X.

About sunset Jael was surprised by the beginning of a jarring and

rumbling noise, the like of which had not been heard in the gorge for a

number of weeks past. Half incredulous of the evidence of her own ears,

she paused to listen. Certainly there was no mistake--the mill was

going! She stepped to the window and looked out. Yes, there revolved the

great black wheel heavily upon its axle, churning the headlong torrent

into foam, and hurling the white froth from its rigid rims. As she

gazed, astonished, she saw Gloam issue from the mill and stand beside

the boiling mill-race, watching, with manifest excitement, the sullen

churning of the huge machine. He wore no hat, his hair was tossed and

tangled, his bearing reckless and wild. All at once (for the machinery,

having been so long out of use, had doubtless become very rusty) an

unearthly peal of laughter--or what seemed such--was launched upon the

evening air. It partly died away; then it again burst forth, clinging to

the listener's ears and stabbing them, and leaving a sting that rankled

there long afterwards. In the midst of the infernal din, Jael saw Gloam

toss up his arms and abandon himself to a sympathetic paroxysm of grisly

merriment. The man and the machinery were possessed by one and the same

demon.

"Master--Master Gloam!" cried the woman, throwing open the window and

lifting her voice to her shrillest pitch, "what is the matter? Why have

you set the mill going?"

He glanced up at her with wild eyes, and waved his hand. "It is a season

of rejoicing," he answered. "The prayer that I prayed is coming to pass.

Therefore let the wheel go round. Hear it, how it laughs and rejoices!"

"But there is no grist--the mill is empty."

"It will not be empty long; the grist is coming. It comes! it comes! Let

the great wheel go round and grind it to powder!"

Jael drew back with a sickening apprehension at her heart. Gloam was too

plainly in a state of delirious frenzy, if he were not actually mad. She

longed for David's appearance, and yet dreaded it; she knew not whether

the meeting between the two men would issue well or ill. And then her

mind reverted to Swanhilda, and she asked herself what the effect of her

lover's presence would be upon her. Ever since the first week following

upon his departure the young mother had maintained a singularly passive

demeanour, only occasionally disturbed by seasons of vague and tremulous

anxiety. The housekeeper had looked in upon her several times that

afternoon. She lay quietly in one position, her eyes open and fixed,

save when the baby claimed her attention. She did not speak, and seemed

scarcely aware of outward things. Even the uproar of the mill, when that

began, commanded her notice but for a short time, and appeared rather to

gratify than to distress her. She perhaps associated it with the thought

of David, and fancied it in some way indicative of that home-return

which she had all along never allowed herself to despair of. But she

was as one partly entranced, whose ears and eyes, as some believe, are

opened to things beyond the ordinary ken of human senses.

The evening was cloudy, and night came on apace. Gloam had re-entered

the house shortly after dark, and Jael presently went to his room to ask

him where he would take his evening meal. But he met her in the upper

passage-way. He seemed to carry something in his hand. She could not

make out what it was, and he immediately hid it beneath his coat. To her

inquiries he replied that he was going forth to resume his old practice

of walking, and that he would sup with David after his return. Jael, in

her uneasiness, would gladly have persuaded him to remain at home; but

he was obstinate against all entreaties, and finally pushed roughly by

her and was gone.

Meanwhile the mill was still in motion. The housekeeper had an impulse,

soon after Gloam's departure, to go out and uncouple the machinery; but

she feared lest he might resent her interference, and forebore. The

noise, and the suspense she was in, combined to keep her in a state of

feverish restlessness. Her thoughts busied themselves, against her will,

with all manner of gloomy and painful memories and speculations. The

vision of her youth rose up before her, and filled her with vain,

remorseful terrors. She strove to cheer herself with picturing her son's

arrival; but even that had now become a source of apprehension rather

than of comfort. All the time she was oppressed by an indefinable

sensation that someone was prowling about outside the house; and once,

after the wheel had delivered itself of an outpouring of inhuman mirth,

Jael fancied the strain was taken up in a no less wild, though not so

penetrating key. Was it possible that Gloam was lurking in the gorge?

And, if so, what could he be doing there? Cautiously she peered out of

the window; but the moon was as yet obscured by clouds, and nothing was

certainly distinguishable. She returned to the fireside; yet paused

and listened again, because--or else her excited imagination deceived

her--another and a different sound had reached her from without: a

sharp, grating sound, like that made by a rusty saw eating its way

through close-grained timber. Ere she could be certain about the matter,

however, the noise stopped, and returned no more.

