FURTHER SMALL BEER CHRONICLES
When the young people went to church, Enistor took the opportunity of
paying a visit to Narvaez. The effort to keep up an appearance of
friendship for a man he hated was not easy, and the Squire wished to
unbend in the society of one who knew his true sentiments. Also he
greatly desired to learn what were Don Pablo's plans regarding the
restoration of the fortune, for the Spaniard did not seem to be moving
in the matter at all, and valuable time was being wasted. And since
Enistor was anxious to get rid of Montrose as speedily as possible, he
thought it was just as well to suggest that the scheme--whatever it
might be--should be completed as soon as could be conveniently managed.
The master of Tremore wanted to handle the coveted income; he wished to
see his daughter married to Narvaez, and finally he desired to learn the
nature of this danger at which Don Pablo hinted so frequently. Of course
the marriage with the Spaniard, by making possible the training of
Alice's clairvoyant powers, would soon disclose this last.
Enistor walked leisurely over the moor to where the evil mount with its
crown of monoliths was indistinctly outlined against the grey sky. As it
was now autumn, the heavens had lost their summer azure, and the earth
had been stripped of its flowering splendour. He wandered through a
ruined world, where the red and brown and yellow of the dying bracken
were veiled in chilly mists. The ground was sodden, the herbage was
dripping wet, and the cries of the birds sounded mournful, as though
they were regretting the passing of warm weather. That Enistor should
see the prostrate body of a man lying amidst the fantastic colours of
the moorland seemed to be so much in keeping with the general air of
decay and sadness that he did not even start when he bent over the still
form. But he did utter an ejaculation when he looked at the white face
and recognised Julian Hardwick.
Why the artist should be here in an unconscious condition Enistor did
not pause to inquire. He was above all a man of action, and as it was
necessary to revive Hardwick, he hastened to fill his cap with water at
a convenient pool. The chill of the fluid on the white face flushed it
with returning life, and when Enistor loosened the collar, and shook the
body, Julian opened his eyes languidly. In a half-dazed way he murmured
something about brandy, a hint which the Squire acted upon by searching
the artist's pockets. He soon found what he looked for, and a drink of
the generous liquor revived Hardwick so speedily that he was soon able
to sit up and talk.
"My heart is weak," he said in a stronger voice, buttoning his collar.
Enistor was frankly amazed. "Why, you always look singularly healthy."
"Because I am big and well-covered with flesh it is natural you should
think so, Mr. Enistor. But the heart doesn't do its work properly. That
is why I live so much in the open air, and----"
"Don't talk so much. You are exhausting yourself."
Hardwick took a second drink of brandy, and as the heart quickened he
began to look more like his old self. "I am all right now," he assured
his helper, "I can manage to crawl to my lodgings and lie down for a
time." He got on to his feet and stretched himself languidly. "I always
carry brandy on the chance of these attacks!"
"You couldn't have used the brandy had I not been here to help you,"
said the Squire bluntly. "If you are liable to such seizures you should
not venture to wander on these lonely moors by yourself."
"Perhaps not! But it is rarely I become so incapable. Thank you very
much for being so kind. I shall go home now."
Then Enistor made an effort which rather amazed himself. "Let me take
you home, Hardwick. You are not fit to go by yourself."
Hardwick was as amazed as the man who made this offer. "I didn't think
you would bother about me in that way," he said weakly: then he
straightened himself with an effort. "Thank you all the same, but I can
manage!" And giving his preserver a friendly handshake, he moved along
the path which meandered towards Polwellin.
The Squire stood looking after him, thinking that he might fall again
and require further assistance. But the tall figure moved steadily
through the mists, apparently possessed of sufficient vital power to
reach the haven of home in safety. Then the Squire thoughtfully resumed
his way to Don Pablo's cottage, wondering at the discovery he had made.
Hardwick looked so strong and well, and was so massive and imposing in
appearance, that no one could possibly have guessed that his heart was
weak. But Enistor did not wonder at this alone: he wondered also at his
own kind offer to go out of his way to help any one in distress. It was
rather a weak thing to do, he reflected, and not at all an action of
which Narvaez would approve. All the same Enistor resolved to tell the
Spaniard if only for his own glorification.
