SECOND-SIGHT
Herrick was much happier now that his relations with Ida were properly
adjusted. He recognised how true was her woman's instinct which had
gone at once to the root of the matter. He had never truly loved her,
as a woman demands to be loved. The very fact that he had been blind
to her feeling for Stephen showed that what he had mistaken for true
passion--if it could be so called--was wholly false. He had been
attracted by her beauty, by her kindly spirit, by that sympathy which
every genuine woman can give to a man whom she finds pleasant company;
but of the sacred feeling, which is named love, yet which has no name,
he had not felt one thrill. With feminine cleverness she had taken his
gimcrack passion in the right way, and had shown him in the kindest of
words, how poor a thing it really was. There was no ill feeling in his
heart now that he had lost her. He could regard her as a dear friend,
and even be glad that she should marry Stephen.
So far Herrick was quite content. Yet there was a vague yearning in
his breast for companionship, and sympathy. Certainly he had both from
Stephen; but Stephen was a man, and could not be to him what a woman
could be. Herrick had lived a life, so active and full of interest
that he had never found time to think of love or of womankind. Now
that there was--so to speak a pause in his life--the vacuum thus
created required to be filled up in some way. For man, was woman
created, and Jim was simply yearning (although in his materialistic
blindness he did not know it) for the other part of himself. Ida had
hinted that what he wanted would come to him; yet so blind was Jim,
that he could not see the advancing vision. He looked to all four
points of the horizon, and saw--nothing. It was a wonder to him in
after years that it had been so with him. But it was but that dense
gloom which heralds the dawn. And the glory of day was at hand.
In this unsatisfactory mood, wanting something yet not knowing what it
was that he wanted, Jim was anything but a pleasant companion.
Formerly he had been serenely strong, never out of temper, and always
sufficient in himself to himself. Now he was easily irritated, he
smoked more than was good for him, he looked upon his fellow mortals
with jaundiced eyes. In vain he rode, he boxed, he fenced, he swam, he
took long tramps into the country. External Nature could do nothing
for him. The secret of his redemption was within him, yet he did not
know how to learn it. Poor Jim! Those dark days took much of his pride
from him. He learned then how poor a thing is man; how dependent upon
forces which although within himself he is unable through weakness or
through ignorance to control.
One form of Herrick's unrest took the shape of being almost openly
rude to Robin. The little man was in the habit of haunting Biffstead.
He was by this time desperately in love with Bess, and took no pains
to conceal his feelings. Manuel encouraged it, for the Mexican was his
confidant. Robin would have told Herrick had the doctor shown any
sympathetic disposition to listen. But Jim avoided him on all
occasions. Perhaps Robin guessed the cause, for he let sleeping dogs
lie, and never asked what it was that had come between them. He knew
that it would be wiser for him to leave Saxham, yet so deeply was he
in love that he could not tear himself away from so dangerous a
neighbourhood.
Jim felt that if he spoke to Robin he might say too much, so he
sounded Manuel on the subject of their leaving. He wished both men to
go, conspiracy or no conspiracy. The mystery of the affair was
beginning to exasperate Jim, and as has been said before he was not in
his usual good-tempered frame of mind.
One day he encountered Santiago on the common. The Mexican was in good
spirits and expressed his pleasure at the meeting. The doctor nodded
grimly, but did not return the compliment. "When are you two going
away?" he asked. Manuel looked up at the hard tone and saw at once
that Jim had made up his mind to be disagreeable. But the Mexican was
not lacking in courage and had no thought of retreating. "I do not
quite understand what you mean Señor," he said with coldness.
"I am talking of you and Joyce. When are you going?"
"When it suits me to leave, Señor. I have every right to stop here if I
so choose, and I do choose. As to Joyce, you had better ask him
yourself."
Jim saw that he had taken the wrong tone with the man and by a great
effort of will became more friendly. "You need not be angry Santiago,"
he said. "I only ask because I see that Joyce is attracted by Miss
Bess Endicotte. That is wrong."
"Eh!" Santiago shrugged his shoulders, "Why should it be wrong? She is
a most charming lady and your friend Joyce loves her."
"Ridiculous! He can never marry her," said Herrick angrily.
"There is no reason why he should not. Of course it is none of my
business, Señor, and I fail to see why you should speak to me about
it."
"See here, Don Manuel. I speak to you because I know that Robin has
come under the power of your will. You do what you like with him, and
I want you to take him away. He must not ask Miss Bess to marry him,
for the very simple reason that he has no income and no position. Such
a marriage would be a bad one for the girl."
"Are you in----"
"Drop that!" cried Herrick so fiercely that the Mexican was cowed. "I
am responsible for Joyce and for you also, seeing that I asked you
both to come here. You must go away."
