THE DARK PASSAGE.
Raymond crossed over to the opposite side of the road, in order to
take a look at the house to which the archway belonged. It was a
little old-fashioned inn, squeezed in between two tall houses, like a
shabby dwarf between two respectable giants. Over the door hung a
sign--a painting of a man with seven heads. They were ugly faces, all
of them, each with its peculiar kind of ugliness, and Raymond felt a
separate kind of dislike towards each one. Nevertheless (as might have
been expected, seeing that there was but one body between them) they
bore a sort of family likeness one to another. 'That must be a very
wicked body,' Raymond thought; 'it must be capable of committing all
the seven deadly sins at once.' It was thick and shapeless, with short
crooked legs, and very long arms. Underneath was written, '_The Seven
Brethren_.'
As he stood in the shadow on the opposite side of the street, with his
cap under his arm, Raymond felt half-minded not to enter the inn which
hung out so uninviting a sign. How different were these faces from
those of Armand, Dorimund, Sigismund, and the rest of the rosy young
farmers who drank milk at the Brindled Cow! Should he go back there
even now? There he would be sure of a welcome: he was not sure of a
welcome here. Raymond hesitated. But before he could make up his mind
the barmaid of the Seven Brethren appeared at the door of the inn. She
soon espied him where he stood, and smiled and beckoned to him.
'Come over, come over, my lad,' she said; 'it's just upon supper-time,
and there's a chop on the gridiron, and a draught of brown ale I'll
draw for you. Come; you look right hungry.'
Her voice and look made Raymond's heart beat, for, in a certain way,
they were like Rosamund's. And yet they were unlike. She had eyes like
Rosamund's, but the expression in them was one which Rosamund never
wore. Her manner of speaking, too, resembled Rosamund's. Yet Rosamund
had never spoken in quite that tone. Raymond hardly knew whether to be
pleased or shocked. After a little hesitation he put on his cap and
came across the street to her.
'Oh! my Lord, I'm sure I crave your pardon!' exclaimed the girl,
dropping him a curtsey. But though her words were humble Raymond
fancied he saw a mischievous sparkle in her eye which made him suspect
that she might be making fun of him. 'I didn't recognise your Lordship
in the shadow over there,' she continued, in a still softer voice.
'They have been expecting your Lordship.'
Now that Raymond was close to the girl she seemed much prettier than
before. 'What is your name?' he asked her.
'Silvia, please your Lordship.'
'Silvia--not Rosamund?'
'Oh, no, please your Lordship. Rosamund is such a vulgar name.'
'You are very pretty, Silvia.'
'Your Lordship is very good to say so,' replied she, casting down her
sparkling eyes and curtseying again.
'What is that round your neck, Silvia?'
'That is the half of a brass farthing, please your Lordship, that I
and my lover split between us this afternoon.'
'I thought it was the half of a spade guinea.'
'I'd be glad to exchange it for that,' said Silvia, looking up, with a
smile.
'Would you exchange your lover at the same time?'
'If the other was a handsome man,' said she, with a coquettish glance.
'But won't your Lordship come in? It's past five, I'm sure.'
'I will follow you,' said he. And they went in.
'Will your Lordship take my hand?' she said. 'The passage is very dark
and winding.' She put her hand in his as she spoke.
'Why is there no light here?' he asked.
'This passage can never be lighted, please your Lordship: the goblins
pinch out the wick of the candle with their fingers.'
'Are there goblins here?' said Raymond, drawing back.
'Keep hold of my hand, and they will do your Lordship no harm.'
'Does this passage belong to them?'
'Mind the steps, please your Lordship,' said Silvia suddenly. 'If you
were to lose me here you would never see light again.'
'How strange your voice sounds! Are you Silvia?'
'I am not Rosamund, at any rate!' replied his conductor, with a low
laugh. 'It's the vault of the passage makes my voice sound hoarse.'
'We must be a long way underground. And this darkness is like a block
of black marble. And I feel as if creatures were walking around me who
can see me though I cannot see them.'
'Their eyes are more used to the darkness than your Lordship's.'
'How far have we still to go?'
'Not far. I shall leave your Lordship at the next corner.'
'What am I to do then?'
No reply was made to this question. But in a few moments Raymond lost
his hold of the hand that had guided him, and a voice said, in a
whining tone--
'Won't your Lordship spare me a trifle for coming so far?'
'I--I'm afraid I have nothing to give,' said Raymond, putting his
hand in his empty pocket.
'A kiss is all I want from your Lordship,' answered the voice; and
then a pair of lips met Raymond's in the darkness. The lips were cold
as ice, but the breath that came between them was hot as flame.
Then all was silence. Had Raymond kissed one of the invisible goblins
instead of Silvia? Or was Silvia herself a goblin?
Be that as it might Raymond was left in an awkward situation. For all
he knew he was in the middle of an underground labyrinth; and the next
step might land him at the bottom of some pitfall. Raymond remembered
that long ago, when he was a small boy, his mother had once shut him
up in the dark closet behind the kitchen chimney, because he had made
a mud-pie on the ironing-board. That closet had seemed black enough,
but what was it compared with this? Besides, Rosamund had come after a
while and secretly let him out, and they had spent the afternoon
together in the barn. But Rosamund could never come to him here; and
that goblin kiss upon his lips had taken away his right to hope for
her.
While these thoughts had been passing through his mind he had been
slowly feeling his way forward; but all at once he was brought to a
stand by a sharp prick on the breast as if from the point of a
levelled spear.
'Who comes?' said a harsh voice.
'Only me,' replied Raymond in his most conciliating tone.
'Have you the password?' demanded the voice again.
Recollecting what the donkey-driver had told him, Raymond answered at
a venture--
'Yellow-cap!'
'Pass on, Yellow-cap!' said the voice.
He passed on, hoping that his wanderings were now to end. But after a
few steps he felt against his throat the smooth sharp edge of a sword,
which caused him to start back with a cry.
'Who comes?' said a snarling voice.
'Yellow-cap!' Raymond replied.
'The number, Yellow-cap?'
'Seven!' hazarded Raymond.
'Pass on, Seven!' said the voice.
Raymond stepped forward nervously, stumbled down an unexpected pair of
steps, and all in a moment there was a brilliant dazzle of light
close to his eyes. It vanished as suddenly as it came; but it had
given him a fleeting impression of many grisly faces pressing around
him on all sides, with fire-lit eyes all fixed upon his. On the
succeeding darkness, which seemed more intense than ever, the image of
these faces was still somehow discernible; while from amidst them came
a hissing voice, which said--
'Who comes?'
'Yellow-cap!'
'The number?'
'Seven!'
'The time?'
'Five!'
'Pass!' said the voice.
And immediately (though how it happened he could not tell) Raymond
found himself in a square, low-ceilinged, comfortable room, with a
large lamp burning in the centre of the table, around which were
seated six men, each with a long pipe in his mouth and a tankard of
ale before him.