Don Pablo was seated by a huge fire in his sinister study, with a paper
in his hands covered with odd signs and hieroglyphics. With his usual
serenity he murmured a welcome and pointed to a chair. But he did not
speak further for the moment and Enistor employed the time in trying to
read the inscrutable face, which was seamed with a thousand wrinkles and
made quite inhuman by the passionless look of the cold, steady, blue
eyes. Shortly the old man laid the paper aside with a sigh of
satisfaction.
"What are you doing?" asked Enistor curiously.
"I have been casting Hardwick's horoscope," was the unexpected reply.
"For the satisfaction of his own curiosity he gave me the day and hour
of his birth," he smiled in a cruel way. "I don't think he will be
pleased at what I have to tell him."
A telepathic message passed swiftly from one trained brain to the other
and Enistor nodded in a surprised manner. "He may die at any moment,"
said the Squire, translating Don Pablo's thoughts. "Well, that is very
likely. I found him unconscious on the moor a short time ago."
"He is not dead?" questioned Narvaez, with unusual interest.
"Oh no. I revived him with water and some brandy he had in his pocket.
Also I offered to see him home."
"Why?" demanded the other coldly.
"Well, he seemed weak and----"
"How often have I told you that other people's troubles do not concern
you, Enistor! If you choose to waste your powers on assisting weaker
persons, you will lose much force better employed in your own gain."
"I am not quite so hard as you are," snapped the Squire, sharply.
"Not quite so wise, you mean," was the unmoved response. "However, I
pardon your weakness on this occasion, as I don't want Hardwick to
die--yet."
"Do you wish him to die at all?"
"My last word implied that I did. It is part of my plan to get the
fortune you desire, which also means that I shall secure your daughter
as my wife."
"But I don't see----"
"There is no need for you to see," said Narvaez tyrannically; "you do
what I tell you and all will be well."
"Do you mean to kill Hardwick?"
"No! There is no need for me to move a finger. His horoscope shows an
early death from natural causes. Having found him unconscious, I leave
you to guess what those causes will be."
"I have no need to guess. Hardwick's heart is weak."
"Exactly. The organs of his body are healthy, but he has not a
sufficiently strong heart. If he could get a fresh supply of vitality he
would be a powerful and _long-lived_ man."
"Do you intend to give him that vitality?" sneered the visitor.
Narvaez chuckled. "Yes! You will see that splendid body walking about
filled with strenuous life some day soon."
"The body walking about." Enistor stared keenly at the mocking, cruel
face. "I must say you speak very strangely."
"I speak as I speak, and what I mean to say I say," rejoined Don Pablo
enigmatically. "Let us change the subject, as I am busy. Your errand?"
"I only came to get the taste of that young prig out of my mouth!"
"And waste my time. Why can't you rely on your own strength? I am not
going to have you here draining mine, particularly when this body I have
at present is so frail. Act the courteous host and give the young fool
as much of your daughter's company as he desires. The rest can be left
to me."
"But when are you going to move in the matter?"
"When the time is ripe and when I choose. How often am I to tell you
that it is impossible to hurry things? Corn takes time to grow: a rose
takes time to unfold, and everything in the visible and invisible world
progresses inch by inch, step by step. Nature, as you should know by
this time, is a tortoise and not a kangaroo."
"There is another reason why I came," said Enistor, accepting the rebuke
with a meekness foreign to his nature; "that fisherman--Trevel!"
"Well? He is annoyed because I give the girl jewels, and waken her
ambition to be something better than a domestic drudge."
"His annoyance extends to an intention to kill you," said Enistor dryly.
"I advise you to be careful, Master. Trevel is dangerous."
"Dangerous!" Narvaez spoke with supreme contempt. "You know what I am
and yet talk of danger to me from an ignorant boor. I could guard myself
in a hundred ways if I so chose. But," ended Narvaez deliberately, "I do
not choose."