"So far as Joyce is concerned I shall use the influence you are
pleased to talk about to get him to leave. As for myself, the Rev.
Pentland Corn has asked me to stop with him for a week or so; I have
accepted."
"Pentland Corn!" said Herrick surprised. "What can there be in common
between the rector and you?"
"Oh, I know that I am a bad man," replied the Mexican smoothly, "but
perhaps this priest may improve me. I believe he did his best with
Colonel Carr; but with me he may not fail. We are friends--great
friends.
"I do not understand," muttered Herrick eyeing the man curiously.
"Is there any need you should?" retorted Don Manuel working himself
into a rage. "Señor, I do not understand that you talk to me so."
"That's all right," replied Jim coolly. He did not want to quarrel
with the man as yet. "We need not lose our tempers like schoolboys.
You can stay a century with Corn for all I care! But Joyce----"
"If I have any influence with him he shall go."
"Very good. I would have spoken to him myself, but your influence over
him is stronger than mine."
Santiago shrugged his shoulders. "You ascribe to me more power than I
possess," said he, "I do not wish to obtain influence over any one. To
me Joyce is a pleasant friend, nothing more. When I go back to London
probably I shall see little of him. And I return to Mexico in two
months."
Herrick was pleased to hear this. If there was any conspiracy, and Don
Manuel was mixed up in it, the thing would at all events come to a
head within eight weeks. It was time it did, for Herrick was weary of
fighting with shadows. Once he had something definite before him he
could fight; and a vague threat in the Mexican's tone assured him that
he would not have long to wait.
As he had no excuse for leaving Don Manuel the doctor was forced to
return to the village with him. On the way they passed Sidney, who was
walking towards the moor. Herrick called to the boy, who merely waved
his hand and passed on. Jim noticed that his face was singularly
colourless, of a hue resembling that which it had assumed when he had
slept on the library sofa prior to his announcement of Mrs. Marsh's
death.
"How ill that boy looks!" muttered Herrick.
"Pardon me," interposed Manuel, "he is not ill. But he is in that
frame of mind which will bring him into contact with spiritual
intelligences."
"How do you know?"
"By his rapt look and his fixed eye. That boy Dr. Herrick, is
clairvoyant."
Herrick was angry at once. "You are talking the jargon of the
spiritualists," he said roughly, "all trickery and fraud."
"Believe me nothing of the sort Señor. I myself have seen the most
extraordinary things."
Herrick looked at him with a disdainful smile. "I know you are not a
good man Santiago, nor do you wish to be thought one. But I credited
you with more intelligence than to believe in hallucinations."
Don Manuel not at all offended laughed. "True I am not a good man," he
said, "and more is the pity. I am afraid to go where that lad can
go--into the astral plane. You do not understand? No! you are as I
said before, a materialistic being. But I am not a fool Dr. Herrick,
and I can tell you that I know something of the psychic faculty. In
Mexico I have seen the most wonderful things."
"Tell me all about it," said Jim humouring the man, "I am a sceptic
you know. All the spiritualism I have ever seen is humbug."
"This of which I talk is not spiritualism," rejoined Manuel coldly,
"it is the occult science. What is the good of my explaining anything
to you? You would only laugh, you cannot see, you never will see. The
prison of the flesh is too strong for you to break through."
"I am a healthy man if that is what you mean," retorted Jim, "but
about this boy? He is queer, I admit."
"Ah you can see that!" said Manuel sarcastically. "I congratulate you.
Eh! he foretold the death of Mrs. Marsh. Is it not so?"
"Yes! But that was a coincidence."
"Of course. These things are always coincidences--to you. But to me it
is a proof that the boy can enter the astral plane. He does not know
what it is; he is not instructed but he can go."
"I don't know what it is myself."
"It is another world that is all around us," said Manuel waving his
hand, "it interweaves itself into our world but having only limited
senses we cannot see it. That boy has senses finer than ours and he
can see. If you gave him a crystal, a blob of ink, any shining surface
with depth, he would see the most wonderful things. Have you read
Zanoni, Señor?"
"Bulwer Lytton's romance? Yes."
"Of course you call it a romance; but there is much truth in it. Well,
it is useless for me to explain, besides I am not a good man, and to
tell you all I _should_ be good. That boy however? You want to make
him like yourself. Well then make him eat plenty of meat, and take
exercise, make him fat, place him amongst boys who will laugh at him,
and he will be like the rest of the world. He will not lose his power
altogether. It will come to him at odd moments. But he will not be the
dreamer you see him, no! and he will not be able to see."
