There was one thing which I did not fail, however, to note as

strange. She did not once glance in the direction of my box, but

kept her eyes steadily averted. And it then suddenly dawned upon me

that she must be playing with a purpose; but what that purpose was I

could not guess.

Whatever it was, she was acting magnificently and had for the present

completely surrendered herself to her art. Grand as that art had

been on the first night of "Francesca," the power of that performance

was utterly eclipsed to-night. Once between the acts I heard two

voices in the passage outside my box--

"What do you think of it?" said the first.

"What can I?" answered the other. "And how can I tell you? It is

altogether above words."

He was right. It was not so much admiration as awe and worship that

held the house that night. I have heard a man say since that he

wonders how the play could ever have raised anything beyond a laugh.

He should have heard the sobs that every now and then would break

uncontrollably forth, even whilst Claire was speaking. He should

have felt the hush that followed every scene before the audience

could recollect itself and pay its thunderous tribute.

Still she never looked towards me, though all the while my eyes were

following my lost love. Her purpose--and somehow in my heart I grew

more and more convinced that some purpose lay beneath this

transcendent display--was waiting for its accomplishment, and in the

ringing triumph of her voice I felt it coming nearer--nearer--until

at last it came.

The tragedy was nearly over. Francesca had dismissed her old lover

and his new bride from their captivity and was now left alone upon

the stage. The last expectant hush had fallen upon the house.

Then she stepped slowly forward in the dead silence, and as she spoke

the opening lines, for the first time our eyes met.

"Here then all ends:--all love, all hate, all vows,

All vain reproaches. Aye, 'tis better so.

So shall he best forgive and I forget,

Who else had chained him to a life-long curse,

Who else had sought forgiveness, given in vain

While life remained that made forgiveness dear.

Far better to release him--loving more

Now love denies its love and he is free,

Than should it by enjoyment wreck his joy.

Blighting his life for whom alone I lived.

"No, no. As God is just, it could not be.

Yet, oh, my love, be happy in the days

I may not share, with her whose present lips

Usurp the rights of my lost sovranty.

I would not have thee think--save now and then

As in a dream that is not all a dream--

On her whose love was sunshine for an hour,

Then died or e'er its beams could blast thy life.

Be happy and forget what might have been,

Forget my dear embraces in her arms,

My lips in hers, my children in her sons,

While I--

Dear love, it is not hard to die

Now once the path is plain. See, I accept

And step as gladly to the sacrifice

As any maid upon her bridal morn--

One little stroke--one tiny touch of pain

And I am quit of pain for evermore.

It needs no bravery. Wert thou here to see,

I would not have thee weep, but look--one stroke,

And thus--"

What was that shriek far back there in the house? What was that at

sight of which the audience rose white and aghast from their seats?

What was it that made Sebastian as he entered rush suddenly forward

and fall with awful cry before Francesca's body? What was that

trickling down the folds of her white dress? Blood?

Yes, blood! In an instant I put my hand upon the cushion of the box,

vaulted down to the stage and was kneeling beside my dying love.

But as the clamorous bell rang down the curtain, I heard above its

noise a light and silvery laugh, and looking up saw in the box next

to mine the coal-black devilish eyes of the yellow woman.

Then the curtain fell.

CHAPTER IX.

TELLS HOW TWO VOICES LED ME TO BOARD A SCHOONER; AND WHAT BEFELL

THERE.

She died without speech. Only, as I knelt beside her and strove to

staunch that cruel stream of blood, her beautiful eyes sought mine in

utter love and, as the last agony shook her frame, strove to rend the

filmy veil of death and speak to me still. Then, with one long,

contented sigh, my love was dead. It was scarcely a minute before

all was over. I pressed one last kiss upon the yet warm lips,

tenderly drew her white mantle across the pallid face, and staggered

from the theatre.

I had not raved or protested as I had done that same afternoon.

Fate had no power to make me feel now; the point of anguish was

passed, and in its place succeeded a numb stupidity more terrible by

far, though far more blessed.

My love was dead. Then I was dead for any sensibility to suffering

that I possessed. Hatless and cloak-less I stepped out into the

freezing night air, and regardless of the curious looks of the

passing throng I turned and walked rapidly westward up the Strand.

There was a large and eager crowd outside the Coliseum, for already

the news was spreading; but something in my face made them give room,

and I passed through them as a man in a trance.

The white orb of the moon was high in heaven; the frozen pavement

sounded hollow under-foot; the long street stood out, for all its

yellow gas-light, white and distinct against the clear air; but I

marked nothing of this. I went westward because my home lay

westward, and some instinct took my hurrying feet thither. I had no

purpose, no sensation. For aught I knew, that night London might

have been a city of the dead.

Suddenly I halted beneath a lamp-post and began dimly to think.

My love was dead:--that was the one fact that filled my thoughts at

first, and so I strove to image it upon my brain, but could not.

But as I stood there feebly struggling with the thought another took

its place. Why should I live? Of course not; better end it all at

once--and possessed with this idea I started off once more.

By degrees, as I walked, a plan shaped itself before me. I would go

home, get my grandfather's key, together with the tin box containing

my father's Journal, and then make for the river. That would be an

easy death, and I could sink for ever, before I perished, all trace

of the black secret which had pursued my life. I and the mystery

would end together--so best. Then, without pain, almost with ghastly

merriment, I thought that this was the same river which had murmured

so sweetly to my love. Well, no doubt its voice would be just as

musical over my grave. The same river:--but nearer the sea now--

nearer the infinite sea.

As I reflected, the idea took yet stronger possession of me. Yes, it

was in all respects the best. The curse should end now. "Even as

the Heart of the Ruby is Blood and its Eyes a Flaming Fire, so shall

it be for them that would possess it: Fire shall be their portion and

Blood their inheritance for ever." For ever? No: the river should

wash the blood away and quench the fire. Then arose another text and

hammered at the door of my remembrance. "Many waters cannot quench

love, neither can the floods drown it." "Many waters"--"many

waters":--the words whispered appealingly, invitingly, in my ears.

"Many waters." My feet beat a tune to the words.

I reached my lodgings, ran upstairs, took out the key and the tin

box, and descended again into the hall. My landlord was slipping

down the latch. He stared at seeing me.

"Do not latch the door just yet: I am going out again," I said

simply.

"Going out! I thought, sir, it was you as just now come in."

"Yes, but I must go out again:--it is important."

He evidently thought me mad; and so indeed I was.

"What, sir, in that dress? You've got no hat--no--"

I had forgotten. "True," I said; "get me a hat and coat."

He stared and then ran upstairs for them. Returning he said, "I have

got you these, sir; but I can't find them as you usually wears."

"Those will do," I answered. "I must have left the others at the

theatre."

This reduced him to utter speechlessness. Mutely he helped me to don

the cloak over my thin evening dress. I slipped the tin box and the

key into the pockets. As I stepped out once more into the night, my

landlord found his speech.

"When will you be back, sir?"

The question startled me for a moment; for a second or two I

hesitated.