"I wonder what you mean?"
"You may wonder. Threatened men live long. Content yourself with that
proverb. And now go; I am busy!"
Without a word Enistor rose and walked to the door. There he paused to
say a few words not complimentary to Narvaez, and he said them with a
black look of suppressed rage. "You treat me like a dog," snarled the
weaker man. "Be careful that I do not bite you like a dog."
"I trust you as little as any one else, and am always on my guard," said
the magician mildly, and stared in a cold sinister way at his pupil.
Enistor felt a wave of some cruel force surge against him--a force which
struck him with the dull stunning blows of a hammer, and which twisted
his nerves so sharply that but for dogged pride he would have shrieked
with pain. As it was he writhed and grew deadly pale, the sweat beading
his brow showing what agony he suffered. Hours seemed to be concentrated
into that one long minute during which Narvaez held him in the vice of
his will, and made him suffer the torments of the damned.
"I beat my dog when he bites," said an unemotional voice. "Go!" And
Enistor, conquered by supreme pain, crept away in silence. As the door
closed, he heard his master chuckle like a parrot over a piece of cake.
The Squire returned painfully to Tremore, cursing himself for having
been such a fool as to defy a man possessed of super-physical powers.
Twice before he had done so, and each time Don Pablo had inflicted
torments. The man, more learned than an ordinary hypnotist, simply used
in a greater degree the will and suggestion which such a one employs. A
hypnotist can make his subject believe that he has toothache, or has
taken poison, by insisting with superior force that he shall so believe.
Narvaez, more learned in the laws which govern this creation, compelled
Enistor in this way to feel the torments of a heretic on the rack,
without resorting to the ordinary necessity of casting his subject into
a hypnotic trance. If Enistor had concentrated his will, he could have
repelled the suggestion, but he had not the terrific power of
concentration which ages of exercise had given Don Pablo. He was in the
presence of a powerful influence, directed by an equally powerful will,
and therefore had no weapons with which to fight his dark master. In a
fury Enistor wished that he could make Narvaez suffer in the same
degree, but he knew that he could never hope to do so. Even if he became
possessed of knowledge, of concentration, and of a more powerful will
than was human, the Spaniard knew of ways which could baffle the attack.
The sole consolation which Enistor had to pacify his wounded pride was
that there was no disgrace in a mere mortal being beaten by a superman.
Narvaez, in a minor degree, was a god, a very evil god, and those
worshippers who did not obey him felt very speedily what their deity
could do. Enistor had no wish to measure forces with so powerful a being
again.
For the rest of that week he left the magician alone and devoted himself
to entertaining his guest. It was impossible to induce Narvaez to act
until he chose to act, and all that could be done was to obey his
instructions and behave agreeably to Montrose, so that the visitor might
be lulled into false security. Never was there so amiable a host as the
Squire; never was there so genial a companion, and Douglas became quite
fascinated with a personality which transcended his own. The young man
was so much weaker than his host that the latter wondered why Narvaez
did not compel him to surrender the fortune by putting forth resistless
power. Had Enistor guessed that Montrose's desire to do good and to love
every one nullified the evil spell, he would have wondered less. And at
the same time Enistor would have understood how, not having unselfish
love in his own breast, he lay open to the assaults of the magician. As
he treated others so he was treated, and a realisation of this golden
truth would have enabled him to defy Narvaez and his suggestions. But
the mere fact that he wished to exercise the same might-over-right
free-lance law prevented his understanding how to defend himself from a
more accomplished devil. And Don Pablo was as much a devil as there is
possible to be one, since he wholly obeyed the instincts, carefully
fostered, of hate and selfishness. Enistor was a very minor devil
indeed, as he had too much of the milk of human kindness in him as yet
to equal or rival the superior fiend.
