The well, which had long ago fallen into disuse, was almost hidden by
the thick tangle of undergrowth which ran riot at that corner of the
old park. It was partly covered by the shrunken half of a lid, above
which a rusty windlass creaked in company with the music of the pines
when the wind blew strongly. The full light of the sun never reached
it, and the ground surrounding it was moist and green when other parts
of the park were gaping with the heat.
Two people walking slowly round the park in the fragrant stillness of a
summer evening strayed in the direction of the well.
“No use going through this wilderness, Olive,” said Benson, pausing on
the outskirts of the pines and eyeing with some disfavour the gloom
beyond.
“Best part of the park,” said the girl briskly; “you know it’s my
favourite spot.”
“I know you’re very fond of sitting on the coping,” said the man
slowly, “and I wish you wouldn’t. One day you will lean back too far
and fall in.”
“And make the acquaintance of Truth,” said Olive lightly. “Come along.”
She ran from him and was lost in the shadow of the pines, the bracken
crackling beneath her feet as she ran. Her companion followed slowly,
and emerging from the gloom saw her poised daintily on the edge of the
well with her feet hidden in the rank grass and nettles which
surrounded it. She motioned her companion to take a seat by her side,
and smiled softly as she felt a strong arm passed about her waist.
“I like this place,” said she, breaking a long silence, “it is so
dismal —so uncanny. Do you know I wouldn’t dare to sit here alone, Jem.
I should imagine that all sorts of dreadful things were hidden behind
the bushes and trees, waiting to spring out on me. Ugh!”
“You’d better let me take you in,” said her companion tenderly; “the
well isn’t always wholesome, especially in the hot weather.
“Let’s make a move.”
The girl gave an obstinate little shake, and settled herself more
securely on her seat.
“Smoke your cigar in peace,” she said quietly. “I am settled here for a
quiet talk. Has anything been heard of Wilfred yet?”
“Nothing.”
“Quite a dramatic disappearance, isn’t it?” she continued. “Another
scrape, I suppose, and another letter for you in the same old strain;
‘Dear Jem, help me out.’”
Jem Benson blew a cloud of fragrant smoke into the air, and holding his
cigar between his teeth brushed away the ash from his coat sleeves.
“I wonder what he would have done without you,” said the girl, pressing
his arm affectionately. “Gone under long ago, I suppose. When we are
married, Jem, I shall presume upon the relationship to lecture him. He
is very wild, but he has his good points, poor fellow.”
“I never saw them,” said Benson, with startling bitterness. “God knows
I never saw them.”
“He is nobody’s enemy but his own,” said the girl, startled by this
outburst.
“You don’t know much about him,” said the other, sharply. “He was not
above blackmail; not above ruining the life of a friend to do himself a
benefit. A loafer, a cur, and a liar!”
The girl looked up at him soberly but timidly and took his arm without
a word, and they both sat silent while evening deepened into night and
the beams of the moon, filtering through the branches, surrounded them
with a silver network. Her head sank upon his shoulder, till suddenly
with a sharp cry she sprang to her feet.
“What was that?” she cried breathlessly.
“What was what?” demanded Benson, springing up and clutching her fast
by the arm.
She caught her breath and tried to laugh.
“You’re hurting me, Jem.”
His hold relaxed.
“What is the matter?” he asked gently.
“What was it startled you?”
“I was startled,” she said, slowly, putting her hands on his shoulder.
“I suppose the words I used just now are ringing in my ears, but I
fancied that somebody behind us whispered ‘_Jem, help me out_.’”
“Fancy,” repeated Benson, and his voice shook; “but these fancies are
not good for you. You—are frightened—at the dark and the gloom of these
trees. Let me take you back to the house.”
“No, I’m not frightened,” said the girl, reseating herself. “I should
never be really frightened of anything when you were with me, Jem. I’m
surprised at myself for being so silly.”
The man made no reply but stood, a strong, dark figure, a yard or two
from the well, as though waiting for her to join him.
“Come and sit down, sir,” cried Olive, patting the brickwork with her
small, white hand, “one would think that you did not like your
company.”
He obeyed slowly and took a seat by her side, drawing so hard at his
cigar that the light of it shone upon his face at every breath. He
passed his arm, firm and rigid as steel, behind her, with his hand
resting on the brickwork beyond.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked tenderly, as she made a little
movement. “Pretty fair,” she shivered; “one oughtn’t to be cold at this
time of the year, but there’s a cold, damp air comes up from the well.”