"I asked because you have no latch-key, as I suppose you left it in

your other coat. So that--"

"It does not matter," I answered. "Do not sit up. I shall not be

back before morning;" and with that I left him still standing at the

door, and listening to my footsteps as they hurried down the street.

"Before morning!" Before morning I should be in another world, if

there were another world. And then it struck me that Claire and I

might meet. She had taken her own life and so should I. But no,

no--Heaven would forgive her that; it could not condemn my saint to

the pit where I should lie: it could not be so kindly cruel; and then

I laughed a loud and bitter laugh.

Still in my dull stupor I found myself nearing the river. I have not

mentioned it before, but I must explain now, that during the summer I

had purchased a boat, in which my Claire and I were used to row idly

between Streatley and Pangbourne, or whithersoever love guided our

oars. This boat, with the approach of winter, I had caused to be

brought down the river and had housed in a waterman's shed just above

Westminster, until the return of spring should bring back once more

the happy days of its employment.

In my heart I blessed the chance that had stored it ready to my hand.

Stumbling through dark and tortuous streets where the moon's frosty

brilliance was almost completely hidden, I came at last to the

waterman's door and knocked. He was in bed and for some time my

summons was in vain. At last I heard a sound in the room above, the

window was let down and a sulky voice said, "Who's there?"

"Is that you, Bagnell?" I answered. "Come down. It is I, Mr.

Trenoweth, and I want you."

There was a low cursing, a long pause broken by a muttered dispute

upstairs, and then the street door opened and Bagnell appeared with a

lantern.

"Bagnell, I want my boat."

"To-night, sir? And at this hour?"

"Yes, to-night. I want it particularly."

"But it is put away behind a dozen others, and can't be got."

"Never mind. I will help if you want assistance, but I must have

it."

Bagnell looked at me for a minute and I could see that he was cursing

under his breath.

"Is it serious, sir? You're not--"

"I am not drunk, if that is what you mean, but perfectly serious, and

I must have my boat."

"Won't another do as well?"

"No, it will not." I felt in my pockets and found two sovereigns and

a few shillings. "Look here," I said, "I will give you two pounds if

you get this boat out for me."

This conquered his reluctance. He stared for a moment as I mentioned

the amount, and then hastily deciding that I was stark mad, but that

it was none of his business, put on his hat and led the way down to

his boat-yard.

Stumbling in the uncertain light over innumerable timbers, spars, and

old oars, we reached the shed at length and together managed, after

much delay, to get out the light boat and let her down to the water.

I gave him the two sovereigns as well as the few shillings that

remained in my pocket, and as I descended, reflected grimly that

after all they were better in his possession; the man who should find

my body would have so much the less spoil. We had scarcely spoken

whilst we were getting the boat out, and what words we used were

uttered in that whisper which night always enforces; but as I

clambered down (for the tide was now far out) and Bagnell passed down

the sculls, he asked--

"When will you be back, sir?"

The same question! I gave it the same answer. "Not before morning,"

I said, and with a few strokes was out upon the tide and pulling down

the river. I saw him standing there above in the moonlight, still

wondering, until he faded in the dim haze behind. My boat was a

light Thames dingey, so that although I felt the tide running up

against me, it nevertheless made fair progress. What decided me to

pull against the tide rather than float quietly upwards I do not know

to this day. So deadened and vague was all my thought, that it

probably never occurred to me to correct the direction in which the

first few strokes had taken me. I was conscious of nothing but a row

of lights gliding past me on either hand, of here and there a tower

or tall building, that stood up for an instant against the sky and

then swam slowly out of sight, of the creaking of my sculls in the

ungreased rowlocks, and, above all, the white shimmer of the moon

following my boat as it swung downwards.

I remember now that, in a childish way, I tried to escape this

persistent brilliance that still clung to my boat's side with every

stroke I took; that somehow a dull triumph possessed me when for a

moment I slipped beneath the shadow of a bridge, or crept behind a

black and silent hull. All this I can recall now, and wonder at the

trivial nature of the thought. Then I caught the scent of white

rose, and fell to wondering how it came there. There had been the

same scent in the drawing-room that afternoon, I remembered, when

Claire had said good-bye for ever. How had it followed me?

After this I set myself aimlessly to count the lights that passed,

lost count, and began again. And all the time the white glimmer hung

at my side.

I was still wrapped up in my cloak, though the cape was flung back to

give my arms free play. Rowing so, I must quickly have been warm;

but I felt it no more than I had felt the cold as I walked home from

the theatre. My boat was creeping along the Middlesex shore, by the

old Temple stairs, and presently threaded its way through more

crowded channels, and passed under the blackness of London Bridge.

How far below this I went, I cannot clearly call to mind; of

distance, as well as of time, I had lost all calculation.

I recollect making a circuit to avoid the press of boats waiting for

the early dawn by Billingsgate Market, and have a vision of the White

Tower against the heavens. But my next impression of any clearness

is that of rowing under the shadow of a black three-masted schooner

that lay close under shore, tilted over on her port side in the low

water. As my dingey floated out again from beneath the overhanging

hull, I looked up and saw the words, _Water-Witch_, painted in white

upon her pitch-dark bows.

By this time I was among the tiers of shipping. I looked back over

my shoulder, and saw their countless masts looming up as far as eye

could see in the dim light, and their lamps flickering and wavering

upon the water. I rowed about a score of strokes, and then stopped.

Why go further? This place would serve as well as any other. No one

was likely to hear my splash as I went overboard, and even if heard

it would not be interpreted. I was still near enough to the

Middlesex bank to be out of the broad moonlight that lit up the

middle of the river. I took the tin box out of my cloak and stowed

it for a moment in the stern. I would sink it with the key before I

flung myself in. So, pulling the key out of the other pocket, I took

off the cloak, then my dress-coat and waistcoat, folded them

carefully, and placed them on the stern seat. This done, I slipped

the key into one pocket of my trousers, my watch and chain into the

other. I would do all quietly and in order, I reflected. I was

silently kicking off my shoes, when a thought struck me. In my last

struggles it was possible that the desire of life would master me,

and almost unconsciously I might take to swimming. In the old days

at Lizard Town swimming had been as natural to me as walking, and I

had no doubt that as soon as in the water I should begin to strike

out. Could I count upon determination enough to withhold my arms and

let myself slowly drown?

Here was a difficulty; but I resolved to make everything sure.

I took my handkerchief out of the coat pocket, and bent down to tie

my feet firmly together. All this I did quite calmly and

mechanically. As far as one can be certain of anything at this

distance of time, I am certain of this, that no thought of hesitation

came into my head. It was not that I overcame any doubts; they never

occurred to me.

I was stooping down, and had already bound the handkerchief once

around my ankles, when my boat grated softly against something.

I looked up, and saw once more above me a dark ship's hull, and right

above my head the white letters, _Water-Witch_.

