FANTASY
‘Then thy sick taper will begin to wink.’
――_Donne._
Doctor O’Neill called again that evening, simply, he said, because he
happened to be passing. Yet he stayed some little time, and when he
came downstairs with Aunt Caroline he did not go away immediately, but
followed her into the dining-room, where they were alone.
“How do you think Grif is?” she asked him.
“That’s just it: I want to put a few questions.... I don’t find him at
all so well as he was this morning.”
Aunt Caroline sat down, but the doctor remained standing, looking, as
she thought, rather put out, as if something had happened to annoy or
perplex him.
“Isn’t it only that he’s tired?” she said. “I’m afraid he had too many
visitors to-day.”
“I see.” He nevertheless added almost immediately, “I can’t help
feeling that there must be something else. And while I think of it, I
fancy you would be better to let him have his dog back again.”
“I thought it wiser―――― I mean, when he has been cooped up in the one
room all day long――――”
“I know: I quite understand. In this case, however, we must stretch a
point. It is worrying him, and the less he is worried the better.”
“Then I’m to put Pouncer back again?”
“Yes.” He hesitated, his hands in his pockets, a slight frown drawing a
line down his forehead. “I really don’t know why he _should_ be worse
to-night, but he is――a good deal. It’s very much as if something had
happened――as if he had had a shock.” He turned to her abruptly, with
one eyebrow raised, a trick that always irritated her. For that matter
they never talked very long together without treading on each other’s
toes.
“But what shock _can_ he have had?” she asked.
“I don’t know. And whatever it may be, I’m afraid we’ll learn nothing
from Grif himself.... You can’t think of anything that might have
occurred?”
Aunt Caroline shook her head. “He hasn’t left his room all day.”
The doctor nodded, but he seemed still to cling to his idea. “It is as
if there were something weighing on his mind, some secret trouble. He’s
not as he ought to be;――as I expected to find him,” he added almost
angrily. “His pulse is absurd; he’s feverish; and I don’t like the look
in his eyes. I’d very nearly swear he has been frightened, that there’s
something he’s afraid of at this moment. His nerves are strung up. He’s
all wrong.... And he wasn’t that way when I saw him this morning.”
“Then you think there’s more in it than these last two nights can
account for?” she questioned, with just the faintest shade of
scepticism in her voice. “He didn’t have much sleep, you know.”
“If it comes to that, last night itself hasn’t been accounted for,”
said the doctor. “Why did he walk in his sleep? He tells me he hasn’t
done so for more than a year.”
“I’m sure I don’t know what it can be.... He’s so very reserved,” she
added rather lamely.
Doctor O’Neill smiled. “Yes; I discovered that. He’s also immensely
polite. He did everything to help me except tell me what I wanted to
know.... By the way, where’s this Palmer boy? I’d like to have a chat
with him.”
“Oh, Palmer hadn’t anything to do with it,” said Aunt Caroline, hastily.
“No; I didn’t suppose he had.”
“Do you really want him? I’m afraid he is out.”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. I have an unbounded respect for that boy’s
perspicacity, that is all.” He took a turn up and down the room, while
Aunt Caroline followed him with her eyes, wishing she could order him
to sit down and behave properly.
He stopped again before her, and this time the frown had disappeared
from his rather ugly yet rather fine face. “I’m afraid I must be
alarming you by so much mystery. There’s no need to be alarmed. All
that’s necessary is to be careful――very careful. What makes it more
serious than it ought to be is that he has no stamina――nothing physical
to fall back upon: which means that we never know where we are. I’d
almost be inclined not to leave him alone to-night. I suppose that
could be managed?”
“Oh yes; I’ll sit up with him myself.”
“No need to keep awake, you understand. As long as you’re _there_,
that is all that is required. But he must have some sleep. I’ll send
up a sedative when I get back, though I don’t want you to give it to
him unless it is necessary. If he can do without it it will be all the
better.”
He departed, leaving Aunt Caroline in a state of extreme
dissatisfaction.
* * * * *
Her anxiety diminished considerably as she watched Grif sleeping,
and without the aid of any drug. She sat in an armchair, with a lamp
burning on a table close by her elbow, while Pouncer, restored to his
former position of guardian, lay on the floor, lost in noisy slumbers.
No sedatives were required to lure Pouncer to the Land of Nod. His
regular snores were in themselves a kind of narcotic, and under their
influence Aunt Caroline dropped into a doze.
* * * * *
But Grif, though he lay so still, was acutely conscious. That is, he
became conscious from hour to hour; and sometimes when he opened his
eyes it seemed to be daylight, and again it seemed to be night. For he
had slid into a queer kind of world where time no longer existed, a
world in which he heard voices and saw faces that he knew; but those
faces were so oddly mixed up with others he did _not_ know, that he
at last let them drift by him without question, merely watching in
patience the endless procession, now bright, now dim. More than anybody
else Mr. Bradley was with him, and often when he went away his shadow
remained behind. It crouched in a corner near the door: it was waiting,
Grif knew, for him to fall asleep.
