"OH, ABSALOM, MY SON, MY SON"
As Mona stood at the angle of the mountain-path and the road leading to
the door of Kisseck's cottage, she saw four men pass her and run into
the house. She recognized Danny and his uncle, but not Christian.
Perhaps the darkness deceived her, but she thought the other two were
Corteen and Killip. After a few minutes she heard loud voices from the
cottage, mingled with terrific oaths. If the police returned suddenly,
and were made witnesses of this turmoil, discovery and conviction were
certain. Mona crept up, meaning to warn the men and get them to put out
to sea. She knocked, and had no answer. She tried the door, and it was
barred. Still the loud quarreling continued. Among other voices, she
recognized Kisseck's and Danny's. Christian's voice she could not hear,
but in her perturbation and the angry tumult any voice might escape her.
Then came the pistol-shot, the cry, the fall, and a long silence. She
knocked again, and yet again. She called on Christian. She had no reply.
She called on Kisseck. Then came the words, "Bill is gone to bed."
Somehow, she knew not why, the words chilled her to the heart's core.
Fearful, distraught, in the agony of uncertainty she fled away to the
town. Christian, where was _he_? Had he indeed passed her among the
rest? Was he in that house when that shot was fired? At whom? by whom?
wherefore? The suspense was more terrible than the reality could have
been.
Through Peel and on to Balladhoo Mona ran with shuddering heart. She
asked for Christian first. How well her fears told her that he was not
there. She asked for the gardener. Jemmy Quark Balladhoo, like
Tommy-Bill-beg, was away at the waits. Something must be done, for
something terrible had occurred. The hour was late, but Mylrea Balladhoo
would certainly be awake, and waiting the return of Kerruish Kinvig with
intelligence of the expected capture.
"Tell Mr. Mylrea I wish to speak with him at once and alone," said Mona.
In another moment Mylrea Balladhoo came to the door with a lamp held
above his head, to catch sight of his late visitor.
"Ah, the young woman from Kinvig. Come in, my girl; come in, come in."
Mona followed the old gentleman into the house. Her face in the
lamplight was ashy pale, the pupils of her eyes were dilated, her lips
quivered, her fingers trembled and were intertwined.
"Is Mr. Christian at home, sir?" said Mona.
Mylrea Balladhoo glanced up under his spectacles. What Kerruish Kinvig
had once said of Christian and this young woman flashed across his mind
at that instant. "No, my girl, no. Christian is helping the Castle
Rushen men to lay hands on that gang of scoundrels, you know."
"He is not with them, sir," said Mona, with a fearful effort.
"Oh, yes, though; I sent Jemmy after him to instruct him. But he'll be
home soon; I expect him every minute. I hope they've captured the
vagabonds."
It was terrible to go on. Mona lifted up her whole soul in prayer for
this old man, whose hour of utmost need had now come. And she herself
was to deal the blow that must shatter his happiness. "God help him,"
she muttered, passionately, and the involuntary prayer was made audible.
Mylrea Balladhoo rose stiffly to his feet. He looked for an instant and
in silence into the pale face before him.
"What is it?" he faltered, with an affrighted stare. "What news? Is
Christian--Where is Christian? Have the scoundrels--injured him?"
"He was one of themselves," said Mona, and dropped to her knees in the
depth of her agony.
Then slowly, disjointedly, inconsequentially, repeating incident after
incident, beginning again and again, explaining, excusing, praying for
pardon, and clasping the old man's knees in the tempest of her passion,
Mona told the whole story as she knew it: how she had heard too late
that Christian had gone out in Kisseck's boat; how she tried to compass
his rescue; how, at the very crown and top of what she mistook for her
success, the hand of Fate itself seemed to have been thrust in, to the
ruin of all. She finished with the story of the flight of the four men
to Kisseck's cottage, the quarreling there, the pistol shot, and the
strange answer to her knock.
Mylrea Balladhoo stood still with the stupid, bewildered look of one who
has been dealt an unexpected and dreadful blow. The world seemed to be
crumbling under him. At that first instant there was something like a
ghastly smile playing over his pallid face. Then the truth came rolling
over his soul. The sight was fearful to look upon. He fell back with a
low moan. But the good God sent the stricken old man the gift of tears.
He wept aloud, and cried that he could better have borne poverty than
such disgrace. "Oh, my son, my son! how have you shortened my days; how
you have clothed me with shame; oh, my son, my son!" But love was
uppermost even in that bitter hour.
It was not for this that Mona had made her way to Balladhoo. She wanted
help. She must find where Christian was, and whether in truth he had
been one of the four who passed her on the mountain-path.