This would never do. My boat had drifted up the river again with the

tide, stern foremost, but a little aslant, and had run against the

warp by the schooner's bows. I must pull out again, for otherwise

the people on board would hear me. I pushed gently off from the warp

and took the sculls, when suddenly I heard voices back towards the

stern.

My first impulse was to get away with all speed, and I had already

taken half a stroke, when something caused my hands to drop and my

heart to give one wild leap.

What was it? Something in the voices? Yes; something that brushed

my stupor from me as though it were a cobweb; something that made me

hush my breath, and strain with all my ears to listen.

The two voices were those of man and woman, They were slightly

raised, as if in a quarrel; the woman's pleading and entreating, the

man's threatening and stern. But that was not the reason that

suddenly set my heart uncontrollably beating and all the blood

rushing and surging to my temples.

For in those two voices I recognised Mrs. Luttrell and Simon

Colliver!

"Have you not done enough?" the woman's voice was saying. "Has your

cruelty no end, that you must pursue me so? Take this money, and let

me go."

"I must have more," was the answer.

"Indeed, I have no more just now. Go, only go, and I will send you

some. I swear it."

"I cannot go," said the man.

"Why?"

"Never mind. I am watched." Here the voice muttered some words

which I could not catch. "So that unless you wish to see your

husband swing--and believe me, my confession and last dying speech

would not omit to mention the kind aid I had received from you and

Clar-"

"Hush! oh, hush! If I get you this money, will you leave us in peace

for a time? Knowing your nature, I will not ask for pity--only for a

short respite. I must tell Claire, poor girl; she does not know

yet--"

Quite softly my boat had drifted once more across the schooner's

bows. I pulled it round until its nose touched the anchor chain, and

made the painter fast. Then slipping my hand up the chain, I stood

with my shoeless feet upon the gunwale by the bows. Still grasping

the chain, I sprang and swung myself out to the jib-boom that, with

the cant of the vessel, was not far above the water: then pressed my

left foot in between the stay and the brace, while I hung for a

moment to listen.

They had not heard, for I could still catch the murmur of their

voices. The creak of the jib-boom and the swish of my own boat

beneath had frightened me at first. It seemed impossible that it

should not disturb them. But after a moment my courage returned, and

I pulled myself up on to the bowsprit, and lying almost at full

length along it, for fear of being spied, crawled slowly along, and

dropped noiselessly on to the deck.

They were standing together by the mizzen-mast, he with his back

turned full towards me, she less entirely averted, so that I could

see a part of her face in the moonlight, and the silvery gleam of her

grey hair. Yes, it was they, surely enough; and they had not seen

me. My revenge, long waited for, was in my grasp at last.

Suddenly, as I stood there watching them, I remembered my knife--the

blade which had slain my father. I had left it below--fool that I

was!--in the tin box. Could I creep back again, and return without

attracting their attention? Should I hazard the attempt for the sake

of planting that piece of steel in Simon Colliver's black heart?

It was a foolish thought, but my whole soul was set upon murder now,

and the chance of slaying him with the very knife left in my father's

wound seemed too dear to be lightly given up. Most likely he was

armed now, whilst I had no weapon but the naked hand. Yet I did not

think of this. It never even occurred to me that he would defend

himself. Still, the thought of that knife was sweet to me as I

crouched there beneath the shadow of the bulwarks. Should I go, or

not? I paused for a moment, undecided; then rose slowly erect.

As I did so Mrs. Luttrell turned for an instant and saw me.

As I stood there, bareheaded, with the moonlight shining full upon my

white shirt-sleeves, I must have seemed a very ghost; for a look of

abject terror swept across her face; her voice broke off and both her

hands were flung up for mercy--

"Oh, God! Look! look!"

As I rushed forward he turned, and then, with the spring of a wild

cat, was upon me. Even as he leapt, my foot slipped upon the greasy

deck; I staggered backward one step--two steps--and then fell with a

crash down the unguarded forecastle ladder.

CHAPTER X.

TELLS IN WHAT MANNER I LEARNT THE SECRET OF THE GREAT KEY.

As my senses came gradually back I could distinguish a narrow, dingy

cabin, dimly lit by one flickering oil-lamp which swung from a rafter

above. Its faint ray just revealed the furniture of the room, which

consisted of a seaman's chest standing in the middle, and two gaunt

stools. On one of these I was seated, propped against the cabin

wall, or rather partition, and as I attempted to move I learnt that I

was bound hand and foot.

On the other stool opposite me and beside the chest, sat Simon

Colliver, silently eyeing me. The lamplight as it flared and

wavered cast grotesque and dancing shadows of the man upon the wall

behind, made of his matted hair black eaves under which his eyes

gleamed red as fire, and glinted lastly upon something bright lying

on the chest before him.

For a minute or so after my eyes first opened no word was said.

Still dizzy with my fall, I stared for a moment at the man, then at

the chest, and saw that the bright objects gleaming there were my

grandfather's key and my watch-chain, at the end of which hung the

Golden Clasp. But now the clasp was fitted to its fellow and the

whole buckle lay united upon the board.

Though the bonds around my arms, wrists, and ankles caused me

intolerable pain, yet my first feeling was rather of abject

humiliation. To be caught thus easily, to be lying here like any

rat in a gin! this was the agonising thought. Nor was this all.

There on the chest lay the Golden Clasp united at last--the work

completed which was begun with that unholy massacre on board the

_Belle Fortune_. I had played straight into Colliver's hand.

He was in no hurry, but sat and watched me there with those

intolerably evil eyes. His left hand was thrust carelessly into his

pocket, and as he tilted back upon the stool and surveyed me, his

right was playing with the clasp upon the chest. As I painfully

turned my head a drop of blood came trickling down into my eyes from

a cut in my forehead; I saw, however, that the door was bolted.

An empty bottle and a plate of broken victuals lay carelessly thrust

in a corner, and a villainous smell from the lamp filled the whole

room and almost choked me; but the only sound in the dead stillness

of the place was the monotonous tick-tick of my watch as it lay upon

the chest.

How long I had lain there I could not guess, but I noticed that the

floor slanted much less than when I first scrambled on deck, so

guessed that the tide must have risen considerably. Then having

exhausted my wonder I looked again at Colliver, and began to

speculate how he would kill me and how long he would take about it.

I found his wolfish eyes still regarding me, and for a minute or two

we studied each other in silence. Then without removing his gaze he

tilted his stool forward, slowly drew a short heavy knife from his

waist-band, slipped it out of its sheath--still without taking his

left hand from his pocket--laid it on the table and leant back again.

"I suppose," he said at last and very deliberately as if chewing his

words, "you know that if you attempt to cry out or summon help, you

are a dead man that instant."

"Well, well," he continued, after waiting a moment for my reply,

"as long as you understand that, it does not matter. I confess I

should have preferred to talk with you and not merely to you.

However, before I kill you--and I suppose you guess that I am going

to kill you as soon as I've done with you--I wish to have just a

word, Master Jasper Trenoweth."