"I have thought of that myself," said Herrick lazily, "the boy is
half-starved and queer--a poet in temperament. I will take him in
hand, and----"
"And make him like yourself. Did I not say so?" Manuel paused, then
laughed. "To-night if I am not mistaken he will astonish you," he
said. "I know the look he had on his face. Something is in the air. He
sees it he will tell you about it, and you will laugh."
"Tell me about what?"
"I do not know; I am not clairvoyant. Wait and see," and Manuel turning
on his heel went into the Carr Arms which they had approached during
their conversation. Herrick looked after him with a smile of contempt.
"A charlatan!" he muttered, "and I thought he was only a villain.
Humph! I do not think one need be afraid of him--now."
All the same in spite of his openly expressed scepticism, the
conversation haunted him. He determined to keep Sidney in his company
and see if anything happened. Herrick scoffed at the things Manuel had
been talking about, yet he could not deny that the incident of the
prophecy of Mrs. Marsh's death was very remarkable. Indeed Jim
shuddered as he wondered if this uncanny boy was about to prophesy
something similar. However he put the gruesome thought out of his
mind, and went to Biffstead. Here he met Joyce coming out of the gate.
The little man looked quite joyous, and greeted Herrick gaily.
"Are you just going in? I was coming to you. Miss Endicotte asked me
to take a message to you."
"What is it?" said Herrick forcing himself to be civil. It was most
important that he should not quarrel with Robin at present. He hated
himself because he was obliged to wear this mask; but the
circumstances of the case and the interests of Stephen required it.
"Miss Endicotte wants you and Marsh-Carr to come to dinner. She has
asked me also. I am going back to dress."
"And to invite Don Manuel I suppose," sneered Herrick.
"No," replied Joyce simply. He either did not notice the sneer, or
wished it to appear that he had not perceived it. "Manuel dines with
Pentland Corn to-night."
"I hear he is going to stay with him."
"Yes, Corn and he have taken to one another."
"Curious they should, and not creditable to Corn," said Herrick and
went inside, leaving Joyce staring after him.
The little man frowned, and his face assumed a most unpleasant
expression. "I wonder if he knows anything?" he thought biting his
fingers. "He is quite different to what he used to be. I don't care. I
can hold my own," and with this defiant declaration he marched away
holding his head in the air. Certainly Dr. Jim was not wrong in
suspecting Robin to be other than he seemed.
"Then you won't come to dinner?" said Ida when Herrick presented
himself. "What a pity! Bess _will_ be disappointed."
"I think not," replied Herrick dryly. "I understand Joyce is coming.
But that is neither here nor there, I shall tell Stephen that you want
him and so shall be left alone in the house. Will you send over Sidney
to dine with me. I want him particularly."
"But he is only a boy. He will bore you."
"On the contrary, I find him a very interesting study. You know I
promised to take him in hand. Well, I want to have a talk with him."
"I am sure it is very good of you to take so much trouble Dr. Jim,"
said Ida gratefully. "Certainly; I will send him when he returns from
the moor. He went out for a walk. And you will tell Stephen to come
over?"
"Yes, as soon as I get back. He has been writing poetry all the day,
and needs to be taken out of himself. I am very glad you have asked
him."
Herrick bowed himself out and returned to "The Pines." Of course
Stephen was delighted at the idea of a dinner with Ida, but did not
want to leave his friend alone. "That's all right," said Herrick.
"Sidney is coming to keep me company."
Stephen shuddered. "Then I am glad I am going away," he said, "that
boy is most uncomfortable--so uncanny."
"You will certainly find more pleasure in Miss Endicotte's society!"
laughed Herrick. Stephen laughed too and looked sharply at his friend.
But true to his reticent nature he said nothing.
In due time Marsh-Carr departed and Sidney arrived. The boy had more
colour in his cheeks, and his eyes had lost the fixed expression
noticed by Don Manuel. He and Dr. Jim were on friendly terms and
Sidney was pleased that he had been asked to dine. All the same he
made a bad meal. The dinner was excellent but the boy restricted
himself to the plainest of the dishes and very little of them. He did
not touch meat but seemed to prefer vegetables. Herrick noticed this
abstinence.
"You will never grow strong if you don't eat beef, Sidney," he said
with a smile, "all English boys should eat beef."
"I never liked it," replied the boy abruptly. "I do not like any meat;
it is disagreeable to me."
"And you never touch wine I notice."
"No. I once drank a glass of beer. Ugh!" Sidney made a wry face and
shuddered at the recollection. "How can people like such things."
"What do you live on then?" asked Herrick.
"Fruit, vegetables and plain water. I do not often touch tea."