Together she and Mylrea Balladhoo set off for Kisseck's cottage. How the
old father tottered on the way! How low his head was bent, as if the
darkness itself had eyes to peer into his darkened soul!
When they reached the cottage in the quarry the door was wide open. All
was silent now. No one was within. A candle burned low on the table. The
fire was out. A soft seaman's cap lay near the porch. Mona picked it up.
It was Danny Fayle's. They stepped into the kitchen. A shallow pool was
in the middle of the floor, and the light from the candle flickered in
it. It was a pool of blood.
"My son, my son!" cried Mylrea Balladhoo. His knees failed him, and he
sank to the floor. Tortured by suspense, bewildered, distracted, in an
agony of doubt, he had jumped to the conclusion that this was
Christian's blood, and that he had been murdered. No protest from Mona,
no argument, no entreaty, prevailed to disturb that instant inference.
"He is dead, he is dead!" he cried; "now is my heart smitten and
withered like grass." Then, rising to his feet, and gazing through his
poor blurred eyes into Mona's face with a look of reproach, "Young
woman," he said, "why would you torture an old man with words of hope?
Christian is dead. My son is dead. Dead? Can it be true? Yes, dead.
Lord, Lord, now let me eat ashes for bread, and mingle my drink with
weeping."
And so he poured out his soul in a torrent of wild laments. Debts were
as trifles to this. Disgrace was but as a dream to this dread reality.
"Oh, my son, my son. Would to God I had died for thee. Oh, my son, my
son!"
Mona stood by, and saw the unassuageable grief shake him to the soul.
Then she took his hand in silence, and together they stepped again into
the night. Out of that chamber of death Mylrea went forth a shattered
man. He would not return to Balladhoo. Side by side they tramped up and
down the harbor quay the long night through. Up and down, up and down,
through darkness and rain, and then under moonlight and the stars, until
the day dawned and the cheerless sun rose over the sleeping town.
Very pitiful was it to see how the old man's soul struggled with a vain
effort to glean comfort from his faith. Every text that rose to his
heart seemed to wound it afresh.
"As arrows are in the hand of a mighty man, so are children of the
youth.... They shall not be ashamed.... Oh, Absalom, my son, my son....
For thy sake I have borne reproach; shame hath covered my face.... I am
poor and needy; make haste unto me, O God.... Hide not Thy face from Thy
servant, for I am in trouble.... Set thine house in order.... Oh, God,
Thou knowest my foolishness.... The waters have overwhelmed me, the
streams have gone over my soul, the proud waters have gone over my
soul."
Thus hour after hour, tottering feebly at Mona's side, leaning sometimes
on the girl's arm, the old man poured forth his grief. At one moment, as
they stood by the ruined end of the pier, and Danny's gorse fire glowed
red over the Lockjaw Creek, and the moon broke through a black
rain-cloud over the town, the sorrowing man turned calmly to Mona and
said, with a strange resignation: "I will be quiet. Christian is dead.
Surely I shall quiet myself as a child that is weaned of its mother.
Yes, my soul is even as a weaned child."
Just then two of the police who had been on the cliff-head came up and
spoke.
"They have escaped us so far, sir," he said, "but we are certain to have
them. The fire yonder was lit to warn them. Your fishing-boat, the
"Ben-my-Chree," has been taken out to sea. Every man that is in her must
be captured. Don't trouble to stay longer, sir. We are posted everywhere
about. They are doomed men. Make your mind easy, sir, and go off to your
bed. Good-night."
Mona felt the old man's arm tremble as it lay on hers.
The day dawned, and they parted. Mylrea Balladhoo said he would go home
now, and away he started along the shore. With the coming of daylight
his sorrow bled afresh, and he cried piteously.
* * * * *
Mona turned in the opposite direction. She, on her part, had not given
up hope of Christian. She could not forget that she had not recognized
him among the men who ran past her into Kisseck's house. Christian was
still alive, but who was it that was dead?
Mona stopped. The seaman's cap which she had picked up at the porch of
the deserted cottage in the quarry she had carried all night in her
hand. At that instant she looked at it again, and seeing it for the
first time in the daylight she saw that it was stained with spots of
blood. It was Danny Fayle's cap. Then it must be Danny who was dead. The
inference in her case was as swift as in the case of Mylrea Balladhoo.
And as little would argument or entreaty have prevailed to disturb it.
Danny was dead, and it was she who had sent him to his death. His great
little heart that had been broken for love of her, had also died for her
sake.
And now the anguish of the girl was not less than that of the old man
himself. Where was Christian? Did he know what Kisseck had done? It must
have been Kisseck. But God would punish him. Had Christian gone out to
sea?