From the tone in which he said the words he might have been

congratulating me on some great good fortune. He paused awhile as if

to allow the full force of them to sink in, and then took up the

Golden Clasp. Holding the pieces together with the fore-finger and

thumb of his right hand, he advanced and thrust it right under my

sight--

"Do you see that? Can you read it?"

As I was still mute he walked back to the chest and laid the clasp

down again.

"Aha!" he exclaimed with a short laugh horrible to hear, "you won't

speak. But there have been times, Mr. Jasper Trenoweth, when you

would have given your soul to lay hands upon this piece of gold and

read what is written upon it. It is a pity your hands are tied--a

thousand pities. But I do not wish to be hard on you, and so I don't

mind reading out what is written here. The secret will be safe with

you, don't you see? Quite--safe--with--you."

He rolled out these last words, one by one, with infinite relish; and

the mockery in the depths of those eyes seared me far more than my

bonds. After watching the effect of his taunt he resumed his seat

upon the stool, pulled the clasp towards him and said--

"People might call me rash for entrusting these confidences to you.

But I do not mind admitting that I owe you some reparation--some

anterior reparation. So, as I don't wish you to die cursing me, I

will be generous. Listen!"

He held the buckle down upon the table and read out the inscription

as follows:--

START AT FULL MOON END SOUTH.

POINT 27 FEET N.N.W. 22 FEET.

W. OF RING NORTH SIDE 4.

FEET 6 INCHES DEEP AT POINT.

OF MEETING LOW WATER 1.5 HOURS.

He read it through twice very slowly, and each time as he ceased

looked up to see how I took it.

"It does not seem to make much sense, does it?" he asked. "But wait

a moment and let me parcel it out into sentences. I should not like

you to miss any of its meaning. Listen again." He divided the

writing up thus:--

"Start at full moon.

End South Point 27 feet N.N.W.

22 feet W. of Ring. North Side.

4 feet 6 inches deep at point of meeting.

Low water 1.5 hours."

"You still seem puzzled, Mr. Trenoweth. Very well, I will even go on

to explain further. The person who engraved this clasp meant to tell

us that something--let us say treasure, for sake of argument--could

be found by anyone who drew two lines from some place unknown: one 27

feet in length in direction N.N.W. from the South Point of that

place; the other 22 feet due West of a certain Ring on the North

side of that same place. So far I trust I make my meaning clear.

That which we have agreed to call the treasure lies buried at a depth

of 4 feet 6 inches on the spot where these two lines intersect.

But the person (you or I, for the sake of argument) who seeks this

treasure must start at full moon. Why? Obviously because the spring

tides occur with a full moon, consequently the low ebb. We must

expect, then, to find our treasure buried in a spot which is only

uncovered at dead low water; and to this conclusion I am also helped

by the last sentence, which says, 'Low water 1.5 hours.' It is then,

I submit, Mr. Trenoweth, in some such place that we must look for our

treasure; the only question being, 'Where is that place?'"

I was waiting for this, and a great tide of joy swept over me as I

reflected that after all he had not solved the mystery. The clasp

told nothing, the key told nothing. The secret was safe as yet.

He must have read my thoughts, for he looked steadily at me out of

those dark eyes of his, and then said very slowly and deliberately--

"Mr. Trenoweth, it grieves me to taunt your miserable case; but do

you mind my saying that you are a fool?"

I simply stared in answer.

"Your father was a fool--a pitiful fool; and you are a fool.

Which would lead me, did I not know better, to believe that your

grandfather, Amos Trenoweth, was a fool also. I should wrong him if

I called him that. He was a villain, a black-hearted, murderous,

cold-blooded, damnable villain; but he was only a fool for once in

his life, and that was when he trusted in the sense of his

descendants."

His voice, as he spoke of my grandfather, grew suddenly shrill and

discordant, while his eyes blazed up in furious wrath. In a second

or two, however, he calmed himself again and went on quietly as

before.

"You wonder, perhaps, why I call you a fool. It is because you have

lived for fourteen years with your hand upon riches that would make a

king jealous, and have never had the sense to grasp them; it is

because you have shut your eyes when you might have seen, have been a

beggar when you might have ridden in a carriage. Upon my word, Mr.

Jasper Trenoweth, when I think of your folly I have half a mind to be

dog-sick with you myself."

What could the man mean? What was this clue which I had never found?

"And all the time it was written upon this key here, as large as

life; not only that, but, to leave you no excuse, Amos Trenoweth

actually told you that it was written here."

"What do you mean?" stammered I, forced into speech at last.

"Ah! so you have found your voice, have you? What do I mean? Do you

mean to say you do not guess even now? Upon my word, I am loth to

kill so fair a fool." He regarded me for a moment with pitying

contempt, then stretched out his hand and took up my grandfather's

key.

"I read here," he said, "written very clearly and distinctly, certain

words. You must know those words; but I will repeat them to you to

refresh your memory:--"

"THY HOUSE IS SET UPON THE SANDS. AND THY HOPES BY A DEAD MAN."

"Well?" I asked, for--fool that I was--even yet I did not understand.

"Mr. Jasper Trenoweth, did you ever hear tell of such a place as Dead

Man's Rock?"

The truth, the whole horrible certainty of it, struck me as one great

wave, and rushed over my bent head as with the whirl and roar of many

waters. "Dead Man's Rock!" "Dead Man's Rock!" it sang in my ears as

it swept me off my feet for a moment and passed, leaving me to sink

and battle in the gulf of bottomless despair. And then, as if I

really drowned, my past life with all its follies, mistakes, wrecked

hopes and baseless dreams, shot swiftly past in one long train.

Again I saw my mother's patient, anxious smile, my father's drowned

face with the salt drops trickling from his golden hair, the struggle

on the rock, the inquest, the awful face at the window, the corpses

of my parents stretched side by side upon the bed, the scene in the

gambling-hell with all its white and desperate faces, Claire, my lost

love, the river, the theatre, Tom's death, and that last dreadful

scene, Francesca with the dark blood soaking her white dress and

trickling down upon the boards. I tried to put my hands before my

eyes, but the cords held and cut my arms like burning steel. Then in

a flash I seemed to be striding madly up and down Oxford Street,

while still in front of me danced and flew the yellow woman, her

every diamond flashing in the gas-light, her cold black eyes, as they

turned and mocked me, blazing marsh-lights of doom. Then came the

ringing of many bells in my ears, mingled with silvery laughter, as

though the fiends were ringing jubilant peals within the pit.

Presently the sights grew dim and died away, but the chiming laughter

still continued.

I looked up. It was Colliver laughing, and his face was that of an

arch-devil.

"It does me good to see you," he explained; "oh, yes, it is honey to

my soul. Fool! and a thousand times fool! that ever I should have

lived to triumph thus over you and your accursed house!"

Once more his voice grew shrill and his eyes flashed; once more he

collected himself.