"Don't you think that is unhealthy?"
"No, I feel alright Dr. Jim. I am never ill. Ida is always fussing
over me, but I am much stronger than I look."
"Appearances are deceptive then," said Herrick dryly, and rose to go
to the library. "I suppose you do not smoke Sidney, you are too young
to indulge in that. Perhaps you do though?"
"I never smoke, I never will. I suppose I am different from other
boys, but all the things they like to do I dislike."
Herrick thought that this was the queerest lad he had ever met, but
for the moment he dropped the subject. After a time he began to talk
sport to see if Sidney would take any interest in it. The boy answered
politely but was obviously bored. Not even the account of a tiger hunt
with which Herrick strove to rouse him, had any effect. The doctor
more puzzled than ever, and recollecting what Santiago had said,
changed the tone of the conversation. He spoke of the fakirs in India,
of their self-mortifications, and the visions they asserted they had.
This was strange conversation for a boy of sixteen, but then Sidney
was a freak. He woke up upon this topic, and began to talk brightly.
His face became animated, a look of interest came into his eyes, and
he talked in a way so far above his years that Herrick was astounded.
"I seem to know India," said Sidney, "often times I see pictures of in
it my mind. The bright blue skies, the brilliant vegetation, the
queerly-dressed people. And the long range of mountains," he continued
as in a dream, "peaks of snow against a cold sky. Those must be the
Himalaya Mountains."
"You have read about India," said Herrick, "and so it has impressed
itself on your mind."
"No! I know more about the country than I have read. It is just as if
I had once lived there."
Dr. Jim had a smattering of the theory of reincarnation. He did not
believe in it, but on questioning Sidney he really began to believe
that the boy must have been in India in some former life. Else how did
this country-bred youth know about the gorgeous east. He said things
which he could not possibly have read in books. For two hours Herrick
drew him out on the subject and was fairly astounded at the mind which
laid itself out before his gaze. Later on Sidney began to grow
restless and again his eyes took on that fixed look. Rising he walked
up and down the library. Dr. Jim asked what was the matter.
"I'm going to see something," said Sidney in a most matter of fact
tone, "the feeling is always the same. I feel as if I were not myself;
as if I did not belong to my body."
"Do you want to sleep?" asked Herrick anxiously and with a thrill.
"No, I feel particularly wide awake. I wish Stephen were back!"
Dr. Jim sat up alertly. "Why do you wish that?"
"There is something bad going to happen to him. I feel that he--he is
in danger. I don't know," Sidney passed his thin hand across his eyes,
"there is a dark cloud, but bad,--bad."
Herrick felt half inclined to go with Sidney to Biffstead and walk
home with Marsh-Carr. But he was ashamed to give way to what seemed a
foolish impulse. He laughed at the boy, and began to question him on
other subjects. "You are fond of wandering about at night?" he said.
"I go to the Pine wood very often," replied Sidney still uneasy, "it
is so amusing to watch them."
"Them? Who?--What are you talking about?"
"I suppose you would call them fairies," said the boy, "they are real
people to me. Little men and women, so busy about their work."
Herrick stared. This sounded like the ravings of a lunatic. "There are
no such things as fairies," he said roughly.
"I have seen them," replied Sidney obstinately, "but we will not talk
of them Dr. Jim. You would not believe me if I told you what I have
seen."
"See here Sydney," said Herrick after a pause, "I believe you do see
things in a way. You have a most vivid imagination and a strong poetic
temperament. The way in which you described India shows me that. I
believe you think of these queer things so much that you make yourself
see them--a kind of hallucination. If you ate meat and took to sport,
these unhealthy visions would pass away."
"I daresay," replied Sidney indifferently. He apparently did not wish
to argue the matter. But he held to his own opinion nevertheless.
There were a few moments of silence, then the boy exclaimed. "It is
coming nearer--the danger to Stephen. Dr. Jim! Let us go to Biffstead.
I am sure there is danger."
Herrick the materialist however, would not give way on this point. He
thought it would be weak for him to yield to the boy's folly.
"Nonsense," he said roughly. "You are giving way to your imagination.
Nothing can happen to Stephen. If there is danger," he added in a
joking manner, to make Sidney ashamed of himself, "why don't you go to
sleep and see what it is? There is the sofa."
"No! I feel wide awake, and yet I feel--I feel," Sidney clenched his
hand.
Herrick reflected for a moment. Santiago had said that the boy was
clairvoyant, and could see visions in any shining surface or in a blob
of ink. There was a large silver ink pot on the table. More as a joke
than in earnest, Herrick pushed this across to Sidney. "Look there and
see what is the matter," he said.