* * * * *
He opened his eyes in the dark. A great peacefulness had descended
upon everything, and the quiet wrapped him round like the stillness
of a pond. A thin ray of light shone across the room and lit up the
two white china dogs that stood upon the chimney-piece. Pouncer got
up once to bark at them, but as they took no notice he went back to
his bed. In the silence Grif could hear very distinctly the ticking of
the tall clock in the landing. He began to count the ticks, and had
reached fifty-three, when he was surprised by a quick little bark that
certainly wasn’t Pouncer’s. This bark had a stealthy sound; it was
really a whispered bark; and Grif couldn’t imagine where it had come
from. Then it sounded again, and this time he saw distinctly the tail
of the right-hand china dog wag. Grif had never even noticed that it
_had_ a tail before, so closely did it keep it tucked into its body. At
the same moment the other china dog got up, stretched out its paws,
lowered its back, and yawned.
“Are you sure he’s asleep?”
“Yes, can’t you see he is? He’s been asleep for hours――for days――for
months.”
“I suppose we can talk, then? It’s very difficult to get saying a word
with him always in the room. I wonder why they put him here?”
“I wonder how long he’s going to stay?”
Just then the deep voice of Pouncer joined in. “What have you got to
talk about anyway――stuck up there on a spare bedroom chimney-piece from
one year’s end to another?”
“We’ve plenty to talk about; but you wouldn’t understand; you oughtn’t
to be here at all. We know more than anybody except Pan and Syrinx.”
“The question is what _do_ you know?” growled Pouncer.
Grif was never to learn, for, as he moved, the room suddenly became
silent once more. He got out of bed, but somehow found it curiously
difficult to walk. Pouncer looked up at him with dark eyes liquid with
sleep, as he staggered to the chimney-piece and lifted down one of
the dogs. It was perfectly stiff and solid, yet he fancied he could
detect a faint, rapidly fading warmth in it. There was a crash, and
everything turned to darkness....
* * * * *
He felt very tired, and yet he must walk on. He could not remember
where it was he had come from, but he knew that when he reached
his journey’s end he would be safe, and that now he was in danger.
Something was pursuing him. He could not see it; he could not hear it;
it was still a long way off; but he knew that it was coming.
This high wall beside which he had been walking for hours seemed
endless. Then, with a thrill of dismay, he discovered that though he
was walking he was not moving. This gate straight before him was the
same gate he had seen an hour ago. He broke into a run, but when he
stopped the gate was still there....
Perhaps if he went through it he might reach the house sooner! He
felt that he must get home early or something dreadful would happen.
Early!――but it was already dark as pitch! the roads were deserted; he
was walking in the night! Where had he been then? Why had he taken so
long? And that gate, with its tall spiked bars!――how could he open
it or climb it? Even as he wondered, it swung slowly back, and Grif
hastily stepped inside. Then the gate closed behind him with a heavy
metallic clang, that struck upon his ears, cold and sinister, like a
note of doom.
At the same moment the moon swam out and he saw that he was in a
graveyard. He had made a mistake; he must get out again quickly; it was
madness to linger in such places, and so far from home. He wrenched at
the gate, in terror, but it would not open. The moon shone full upon
a white tomb just at his feet, and he read the name on it, and, in a
flash, remembered everything. Mr. Bradley was buried here. He must get
out quickly. He beat and hammered at the bars in an agony of fear, but
his blows fell soft as summer rain upon them, though the effort he
made brought the sweat out on his body. Oh joy! the lock was yielding
a little. If the gate would only open at once he might still escape!
Then, down below him, down under the tomb at his feet, he heard a long
low chuckling laugh that froze the blood in his veins....
He staggered and fell back. It seemed to him that he was lying on his
own bed in his own room, and that the shadow was once more lurking in
the corner. He watched it draw nearer and at last lean over him, but
he could not move hand or foot to fight against it, nor could he utter
a sound. He felt it creeping over the bed now, settling down upon him
like a cold heavy mist. He could make out a dim crouching form, he
could see through the misty coil two white blazing eyes. The long cold
fingers were at his throat; they tightened; they choked him; but when
he tried to tear them away he could clutch nothing; there was nothing
there.
Yet those fingers were strangling him! His struggles grew weaker, and
he was losing consciousness, when he heard a growl and a bark, and felt
some heavy body leap upon the bed. The battle now began in earnest, and
as Pouncer tore at the hideous creature who was murdering him, as they
strained and fought together, the grip at Grif’s throat relaxed, and he
opened his eyes.