"You shall hear it out," he said. "Look here!" and he pulled a

greasy book from his pocket. "Here is a nautical almanack. What day

is it? December 23rd, or rather some time in the morning of December

24th, Christmas Eve. On the evening of December 24th it is full

moon, and dead low water at Falmouth about 11.30 p.m. Fate (do you

believe in fate, Mr. Trenoweth?) could not have chosen the time

better. In something under twenty hours one of us will have his

hands upon the treasure. Which will it be, eh? Which will it be?"

Well I knew which it would be, and the knowledge was bitter as gall.

"A merry Christmas, Mr. Jasper Trenoweth! Peace on earth and

good-will--You will bear no malice by that time. So a merry

Christmas, and a merry Christmas-box! likewise the compliments of the

season, and a happy New Year to you! Where are you going to spend

Christmas, Mr. Trenoweth--eh? I am thinking of passing it by the

sea. You will, perhaps, try the sea too, only you will be _in_ it.

Thames runs swiftly when it has a corpse for cargo. Oho!

"At his red, red lips the merrymaid sips

For the kiss that his sweetheart stole, my lads--

Sing ho! for the bell shall toll!

"I'm afraid no bell will toll for you, Mr. Trenoweth; not yet awhile

at any rate. Not till your sweetheart is weary of waiting--

"And the devil has got his due, my lads--

Sing ho! but he waits for you!

"Both waiting for you, Mr. Trenoweth, your sweetheart and the devil--

which shall have you? 'Ladies first,' you would say. Aha! I am not

so sure. By the way, might I give a guess at your sweetheart's name?

Might it begin with a C? Might she be a famous actress? Claire

perhaps she calls herself? Aha! Claire's pretty eyes will go red

with watching before she sets them on you again. Fie on you to keep

so sweet a maiden waiting! And where will you be all the time, Mr.

Jasper Trenoweth?"

He stopped at last, mastered by his ferocity and almost panting. But

I, for the sound of Claire's name had maddened me, broke out in

fury--

"Dog and devil! I shall be lying with all the other victims of your

accursed life; dead as my father whom you foully murdered within

sight of his home; dead as those other poor creatures you slew upon

the _Belle Fortune_; dead as my mother whose pure mind fled at sight

of your infernal face, whose very life fled at sight of your

handiwork; dead as John Railton whom you stabbed to death upon--"

"Hush, Mr. Trenoweth! As for your ravings, I love to hear them, and

could listen by the hour, did not time press. But I cannot have you

talking so loudly, you understand;" and he toyed gently with his

knife; "also remember I must be at Dead Man's Rock by half-past

eleven to-night."

"Fiend!" I continued, "you can kill me if you like, but I will count

your crimes with my last breath. Take my life as you took my friend

Tom Loveday's life--Tom whom you knifed in the dark, mistaking him

for me. Take it as you took Claire's, if ever man--"

"Claire--Claire dead!" He staggered back a step, and almost at the

same moment I thought I caught a sound on the other side of the

partition at my back. I listened for a moment, then concluding that

my ears had played me some trick, went on again--

"Yes, dead--she killed herself to-night at the theatre--stabbed

herself--oh, God! Do you think I care for your knife now?

Why, I was going to kill myself, to drown myself, at the very moment

when I heard your voice and came on board. I came to kill you.

Make the most of it--show me no mercy, for as there is a God in

heaven I would have shown you none!"

What was that sound again on the other side of the partition?

Whatever it was, Colliver had not heard, for he was musing darkly and

looking fixedly at me.

"No, I will show you no mercy," he answered quietly, "for I have

sworn to show no mercy to your race, and you are the last of it.

But listen, that for a few moments before you die you may shake off

your smug complacency and learn what this wealth is, and what kind of

brood you Trenoweths are. Dog! The treasure that lies by Dead Man's

Rock is treasure weighted with dead men's curses and stained with

dead men's blood--wealth won by black piracy upon the high seas--gold

for which many a poor soul walked the plank and found his end in the

deep waters. It is treasure sacked from many a gallant ship,

stripped from many a rotting corpse by that black hound your

grandfather, Amos Trenoweth. You guessed that? Let me tell you

more.

"There is many a soul crying in heaven and hell for vengeance on your

race; but your death to-night, Jasper Trenoweth, shall be the

peculiar joy of one. You guessed that your grandfather had crimes

upon his soul; but you did not guess the blackest crime on his

account--the murder of his dearest friend. Listen. I will be brief

with you, but I cannot spare myself the joy of letting you know this

much before you die. Know then that when your grandfather was a rich

man by this friend's aid--after, with this friend's help, he had laid

hands on the secret of the Great Ruby for which for many a year he

had thirsted, in the moment of his triumph he turned and slew that

friend in order to keep the Ruby to himself.

"That fool, your father, kept a Journal--which no doubt you have read

over and over again. Did he tell you how I caught him upon Adam's

Peak, sitting with this clasp in his hands before a hideous, graven

stone? That stone was cut in ghastly mockery of that friend's face;

the bones that lay beneath it were the bones of that friend.

There, on that very spot where I met your father face to face, did

his father, Amos Trenoweth, strike down my father Ralph Colliver.

"Ah, light is beginning to dawn on your silly brain at last!

Yes, pretending to protect the old priest who had the Ruby, he

stabbed my father with the very knife found in your father's heart,

stabbed him before his wife's eyes on that little lawn upon the

mountain-side; and, when my helpless mother called vengeance upon

him, handed the still reeking knife to her and bade her do her worst.

Ah, but she kept that knife. Did you mark what was engraved upon the

blade? That knife had a good memory, Mr. Jasper Trenoweth.

"Let me go on. As if that deed were not foul enough, he caused the

old priest to carve--being skilful with the chisel--that vile

distortion of his dead friend's face out of a huge boulder lying by,

and then murdered him too for the Ruby's sake, and tumbled their

bodies into the trough together. Such was Amos Trenoweth. Are you

proud of your descent?

"I never saw my father. I was not born until three months after

this, and not until I was ten years old did my mother tell me of his

fate.

"Your grandfather was a fool, Jasper Trenoweth, to despise her; for

she was young then and she could wait. She was beautiful then, and

Amos Trenoweth himself had loved her. What is she now? Speak, for

you have seen her."

As he spoke I seemed to see again that yellow face, those awful,

soulless eyes, and hear her laugh as she gazed down from the box upon

my dying love.

"Ah, beauty goes. It went for ever on that day when Amos Trenoweth

spat in her face and taunted her as she clung to the body of her

husband. Beauty goes, but revenge can wait; to-night it has come;

to-night a thousand dead men's ghosts shall be glad, and point at

your body as it goes tossing out to sea. To-night--but let me tell

the rest in a word or two, for time presses. How I was brought up,

how my mad mother--for she is mad on every point but one--trained me

to the sea, how I left it at length and became an attorney's clerk,

all this I need not dwell upon. But all this time the thought of

revenge never left me for an hour; and if it had, my mother would

have recalled it.