Sidney looked offended. "If you do not believe me, you need not
laugh," he declared. "I shall go to Biffstead myself. It is eleven
o'clock. Quite time I was home."
"No! No! Look in the ink first," said Herrick, now much more in
earnest. He really wished to see if the vivid imagination of the boy
would see a picture in the black pool. "Have you ever looked into a
crystal Sidney."
"No, I can see things without looking into anything."
"When you are asleep? Vivid dreams?"
"Perhaps," said the boy quietly, "but in the dark I can--no matter. Do
not let us talk Dr. Jim. You only laugh at me and I want to go home."
"To warn Stephen?" said Herrick angrily.
"Yes," retorted Sidney doggedly, "to warn Stephen. He is in danger."
"Well I'll go with you Sidney. It seems that you must be humoured.
But to oblige me, see if you can discern the Arabian Nights in the
ink-pot. I am sure you will see Stephen seated quietly in your
drawing-room talking to your sisters, with Joyce."
Very unwillingly Sidney did what he was asked. He knew that Herrick
was laughing at him, and was particularly sensitive to ridicule. With
a look of reproach which made Dr. Jim feel rather ashamed the boy drew
the big silver ink-pot towards him and stared into the black oval. The
chimes of the clock striking eleven had just died away and there was
an absolute silence, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire. All
the lights in the room had been turned off early in the evening at the
request of Sidney himself. The boy disliked the full blaze. Only on
the writing-table was a green-shaded lamp, and close to this:--but in
such a position that the light did not fall into the ink-well, stood
the silver pot. Herrick half vexed with himself for encouraging this
folly, watched the boy quietly from an arm-chair. Sidney bent over the
ink and stared into it hard. After a minute or two Herrick saw a
quiver pass through the boy's frame. "What is it Sidney?"
"I see the drawing-room at Biffstead," said Sidney quietly, "but
Stephen is not there! Mr. Joyce is talking to Ida and Bess."
Herrick laughed. "What nonsense! Stephen is certainly there. If he is
not, had you not better look for him?"
"I see him now," continued Sidney taking no notice of the ridicule.
"He is walking in the churchyard."
"Rubbish!" declared the sceptic in the arm-chair, "what should take
Stephen to the churchyard at this time of the night? It is not on his
way home."
"He _is_ in the churchyard," insisted Sidney, "there he walks amongst
the tombstones. He is going to the new vault. For a time he looks at
it."
"How can you see that when the night is dark?" cried Herrick rising,
"there is no moon. Come away Sidney, this is bad for you."
"Wait! Wait!" said the boy hastily, "the danger, the danger. Stephen
has left the new vault; he has gone to the old one. He is being
followed, by a man in a dark cloak. The man has a big stick. He
comes behind Stephen he--he--stop! stop!" the boy almost screamed.
"No!--don't hit him! Do not hit him. Stephen! Help."
"Sidney," cried Herrick, catching the boy by the arm and now
thoroughly frightened "don't go on in this silly fashion."
"I tell you the man has struck Stephen," said Sidney passionately, "he
is lying by the old vault unconscious from a blow on the head. The man
has gone. I don't know where. Let me go, Mr. Herrick. Stephen is--"
Sidney wrenched himself away from Herrick and went staggering towards
the door with his hands held out. Dr. Jim followed him to stop him
from leaving the house in this state. But the boy gained the hall
before he did. Once there and he seemed to gather strength. He caught
up his cap and pulling open the massive door passed outside. Herrick
taken by surprise did not wait to put on his own cap. He went after
the lad bare-headed thinking he had been seized with a fit of madness.
In spite of the darkness of the night he followed on Sidney's heels so
closely that he was enabled to keep him in sight. Jim wondered where
he was going, being still sceptical of harm to Stephen.
Sidney passed swiftly beyond the belt of pines and down the lane which
led to Biffstead. "He is going home," thought Herrick with relief.
But the lad did not go home. He turned off sharp to the left, and
entered the churchyard through a side lane. Herrick, now awestruck at
his strange experience which he did not understand, ran after him
stumbling over the graves. Sidney never fell. He passed swiftly to the
old vault of the Carrs. Beside it was a dark body on the ground.
"Stephen! Stephen!" cried the lad, and then sank exhausted beside the
body.
Herrick came up thunderstruck at that cry, struck a match and held it
close to the ground beside the face of the unconscious man. He started
back with an irrepressible cry and let the match fall. It was Stephen
Marsh-Carr who was lying there, and he was bleeding from a wound on
the back of the head. And beside him, also unconscious, lay the lad
who had foreseen the accident.
"Or crime," said Herrick aloud in a shaky voice, "this is the work of
Frisco."