An hour or so later, it wanting then only a few minutes of midnight,

Swanhilda suddenly awoke from her half-trance, and sat upright in

her bed. The house resounded dully to the muffled throbbing of the

machinery, but otherwise there was no stir. The little baby had fallen

sound asleep, and lay at its mother's side, with its tiny hands folded

beneath its chin, and grasping the pearl-shell necklace, which

was its favourite plaything. After sitting tense and still for a

moment, Swanhilda got out of bed, huddled on some clothes, kissed the

unconscious baby twice or thrice, and then silently left the room. In

another minute she had stolen down the stairs, and was standing between

the house and the stream in the open air. She looked first one way and

then another, and finally, without any hesitation in her manner, but

with an assured and joyful bearing, bent her steps towards the top of

the gorge. A narrow footpath led up thither, and at the highest point

turned to the right, and was carried across the torrent by a narrow

bridge formed of a single plank. When Swanhilda came to the turn, she

did not go over the bridge, but sat down upon a stone amidst the

shrubbery, and waited.

How had she known that there was anyone to wait for? Jael, certainly,

had told her nothing; still less could she have learned anything from

Gloam. Nevertheless, there she sat, waiting, and knowing beyond question

that her lover was near, and was rapidly coming nearer. In a few minutes

she would hear his steps; then he would be upon the bridge, and she

would rise and meet him there. Had he not promised, months ago, that he

would never leave her? and though he had been driven away for a time,

she had never doubted that he would return. He loved her; soon, soon

she would feel his arms about her, his kisses on her lips. Ah! what

happiness after all this pain; what measureless content! How glad would

be their meeting; and when she showed him their little baby, the cup of

joy would be full. Nay, it was so already. In all Swanhilda's life she

had never known a moment so free from all earthly trouble as was this!

It was near the end. She stood up; she had heard a footstep; yes, there

again! He must be close at hand; if it were not so dark she would have

already seen him. And now the clouds which had so long obscured the moon

broke away, and the pale sphere hung poised in dark purple space, and

shed a dim lustre over the little gorge. The light glanced on the curve

of the cataract, and twinkled in the eddies of the pool, and danced

along the tumultuous rapid, and glistened upon the froth of the

mill-race. There the black wheel still plunged to its work, whirling its

gaunt arms about as if grasping for a victim. In the bushes close beside

it crouched a man with white face and staring eyes. He had laid his

trap, and was waiting the issue. He had not seen Swanhilda leave the

house and climb the little path; his eyes and thoughts had been turned

elsewhither.

David came swiftly along the upland path, whistling to himself as he

walked. We will not search his thoughts, seeing he was so near the

end of his journey. When he arrived at the brow of the gorge, and

was within a few paces of the bridge, he halted and peered forward

earnestly. What figure was that that seemed to stand expectantly on the

other side? It could not be Swanhilda--ay, but it was! He gave a little

laugh, and then his hard heart softened and warmed towards her. "How she

does love me, poor little thing!" he muttered. "And I've treated her

devilish badly, no mistake. Well, well, I'll make it up to her, if all

goes well, see if I don't!"

He came on to the bridge, and Swanhilda also hurried forward. Then the

man below among the bushes started up, dry-mouthed and breathless. In an

instant he sent forth a great, terrible cry of warning and agony; but

before it could be uttered the lovers had met upon the narrow plank,

and Swanhilda had received her kiss. While their lips yet touched, the

plank, sawn in two all but a finger's breadth, broke downwards, and they

fell, clasped in each other's arms--headlong down over the fall, down

to the bottom of the eddying pool; up again, and over in the rapids,

whirling round and round, dashed against the jagged stones, bleeding

piteously; stunned, let us trust, already, but still clinging to each

other. Now the last plunge: and so, at length, with a final shriek of

heaven-defying laughter, the hungry demon of the wheel grappled its

prey. Ay, snatch at them, tear, break, grind them down and hold them

there; they are past feeling now. But not so the man upon the bank, with

uncovered hair showing black and white in the moonlight, who has looked

on at this scene, powerless to help, but awake to every swift phase

of the tragedy, losing not a struggle or a pang, realising his own

unspeakable horror and anguish, and foreseeing no comfort or pardon

through all time to come.

The wheel stopped suddenly. Jael came breathless out of the mill-house,

and shrinkingly approached the margin. A formless mass of something was

wedged beneath the lower rim of the wheel and the bed of the stream,

and a long mass of yellow hair floated out along the black water, and

gleamed in the lustre of the untroubled moon. The man on the other side

was kneeling down, and seemed to be gazing idly into the current.

"He was your brother," said Jael, sobbing with rage and misery. "Your

father was his. You have murdered him. God curse you! I wish you lay

where he is."

"Why, Jael," returned Gloam, smiling at her, "you invoke a curse and a

blessing in the same breath! My brother?--well. Swanhilda loved him and

not me. Thank God I was the brother of the man she loved; the same blood

ran in our veins--she loved a part of me in him. But why do you trouble

yourself to curse me, Jael? I ask the charity of all men, and their

sympathy!"...

I unclasped my hands from above my eyes, and started to my feet. No,

there was no one near me; I was quite alone. It was deep twilight, but

objects were still discernible: yet nowhere, neither beneath the Black

Oak, nor beside the Laughing Wheel, nor anywhere in the gorge, could I

see a trace of my late companion--of him whose last words were even then

ringing in my ears: "I ask the charity of all men, and their sympathy!"