In his determination to act his comedy thoroughly, Enistor went to the
great length of asking the vicar and his wife to dinner. As Mr. Sparrow
had never before been invited to break bread under the Squire's roof, he
was extremely surprised by the unexpected honour. At first he was minded
to decline, since Enistor never came to church and never took the least
interest in matters connected with the parish. But Mrs. Sparrow pointed
out that this desire for their company might be a sign of grace, and
that if they went, it might entail the reformation of their host. Also
the dinner was sure to be good, and she could wear her new dress in
decent society, which she very rarely had an opportunity of doing. Urged
in this way and having a certain amount of curiosity of his own
regarding the splendours of the big house, Mr. Sparrow sent an
acceptance in his neat Oxford calligraphy. The Squire gave it to his
daughter and told her to order the dinner.
"See that it is a good one," said Enistor genially. "Sparrow is as lean
as a fasting friar and won't object to a decent meal for once. It isn't
Lent or any of their confounded Church feasts, is it?"
"No!" answered Alice, very much puzzled by this unusual behaviour; "but
why do you ask Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow to dinner? I thought you didn't like
them."
"I don't! They are a couple of bores. But it is rather dull here for
Montrose, and we must get what society we can to cheer him up."
"I think Douglas is very well satisfied with my company," retorted the
girl, rather nettled by the implied slight, "and these two bores, as you
call them, certainly will not amuse him."
"Very well; ask Hardwick also. He isn't a bore and Montrose likes him."
"Julian isn't very well, father. He hasn't been since you found him on
the moor fainting. But I shall send the invitation. Shall you ask Señor
Narvaez?"
"No!" said her father sharply and uneasily, for his body still tingled
with the memory of Don Pablo's reproof. "I shan't submit him to the
ordeal of enduring so dull a set of people."
"Complimentary to us all," said Alice dryly, then regretted the retort;
"I am sure you wish to make things pleasant for Douglas."
"Of course! I wish him to stay here as long as he likes," said Enistor,
with an emphasis which she could not quite understand. "See that
everything is all right, my dear. I want the dinner-party to be a
success."
Rather amazed at the way in which her usually selfish father sacrificed
himself, Alice consulted the housekeeper, and made all preparations for
this rare festivity. When the evening came, the parson and his wife duly
arrived and at their heels followed Hardwick, who had willingly accepted
the chance of an evening in the company of Alice, whom he loved as a
sister, and Montrose, who appealed to him as an unusually agreeable and
decent fellow. The Squire welcomed his guests cordially, and took Mrs.
Sparrow in to dinner. She was a faded, colourless woman with a
washed-out appearance, markedly accentuated by the gauzy grey dress she
wore. Alice in a delicate pink frock, which set off her evasive beauty
to great advantage, looked like a fresh sunrise beside a wet, misty
autumn day. Douglas could not keep his eyes off her and Hardwick was
equally pressing in his attentions.
"But you must not over-tax your strength, Julian," said Alice, when she
found herself at the dinner-table between the artist and Mr. Sparrow,
who had escorted her thereto.
"Oh, I am all right now," replied Hardwick, "no better and no worse than
I ever was. You were surprised when your father told you?"
"I was greatly grieved, Julian. And it seems so strange that a big man
such as you are should be so delicate. You should see a doctor."
"I have seen several, but they can do me no good," said the artist
sadly. "In every way I am healthy, so there is nothing to cure. All I
lack is what they cannot give me, and that is a new supply of
life-force."
"If it is vitality you want, Hardwick," said Montrose, speaking across
the table, "you should consult Dr. Eberstein, who is coming down shortly
to Perchton. He is wonderful in many ways and I am certain he would do
you good."
"He cannot breathe more breath of life into a man than what that man
already has," said Mr. Sparrow, in a tone of sad rebuke. "God alone is
able to do that."
"Therefore," murmured Mrs. Sparrow, in an equally sad tone, "you should
pray for strength, Mr. Hardwick. We are told to do so."
"I thought that was spiritual strength?"
"And what more do you want?" replied the lady, forgetting the exact
point under discussion. "Let us watch and pray lest we fall into
temptation."
"My dear!" murmured the vicar in an undertone, for he felt that this
conversation was too professional for the occasion.
