Peer
Victimised."
I took refuge upon the top of a tram-car, and read the column through.
It stated that the Master of McGillicuddy, the son of the respected
Highland Baron of that ilk, had been brought to the office of the paper
by another highly respected nobleman--in whom I had no difficulty in
recognising Lord Potter--and had authorised them to announce, for the
protection of all honest people, that there was a dangerous criminal in
their midst, whom they would do well to beware of.
A prisoner undergoing a term of penal servitude for representing himself
as a professor of dead languages, and practising a long series of cruel
frauds on young students, many of whom had lost places in the monthly
examinations owing to his empirical methods of tuition, had escaped from
gaol some weeks before. He was known to have gone south, no doubt with
the idea of practising the same frauds on the less sophisticated
scholars of Upsidonia. There was no doubt whatever that the person
already arrested on his arrival in Culbut for a gross insult to a highly
respected personage was this escaped prisoner, masquerading under
another name. The police, who had hitherto failed to trace the escaped
convict, had been notified, and, by the time these words were in print,
would no doubt have got him once more safely under lock and key.
Unless the paper was mistaken in this last statement, I had probably
passed the police on my way into Culbut, and they were now at Magnolia
Hall awaiting my return. According to the descriptions given by the
Master of McGillicuddy of the escaped prisoner, he might have been my
twin brother dressed up in my own clothes.
I need not reproduce the scorn with which the journal, which was that
chiefly read by the members of the dirty set, expressed itself about the
newly created peer, who had been taken in by this unscrupulous criminal,
and had even allowed him to become engaged to his daughter. It pained me
greatly, and would certainly pain Lord Magnolia no less when he should
come to read it.
The blow was a stunning one. If there was such a criminal at large as
had been described by the Master of McGillicuddy, which I had no reason
to doubt, it would be very difficult to persuade the police that I was
not that criminal. Indeed, how could I expect to persuade them of
anything! I could give no account of myself that would satisfy them that
they were arresting an innocent person, and even if the Highland police
eventually disclaimed me, I knew it would take some time to get them to
Culbut, and in the meantime I should certainly be kept in custody. It
was quite certain that the moment I returned to Magnolia Hall I should
be arrested, even if I got so far, and at dawn the next morning, when
Miriam and I ought to have been starting on the happiest of journeys
together, I should be most comfortably housed in prison.
The more I thought of it, the more angry I became at this most unkind
stroke of fate, and the more angry with the preposterous Lord Potter,
who had undoubtedly brought it upon me. I could not get at Miriam to
tell her to start alone and join me somewhere on the road. I could do
nothing. I was robbed of all I had hoped for as it seemed just within my
grasp.
I walked on and on, trying to form some plan. I walked right through
Culbut, with my eyes mostly on the ground.
By and by, something caused me to lift them, and I found myself passing
a little wood, which, with a start of surprise, I recognised as the one
from which I had made my first entry into Culbut.
It was, as Edward had said, and as was now quite plain to me, part of
the grounds of a large institution, and looked, from this side, quite
unlike what I had taken it to be when I had entered it from the other.
Still, in spite of Edward's description of the kind of country that lay
beyond, I had certainly entered this wood from the cave, in the way I
have described, and I had not the smallest doubt but what I could return
by the same way.
I thought that I might as well satisfy myself of the exact whereabouts
of the cave, so that I should be able to lead Miriam directly to it, if
I should succeed in getting her away. The only plan that seemed to me
possible was to keep away from Magnolia Hall until nightfall, and then
try in some way to communicate with her, and boldly carry her off under
cover of darkness. Very likely the house would be watched, and we might
be followed, even if we escaped. I did not want to run any risk by
groping about in the wood, when possibly time would be of value.
I found the trees and the bushes without the least difficulty, just as I
remembered them, and pushed through them to the dark aperture of the
cave.
I went in a short distance, not meaning to go very far, but just to
satisfy myself that the way was clear.
I am sure that I had not penetrated more than fifty yards, for the light
still held faintly, when suddenly the same roar was in my ears as had
frightened the man who had entered the cave with me from the other end.
I was aware of something odd in my head, which may have been a heavy
blow, although it did not feel like one.
Then I lost consciousness completely.
* * * * *
I came to, to find myself lying in bed, in a little room lit by a
lattice window, through which was a view of rolling purple moor. I felt
very weak, and when I tried to move, found that my body was heavily
bandaged and my head swathed. The movement caused a sharp pain to shoot
through me, and again I lost consciousness.
This was nearly six weeks ago. I am now sitting in a little slip of a
garden behind the inn, with the moor coming right up to it. I cannot
walk yet, for both my legs were broken by the subsidence of the cave, as
well as a few other comparatively unimportant bones in my body. But my
head has been clear for a long time, and I have employed my enforced
leisure in writing this account of what befell me.
I cannot, even now, make out exactly what happened. The kind folk who
rescued me, and have looked after me ever since, stoutly aver that the
fall of earth happened on this side of the cave, almost directly I and
my companion entered it; that he gave the alarm immediately, and I was
extricated within an hour.
If this is true, what becomes of Upsidonia?
It cannot be true. But I no longer talk of Upsidonia to them, for when I
did so, after I began to mend, they looked askance at me and were
obviously hiding something. Even the doctor, who rides over the moors
from Eppington on a shaggy pony, told me that I should not get well as
long as I clung to such delusions.
Delusions! Is Miriam a delusion, I should like to know? Can a man fall
in love with a delusion?
No. These people must know perfectly well of the existence of Upsidonia,
but for some reason of their own they wish to keep it dark. Perhaps I
shall know why when I get well again.
But I don't much care what their reasons are. The cave is blocked up
now, but from where I sit I can see a tall rampart of rock about a mile
to the north across the moor. It looks inaccessible, but there must be
some way over it, or round it. When I can walk again I shall find a way.
For beyond it lies Upsidonia, and Upsidonia contains Miriam.
Wherever Miriam is, I am going to find her.