"Well, we settled in Plymouth and I was bound a clerk to your

grandfather's attorney, still with the same purpose. There I learnt

of Amos Trenoweth's affairs, but only to a certain extent; for of the

wealth which he had so bloodily won I could discover nothing; and yet

I knew he possessed riches which make the heart faint even to think

upon. Yet for all I could discover, his possessions were simply

those of a struggling farmer, his business absolutely nothing.

I was almost desperate, when one day a tall, gaunt and aged man

stepped into the office, asked for my employer, and gave the name of

Amos Trenoweth. Oh, how I longed to kill him as he stood there!

And how little did he guess that the clerk of whom he took no more

notice than of a stone, would one day strike his descendants off the

face of the earth and inherit the wealth for which he had sold his

soul--the great Ruby of Ceylon!

"My voice trembled with hate as I announced him and showed him into

the inner room. Then I closed the door and listened. He was uneasy

about his Will--the fool--and did not know that all his possessions

would necessarily become his son's. In my heart I laughed at his

ignorance; but I learnt enough--enough to wait patiently for years

and finally to track Ezekiel Trenoweth to his death.

"It was about this time that I fell in love. In this as in

everything through life I have been cursed with the foulest luck, but

in this as in everything else my patience has won in the end. Lucy

Luttrell loved another man called Railton--John Railton. He was

another fool--you are all fools--but she married him and had a

daughter. I wonder if you can guess who that daughter was?"

He broke off and looked at me with fiendish malice.

"You hound!" I cried, "she was Janet Railton--Claire Luttrell; and

you murdered her father as you say Amos Trenoweth murdered yours."

"Right," he answered coolly. "Quite right. Oh, the arts by which I

enticed that man to drink and then to crime! Even now I could sit

and laugh over them by the hour. Why, man, there was not a touch of

guile in the fellow when I took him in hand, and yet it was he that

afterwards took your father's life. He tried it once in Bombay and

bungled it sadly: he did it neatly enough, though, on the jib-boom of

the _Belle Fortune_. I lent him the knife: I would have done it

myself, but Railton was nearer; and besides it is always better to be

a witness."

What _was_ that rustling sound behind the partition? Colliver did

not hear it, at any rate, but went on with his tale, and though his

eyes were dancing flames of hate his voice was calm now as ever.

"I had stolen half the clasp beforehand from the cabin floor where

that stupendous idiot, Ezekiel Trenoweth, had dropped it. Railton

caught him before he dropped, but I did not know he had time to get

the box away, for just then a huge wave broke over us and before the

next we both jumped for the Rock. I thought that Railton must have

been sucked back, for I only clung on myself by the luckiest chance.

It was pitch-dark and impossible to see. I called his name, but he

either could not hear for the roar, or did not choose to answer, so

after a bit I stopped. I thought him dead, and he no doubt thought

me dead, until we met upon Dead Man's Rock.

"Shall I finish? Oh, yes, you shall hear the whole story. After the

inquest I escaped back to Plymouth, told Lucy that her husband had

been drowned at sea, and finally persuaded her to leave Plymouth and

marry me. So I triumphed there, too: oh, yes, I have triumphed

throughout."

"You hound!" I cried.

He laughed a low musical laugh and went on again--

"Ah, yes, you are angry of course; but I let that pass. I have one

account to settle with you Trenoweths, and that is enough for me.

Three times have I had you in my power, Mr. Jasper Trenoweth--three

times or four--and let you escape. Once beneath Dead Man's Rock when

I had my fingers on your young weasand and was stopped by those

cursed fishermen. Idiots that they were, they thought the sight of

me had frightened you and made you faint. Faint! You would have

been dead in another half-minute. How I laughed in my sleeve while

that uncle of yours was trying to make me understand--me--what was my

name then?--oh, ay, Georgio Rhodojani. However, you escaped that

time: and once more you hardly guessed how near you were to death,

when I looked in at the window on the night after the inquest.

Why, in my mind I was tossing up whether or not I should murder you

and your white-faced mother. I should have done so, but thought you

might hold some knowledge of the secret after your meeting with

Railton, so that it seemed better to bide my time."

"If it be any satisfaction to you," I interrupted, "to know that had

you killed me then you would never have laid hands on that clasp

yonder, you are welcome to it."

"It is," he answered. "I am glad I did not kill you both: it left

your mother time to see her dead husband, and has given me the

pleasure of killing you now: the treat improves with keeping.

Well, let me go on. After that I was forced to leave the country for

some time--"

"For another piece of villainy, which your wife discovered."

"How do you know that? Oh, from Claire, I suppose: however, it does

not matter. When I came back I found you: found you, and struck

again. But again my cursed luck stood in my way and that damned

friend of yours knocked me senseless. Look at this mark on my

cheek."

"Look at the clasp and you will see where your blow was struck."

"Ah, that was it, was it?" he said, examining the clasp slowly.

"I suppose you thought it lucky at the time. So it was--for me.

For, though I made another mistake in the fog that night, I got quits

with your friend at any rate. I have chafed often enough at these

failures, but it has all come right in the end. I ought to have

killed your father upon Adam's Peak; but he was a big man, while I

had no pistol and could not afford to risk a mistake. Everything,

they say, comes to the man who can wait. Your father did not escape,

neither will you, and when I think of the joy it was to me to know

that you and Claire, of all people--"

But I would hear no more. Mad as I was with shame and horror for my

grandfather's cruelty, I knew this man, notwithstanding his talk of

revenge, to be a vile and treacherous scoundrel. So when he spoke of

Claire I burst forth--

"Dog, this is enough! I have listened to your tale. But when you

talk of Claire--Claire whom you killed to-night--then, dog, I spit

upon you; kill me, and I hope the treasure may curse you as it has

cursed me; kill me; use your knife, for I _will_ shout--"

With a dreadful snarl he was on me and smote me across the face.

Then as I continued to call and shout, struck me one fearful blow

behind the ear. I remember that the dim lamp shot out a streak of

blood-red flame, the cabin was lit for one brief instant with a flash

of fire, a thousand lights darted out, and then--then came utter

blackness--a vague sensation of being caught up and carried, of

plunging down--down--

CHAPTER XI. AND LAST.

TELLS HOW AT LAST I FOUND MY REVENGE AND THE GREAT RUBY.

"Speak--speak to me! Oh, look up and tell me you are not dead!"

Down through the misty defiles and dark gates of the Valley of the

Shadow of Death came these words faintly as though spoken far away.

So distant did they seem that my eyes opened with vague expectation

of another world; opened and then wearily closed again.

For at first they stared into a heaven of dull grey, with but a

shadow between them and colourless space. Then they opened once

more, and the shadow caught their attention. What was it? Who was

I, and how came I to be staring upward so? I let the problem be and

fell back into the easeful lap of unconsciousness.

Then the voice spoke again. "He is living yet," it said. "Oh, if he

would but speak!"

This time I saw more distinctly. Two eyes were looking into mine--a

woman's eyes. Where had I seen that face before? Surely I had known

it once, in some other world. Then somehow over my weary mind stole

the knowledge that this was Mrs. Luttrell--or was it Claire?