"Quite so," said Mrs. Sparrow, taking the hint, and did not open her
mouth for some time save to eat and drink. All the same she watched for
an opportunity to lead the conversation towards such religious topics as
she and her husband were interested in. This was to be done with a view
of surprising the Squire with the extent of her husband's knowledge. Now
she had managed to enter the big house, she did not intend to go out
again in a hurry. Enistor was a valuable parishioner, and if he could be
brought to defer to Mr. Sparrow much could be done with him and with his
money.
The table looked charming with its snow-white napery, on which glittered
crystal and silver, while the dinner-service was a thing of beauty. The
scarlet and golden autumn leaves which decorated the board, the mellow
light of the many wax candles, the well-cooked food and the delicious
wines, all impressed the vicar's wife greatly. She even felt a little
angry that such a heathen as the Squire surely was should possess these
luxuries, while Mr. Sparrow--capable of being a bishop in her
opinion--was content with unlovely surroundings and plain viands,
prepared in anything but an inviting way by their one servant. No, not
content--that was the wrong word to use. He put up with ascetic living,
while the wicked--meaning Mr. Enistor--lived on the fat of the land. It
was enough to shake the faith of a Christian lady in the fairness of
things. And truth to tell, Mrs. Sparrow, in spite of her anxious faith,
frequently doubted if the world was governed justly. She and her
husband did all that the Bible told them to do in the way of living
uprightly and unselfishly, therefore they should certainly long before
this have sat under their own fig-tree, possessing beeves and lands
according to the promise. As it was, they were as poor as rats, or
rather as church mice, which seemed to be the more ecclesiastical
comparison. Clearly there was something wrong somewhere in the way in
which mundane matters were ordered.
Meantime, the Squire had started Mr. Sparrow on archæology, as the best
way of keeping him off theology, and the parson was talking eagerly
about a certain red granite heart, inscribed with weird signs, which he
had dug up on the hill where the Roman camp was to be seen. "Near the
cottage of that Spanish gentleman," he explained precisely.
"I know," said Enistor; and indeed he knew the hill very well in a way
of which Mr. Sparrow would scarcely have approved.
"There is a Druidical altar there," went on the clergyman eagerly, "and
I have no doubt many dreadful sacrifices took place there in the old
days. This heart--which I shall be delighted to show you if you call at
the vicarage, Mr. Enistor--no doubt had to do with the terrible rites."
"Earlier than that," put in Montrose unexpectedly, "the heart was the
symbol of the Atlantean race, as the cross is the symbol of the Aryan.
The hieroglyphics on it mean doubtless the sacred word 'Tau.' Aum is the
sacred word of our present people."
"Tau! Aum! Atlantean!" echoed Sparrow, much perplexed. "What do you
mean?"
"It would take too long to explain, sir. Dr. Eberstein, who told me
about these things, is the best person to consult."
"I wish to consult no one," said the parson, drawing himself up. "I
believe the heart to be a symbol of the Druids."
"A symbol of Atlantis rather," insisted Montrose; "this very land on
which we are was part of the great continent of Atlantis."
"A mere fable, sir. You are thinking of the myth which Plato mentions."
"It is no myth, but an actual truth, Mr. Sparrow. Atlantis did exist and
was overwhelmed by that flood you will find mentioned in the Bible."
"Absurd! The name of Atlantis is not mentioned in Holy Scripture. There
is no proof that what Plato says is true."
"This much proof, that as far back as archæologists can go the
civilisation of Egypt was in full swing. Where did that civilisation
come from?"
"It grew up in the Valley of the Nile."
"Certainly, but the beginnings were brought to the Valley of the Nile by
a highly civilised race. Remember it was the Egyptian priests who told
Plato about Atlantis. They knew, because Egypt was a colony of that
mighty continent. There was another colony in Central America, and you
will find the vast ruins of its cities described in a book by Désiré
Charnay. The civilisation of Mexico and Peru destroyed by the Spaniards
was the last remains of the splendour of the Atlanteans."
"Where did you hear all this, Mr. Montrose?" asked the Squire quickly.
"From Dr. Eberstein. You can ask him for yourself when he comes down."