Mona set off for the Lockjaw Creek, thinking that some trace of
Christian might perhaps be found there.
She took the high path. The sun had risen, and the gorse fire burned
blue. When she came by the mouth of the old mine she was thinking both
of Danny and of Christian. "He will be cold now; he will be in heaven,"
she muttered to herself.
Then it was that, half-buried in the pit, she saw the pallid,
deep-plowed face of Christian himself. She could not suppress a cry.
Then she heard the creak and the fall of the timbers under him. For a
moment she lost consciousness, and in another moment she was in
Christian's arms.
Hardly had the bewildered senses of these two regained an instant's
composure when a man came running toward them from the town. In
disjointed words he told them that some fearful thing had washed ashore
in the bay, and that Mylrea Balladhoo was there, raving over it like one
mad. This is what had happened.
* * * * *
As Balladhoo turned along the shore toward his home, bemoaning what he
believed to be the death of Christian, his dazed eyes caught sight of a
curious object some distance out at sea. It might be a gig with a sail,
but it looked too small. It might be a diver or a solan goose with
outspread wings, but it looked too large. What it was mattered little to
him. The world had lost its light. The sun that shone above him entered
not into his soul. His days henceforth were to be but as a shadow that
passeth away.
Balladhoo walked on, moaning and crying aloud. As he approached his
house every step awoke a new grief; every stone, every hedge, was sacred
to some memory. Here he had seen the lad playing with other lads. Here,
laughing and calling, he had seen him ride the rough colt his father
gave him. As he opened the gate he could almost imagine he saw a
fair-haired boy running to meet him, a whip in one hand and a toy horse
tumbling behind. Balladhoo lifted his head to brush away the blinding
tears. As he did so his eyes fell on a window in the gable half-hidden
by the leafless boughs of an old rose-tree. That awoke the bitterest and
oldest memory of all. It was of a fair young woman's form, with joy in
the blue eyes and laughter on the red lips. In her arms was a child, and
she cried to it "Look," as the little one, plunging and leaping, called
"Papa, papa," and clapped its tiny hands.
The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed....
No, Mylrea Balladhoo could not enter his house. It was full of too many
spectres.
He turned back. It was to be anywhere; he knew not where. Jemmy, the
gardener, who had been awake all night in amazement and distress at his
master's absence, saw him now approach the house, went up to his side,
tried to speak to him, and, failing to get a word in reply, walked in
silence by his side.
He returned along the shore. And now the white thing which he had seen
before was within fifty yards of the beach, and was sailing due to land.
What could it be? In a minute it drifted to Balladhoo's feet, and then
he saw that it was a human body which had been bound in canvas for
burial at sea, and had come ashore in this strange way. He gave it but
one glance. He did not look to see whose body it was. He concluded at
once that it must be the body of Christian. Had he not heard that the
men had put out to sea? They had taken the body of his murdered son with
them, and tried to bury it there and hide their crime forever. It was
all so terribly plain to Balladhoo's bewildered mind. Then he cried
aloud in a tempest of agony that nothing could restrain. His religion
seemed to desert him. At least it gave no comfort. His face became
suddenly and awfully discolored and stern, and, standing by the dread
thing on the sand, the tottering old man lifted his clenched fist to the
sky in silent imprecation of Heaven.
Jemmy Quark left him, and, rushing to the town, cried out that something
horrible had washed ashore. One of those who heard him had seen Mona and
Balladhoo part on the quay. This man went in pursuit of the young woman,
who had been seen to take the path over Contrary.
And now Christian and Mona, with a group of others, hastened to the
bay. There--seeing nothing but the dread thing lying on the shore--was
Mylrea Balladhoo. He was crying aloud that if Heaven had spared his boy
Hell might have taken all else he had.
"Oh, my son, my son, would to God I had died for you! Oh, my son, my
son!"
Then the stricken father went down on his knees, and stretched out a
feeble, trembling hand to draw aside the canvas that hid the face.
As he did so Mona and Christian came up. Christian stood opposite his
father on the other side of the corpse; the old man on his knees, the
son on his feet, the dead man between them.
The others stood around. None spoke. Then Mona, motioning Christian to
silence, stepped up to Balladhoo and knelt beside him. It was better
that he should realize the truth by degrees and not too suddenly. He
would see the face, and know that it was not the face of his son. Mona,
on her part, knew it would be Danny's face. And the boy was dead. The
beating of her heart fell low.
There was a moment of unutterable suspense. Then, with rapid, audible
breath, the old man stretched out a half-palsied hand and drew off the
loose canvas.
They saw the face of Kisseck.
Balladhoo got up with great wide eyes. There before him, face to face
with him, was Christian himself.