No, Claire was dead. "Claire--dead," I seemed to repeat to myself;

but how dead or where I could not recall. "Claire--dead;" then this

must be her mother, and I, Jasper Trenoweth, was lying here with

Claire's mother bending over me. How came we so? What had happened,

that--and once more the shadow of oblivion swept down and enfolded

me.

She was still there, kneeling beside me, chafing my hands and every

now and then speaking words of tender solicitude. How white her hair

was! It used not to be so white as this. And where was I lying?

In a boat? How my head was aching!

Then remembrance came back. Strange to tell, it began with Claire's

death in the theatre, and thence led downwards in broken and

interrupted train until Colliver's face suddenly started up before

me, and I knew all.

I raised myself on my elbow. My brain was throbbing intolerably, and

every pulsation seemed to shoot fire into my temples. Also other

bands of fire were clasped about my arms and wrists. So acutely did

they burn that I fell back with a low moan and looked helplessly at

Mrs. Luttrell.

Although it had been snowing, her bonnet was thrust back from her

face and hung by its ribbons which were tied beneath her chin.

The breeze was playing with her disordered hair--hair now white as

the snow-flakes upon it, though grey when last I had seen it--but it

brought no colour to her face. As she bent over me to place her

shawl beneath my head, I saw that her blue eyes were strangely bright

and prominent.

"Thank God, you are alive! Does the bandage pain you? Can you

move?"

I feebly put my hand up and felt a handkerchief bound round my head.

"I was afraid--oh, so afraid!--that I had been too late. Yet God

only knows how I got down into your boat--in time--and without his

seeing me. I knew what he would do--I was listening behind the

partition all the time; but I was afraid he would kill you first."

"Then--you heard?"

"I heard all. Oh, if I were only a man--but can you stand? Are you

better now? For we must lose no time."

I weakly stared at her in answer.

"Don't you see? If you can stand and walk, as I pray you can, there

is no time to be lost. Morning is already breaking, and by this

evening you must catch him."

"Catch him?"

"Yes, yes. He has gone--gone to catch the first train for Cornwall,

and will be at Dead Man's Rock to-night. Quick! see if you cannot

rise."

I sat up. The water had dripped from me, forming a great pool at our

end of the boat. In it she was kneeling, and beside her lay a heavy

knife and the cords with which Simon Colliver had bound me.

"Yes," I said, "I will follow. When does the first train leave

Paddington?"

"At a quarter past nine," she answered, "and it is now about

half-past five. You have time to catch it; but must disguise

yourself first. He will travel by it, there is no train before.

Come, let me row you ashore."

With this she untied the painter, got out the sculls, sat down upon

the thwart opposite, and began to pull desperately for shore.

I wondered at her strength and skill with the oar.

"Ah," she said, "I see at what you are wondering. Remember that I

was a sailor's wife once, and without strength how should I have

dragged you on board this boat?"

"How did you manage it?"

"I cannot tell. I only know that I heard a splash as I waited under

the bows there, and then began with my hands to fend the boat around

the schooner for dear life. I had to be very silent. At first I

could see nothing, for it was dark towards the shore; but I cried to

Heaven to spare you for vengeance on that man, and then I saw

something black lying across the warp, and knew it was you. I gave a

strong push, then rushed to the bows and caught you by the hair.

I got you round by the stern as gently as I could, and then pulled

you on board somehow--I cannot remember exactly how I did it."

"Did he see you?"

"No, for he must have gone below directly. I rowed under the shadow

of the lighter to which we were tied just now, and as I did so,

thought I heard him calling me by name. He must have forgotten me,

and then suddenly remembered that as yet I had not given him the

money. However, presently I heard him getting into his boat and

rowing ashore. He came quite close to us--so close that I could hear

him cursing, and crouched down in the shadow for fear of my life.

But he passed on, and got out at the steps yonder. It was snowing at

the time and that helped me."

She pulled a stroke or two in silence, and then continued--

"When you were in the cabin together I was listening. At one point I

think I must have fainted; but it cannot have been for long, for when

I came to myself you were still talking about--about John Railton."

I remembered the sound which I had heard, and almost in spite of

myself asked, "You heard about--"

"Claire? Yes, I heard." She nodded simply; but her eyes sought mine,

and in them was a gleam that made me start.

Just then the boat touched at a mouldering flight of stairs, crusted

with green ooze to high-water mark, and covered now with snow.

She made fast the boat.

"This was the way he went," she muttered. "Track him, track him to

his death; spare him no single pang to make that death miserable!"

Her low voice positively trembled with concentrated hate.

"Stay," she said, "have you money?"

I suddenly remembered that I had given all the money on me to Bagnell

for getting out my boat, and told her so. At the same moment, too,

I thought upon the tin box still lying under the boat's stern.

I stepped aft and pulled it out.

"Here is money," she said; "money that I was to have given him.

Fifty pounds it is, in notes--take it all."

"But you?" I hesitated.

"Never mind me. Take it--take it all. What do I want with money if

only you kill him?"

I bent and kissed her hand.

"As Heaven is my witness," I said, "it shall be his life or mine.

The soul of one of us shall never see to-morrow."

Her hand was as cold as ice, and her pale face never changed.

"Kill him!" she said, simply.

I turned, and climbed the steps. By this time day had broken, and

the east was streaked with angry flushes of crimson. The wind swept

through my dripping clothes and froze my aching limbs to the marrow.

Up the river came floating a heavy pall of fog, out of which the

masts showed like grisly skeletons. The snow-storm had not quite

ceased, and a stray flake or two came brushing across my face.

So dawned my Christmas Eve!

As I gained the top, I turned to look down. She was still standing

there, watching me. Seeing me look, she waved her arms, and I heard

her hoarse whisper, "Kill him! Kill him! Kill him!"

I left her standing so, and turned away; but in the many ghosts that

haunt my solitary days, not the least vivid is the phantom of this

white-haired woman on the black and silent river, eternally

beckoning, "Kill him!"

I found myself in a yard strewn with timber, spars and refuse, half

hidden beneath the snow. From it a flight of rickety stone steps led

to a rotting door, and thence into the street. Here I stood for a

moment, pondering on my next step. Not a soul was abroad so early;

but I must quickly get a change of clothes somewhere; at present I

stood in my torn dress trousers and soaked shirt. I passed up the

street, my shoeless feet making the first prints in the newly-fallen

snow. The first? No; for when I looked more closely I saw other

footprints, already half obliterated, leading up the street.

These must be Simon Colliver's. I followed them for about a hundred

yards past the shuttered windows.

Suddenly they turned into a shop door, and then seemed to leave it

again. The shop was closed, and above it hung three brass balls,

each covered now with a snowy cap. Above, the blinds were drawn

down, but on looking again, I saw a chink of light between the

shutters. I knocked.

After a short pause, the door was opened. A red-eyed, villainous

face peered out, and seeing me, grew blank with wonder.

"What do you want?" inquired at length the voice belonging to it.

"To buy a fresh suit of clothes. See, I have fallen into the river."