"I should like to meet him," said Mr. Sparrow primly, "but I do not
think that I shall agree with a single word he says."
"Then why ask him?" asked Montrose, very naturally.
"To confute him, sir. What we know of the early world is all contained
in Genesis. There is no mention of Atlantis there, although there is of
Egypt."
"What about the chronology of the Bible? It has been proved, Mr.
Sparrow--and you as an archæologist must admit this--that the
civilisation of Egypt extends further back than the date given in
Genesis as the beginning of the world. What do you say to that?"
"I could say a great deal," retorted the parson, whose archæological
knowledge was always struggling with his religious beliefs; "but this is
not the time or the place to say more. When Dr. Eberstein, who is your
authority for these startling statements, arrives I shall be happy to
thresh the matter out with him. It will be an intellectual pleasure. I
get few opportunities of that sort down here."
"That is very probable," said Hardwick, nodding; "your parishioners are
a good sort, but not very learned."
"They have no need to be learned, Mr. Hardwick. Let them fulfil their
daily task, and be satisfied with the position in which they have been
placed."
"If they take your advice," said the Squire dryly, "there will be no
chance of their rising in the world."
"Why should they try to rise?" demanded Mrs. Sparrow, coming to her
husband's aid.
"Well, my dear lady, it is said that the common or garden millionaire
usually starts his pile with the proverbial halfpenny. If he accepted
your husband's ruling, he would never attempt to rise."
"It is divinely ordained that some people must be high and some low."
"Rather hard on the low people. I think every one should be
dissatisfied, myself: that is the only thing that makes for progress."
"Did you promulgate this extraordinary doctrine in the village, Mr.
Enistor?"
"No!" replied the Squire, glancing at the parson, who spoke. "Why?"
"Because some of my parishioners are very dissatisfied indeed. Mrs.
Trevel was hard up last winter, and prayed for money. She did not get
it, and told me that she did not intend to pray any more, as it seemed
useless."
"And what explanation did you give her?" asked Alice anxiously.
"I was horrified at her impiety, Miss Enistor, as any right-minded
person would be."
"Of course," murmured Montrose ironically, "how dare she ask for money
when she was hard up."
Mr. Sparrow took no notice of him. "I told her that God thought she
required discipline and that she must not complain."
"Why should she require discipline rather than a millionaire?" asked
Julian.
"She may have more original sin in her," said Mr. Sparrow, floundering
in a bog and getting quite out of his depth.
"Well," said Montrose grimly, "if according to your teaching, Mr.
Sparrow, we all start as brand-new souls, given a set of circumstances
over which we have no control at the outset, and with the same goal of
heaven or hell at the end, it seems to me that every one ought to start
at scratch."
"Not at all," said the parson, doggedly illogical, "some are rich and
some are poor; some are clever and some are stupid; some are ill and
some are well. It is all divinely ordained."
"But so unfair," urged Julian, seeing the absurdity of the speech.
"What, sir, shall the clay say to the potter what it wants to be?"
"I really don't see why the clay shouldn't," put in Mr. Enistor, who
liked to see the parson driven into a corner, "especially when the clay
has nerves."
"All is divinely ordained," repeated Mr. Sparrow piously, "we must not
murmur. I regard Mrs. Trevel as a most impious person for daring to
rebel when her prayers are not answered."
"I told her that," said his wife, "and she only laughed."
"Bitterly, I expect," murmured Montrose; "poor soul, I shall give her
some money in the morning."
"No, don't," said Mr. Sparrow. "It will only confirm her in disbelief."
"On the contrary it will restore her faith," remarked the Squire coolly,
"as it will show that her prayers are answered after all."
Mr. Sparrow had nothing to say after this, although he greatly longed
to preach a sermon to those present. But not being in the pulpit he
feared lest his statements should be contradicted by these ribald
people. Therefore he wisely held his tongue on religious subjects for
the rest of the evening. On the way home, however, he made one scathing
remark to his wife.
"They are all atheists, Jane. Just the kind I expected to find under the
roof of a man who does not come to church."