As she spoke a faint splash sounded from the depths below, and for the
second time that evening, she sprang from the well with a little cry of
dismay.
“What is it now?” he asked in a fearful voice. He stood by her side and
gazed at the well, as though half expecting to see the cause of her
alarm emerge from it.
“Oh, my bracelet,” she cried in distress, “my poor mother’s bracelet.
I’ve dropped it down the well.”
“Your bracelet!” repeated Benson, dully. “Your bracelet? The diamond
one?”
“The one that was my mother’s,” said Olive. “Oh, we can get it back
surely. We must have the water drained off.”
“Your bracelet!” repeated Benson, stupidly.
“Jem,” said the girl in terrified tones, “dear Jem, what is the
matter?”
For the man she loved was standing regarding her with horror. The moon
which touched it was not responsible for all the whiteness of the
distorted face, and she shrank back in fear to the edge of the well. He
saw her fear and by a mighty effort regained his composure and took her
hand.
“Poor little girl,” he murmured, “you frightened me. I was not looking
when you cried, and I thought that you were slipping from my arms,
down—down—”
His voice broke, and the girl throwing herself into his arms clung to
him convulsively.
“There, there,” said Benson, fondly, “don’t cry, don’t cry.”
“To-morrow,” said Olive, half-laughing, half-crying, “we will all come
round the well with hook and line and fish for it. It will be quite a
new sport.”
“No, we must try some other way,” said Benson. “You shall have it
back.”
“How?” asked the girl.
“You shall see,” said Benson. “To-morrow morning at latest you shall
have it back. Till then promise me that you will not mention your loss
to anyone. Promise.”
“I promise,” said Olive, wonderingly. “But why not?”
“It is of great value, for one thing, and—But there—there are many
reasons. For one thing it is my duty to get it for you.”
“Wouldn’t you like to jump down for it?” she asked mischievously.
“Listen.”
She stooped for a stone and dropped it down.
“Fancy being where that is now,” she said, peering into the blackness;
“fancy going round and round like a mouse in a pail, clutching at the
slimy sides, with the water filling your mouth, and looking up to the
little patch of sky above.”
“You had better come in,” said Benson, very quietly. “You are
developing a taste for the morbid and horrible.”
The girl turned, and taking his arm walked slowly in the direction of
the house; Mrs. Benson, who was sitting in the porch, rose to receive
them.
“You shouldn’t have kept her out so long,” she said chidingly. “Where
have you been?”
“Sitting on the well,” said Olive, smiling, “discussing our future.”
“I don’t believe that place is healthy,” said Mrs. Benson,
emphatically. “I really think it might be filled in, Jem.”
“All right,” said her son, slowly. “Pity it wasn’t filled in long ago.”
He took the chair vacated by his mother as she entered the house with
Olive, and with his hands hanging limply over the sides sat in deep
thought. After a time he rose, and going upstairs to a room which was
set apart for sporting requisites selected a sea fishing line and some
hooks and stole softly downstairs again. He walked swiftly across the
park in the direction of the well, turning before he entered the shadow
of the trees to look back at the lighted windows of the house. Then
having arranged his line he sat on the edge of the well and cautiously
lowered it.
He sat with his lips compressed, occasionally looking about him in a
startled fashion, as though he half expected to see something peering
at him from the belt of trees. Time after time he lowered his line
until at length in pulling it up he heard a little metallic tinkle
against the side of the well.
He held his breath then, and forgetting his fears drew the line in inch
by inch, so as not to lose its precious burden. His pulse beat rapidly,
and his eyes were bright. As the line came slowly in he saw the catch
hanging to the hook, and with a steady hand drew the last few feet in.
Then he saw that instead of the bracelet he had hooked a bunch of keys.
With a faint cry he shook them from the hook into the water below, and
stood breathing heavily. Not a sound broke the stillness of the night.
He walked up and down a bit and stretched his great muscles; then he
came back to the well and resumed his task.
For an hour or more the line was lowered without result. In his
eagerness he forgot his fears, and with eyes bent down the well fished
slowly and carefully. Twice the hook became entangled in something, and
was with difficulty released. It caught a third time, and all his
efforts failed’ to free it. Then he dropped the line down the well, and
with head bent walked toward the house.
He went first to the stables at the rear, and then retiring to his room
for some time paced restlessly up and down. Then without removing his
clothes he flung himself upon the bed and fell into a troubled sleep.