Muttering something beneath his breath, the pawnbroker opened his

door, and let me into the shop.

It was a dingy nest, fitted up with the usual furniture of such a

place. The one dim candle threw a ghostly light on chairs, clocks,

compasses, trinkets, saucepans, watches, piles of china, and suits of

left-off clothes arrayed like rows of suicides along the wall.

A general air of decay hung over the den. Immediately opposite me,

as I entered, a stuffed parrot, dropping slowly into dust, glared at

me with one malevolent eye of glass, while a hideous Chinese idol,

behind the counter, poked out his tongue in a very frenzy of

malignity. But my eye wandered past these, and was fixed in a moment

upon something that glittered upon the counter. That something was

my own watch.

Following my gaze, the man gave me a quick, suspicious glance,

hastily caught up the watch, and was bestowing it on one of his

shelves, when I said--

"Where did you get that?"

"Quite innocently, sir, I swear. I bought it of a gentleman who came

in just now, and would not pawn it. I thought it was his, so that if

you belong to the Force, I hope--"

"Gently, my friend," said I; "I am not in the police, so you need not

be in such a fright. Nevertheless, that watch is mine; I can tell

you the number, if you don't believe it."

He pushed the watch across to me and said, still greatly frightened--

"I am sure you may see it, sir, with all my heart. I wouldn't for

worlds--"

"What did you give for it?"

He hesitated a moment, and then, as greed overmastered fear,

replied--

"Fifteen pounds, sir; and the man would not take a penny less.

Fifteen good pounds! I swear it, as I am alive!"

Although I saw that the man lied, I drew out three five-pound notes,

laid them on the table, and took my watch. This done, I said--

"Now I want you to sell me a suit of clothes, and aid me to disguise

myself. Otherwise--"

"Don't talk, sir, about 'otherwise.' I'm sure I shall only be too

glad to rig you out to catch the thief. You can take your pick of

the suits here; they are mostly seamen's, to be sure; but you'll find

others as well. While as for disguises, I flatter myself that for

getting up a face--"

Here he stopped suddenly.

"How long has he been gone?"

"About half an hour, sir, before you came. But no doubt you know

where he'd be likely to go; and I won't be more than twenty minutes

setting you completely to rights."

In less than half an hour afterwards, I stepped out into the street

so completely disguised that none of my friends--that is, if I had

possessed a friend in the world--would have recognised me. I had

chosen a sailor's suit, that being the character I knew myself best

able to sustain. My pale face had turned to a bronze red, while over

its smoothly-shaven surface now grew the roughest of untrimmed

beards. Snow was falling still, so that Colliver's footprints were

entirely obliterated. But I wanted them no longer. He would be at

Paddington, I knew; and accordingly I turned my feet in that

direction, and walked rapidly westward.

My chase had begun. I had before me plenty of time in which to reach

Paddington, and the exercise of walking did me good, relaxing my

stiffened limbs until at length I scarcely felt the pain of the weals

where the cords had cut me. It was snowing persistently, but I

hardly noticed it. Through the chill and sullen morning I held

doggedly on my way, past St. Katharine's Wharf, the Tower, through

Gracechurch Street, and out into St. Paul's Churchyard. Traffic was

already beginning here, and thickened as I passed down Ludgate Hill

and climbed up to Holborn. Already the white snow was being churned

and trodden into hideous slush in which my feet slipped and stumbled.

My coat and sailor's cap were covered with powdery flakes, and I had

to hold my head down for fear lest the drifting moisture should wash

any of the colouring off my face. So my feet carried me once more

into Oxford Street. How well remembered was every house, every

lamp-post, every flag of the pavement almost! I was on my last quest

now.

"To-night! to-night!" whispered my heart: then came back the words of

Claire's mother--"Kill him! Kill him!" and still I tramped westward,

as westward lay my revenge.

Suddenly a hansom cab shot past me. It came up silently on the

slushy street, and it was only when it was close behind that I heard

the muffled sound of its wheels. It was early yet for cabs, so that

I turned my head at the sound. It passed in a flash, and gave me but

a glimpse of the occupant: but in that moment I had time to catch

sight of a pair of eyes, and knew now that my journey would not be in

vain. They were the eyes of Simon Colliver.

So then in Oxford Street, after all, I had met him. He was cleverly

disguised--as I guessed, by the same hands that had painted my own

face--and looked to the casual eye but an ordinary bagman. But art

could not change those marvellous eyes, and I knew him in an instant.

My heart leapt wildly for a moment--my hands were clenched and my

teeth shut tight; but the next, I was plodding after him as before.

I could wait now.

Before I reached Paddington I met the cab returning empty, and on

gaining the station at first saw nothing of my man. Though as yet it

was early, the platform was already crowded with holiday-makers: a

few country dames laden with countless bundles, careworn workers

preparing to spend Christmas with friends or parents in their village

home, a sprinkling of schoolboys chafing at the slowness of the

clock. After a minute or so, I spied Simon Colliver moving among

this happy and innocent crowd like an evil spirit. I flung myself

down upon a bench, and under pretence of sleeping, quietly observed

him. Once or twice, as he passed to and fro before me, he almost

brushed my knee, so close was he--so close that I had to clutch the

bench tightly for fear I should leap up and throttle him. He did not

notice me. Doubtless he thought me already tossing out to sea with

the gulls swooping over me, and the waves merrily dashing over my

dead face. The waiting game had changed hands now.

I heard him demand a ticket for Penryn, and, after waiting until he

had left the booking office, took one myself for the same station.

I watched him as he chose his compartment, and then entered the next.

It was crowded, of course, with holiday-seekers; but the only person

that I noticed at first was the man sitting directly opposite to me--

an honest, red-faced countryman, evidently on his way home from town,

and at present deeply occupied with a morning paper which seemed to

have a peculiar fascination for him, for as he raised his face his

round eyes were full of horror. I paid little attention to him,

however, but, having the corner seat facing the engine, watched to

see that Colliver did not change his compartment. He did not appear

again, and in a minute or two the whistle shrieked and we were off.

At first the countryman opposite made such a prodigious to-do with

his piece of news that I could not help watching him. Then my

attention wandered from him to the country through which we were

flying. Slowly I pondered over the many events that had passed

since, not many months before, I had travelled up from Cornwall to

win my fortune. My fortune! To what had it all come? I had won a

golden month or two of love, and lo! my darling was dead. Dead also

was the friend who had travelled up with me, so full of boyish hope:

both dead; the one in the full blaze of her triumph, the other in the

first dawn of his young success: both dead--and, but for me, both

living yet and happy.

Suddenly the countryman looked up and spoke.

"Hav'ee seen this bit o' news? Astonishin'! And her so pretty too!"

"What is it?" I asked vacantly.

For answer he pushed the paper into my hands, and with his thumb-nail

pointed to a column headed "TERRIBLE TRAGEDY IN A THEATRE."

"An' to think," he continued reflectively, "as how I saw her wi' my

own eyes but three nights back--an' actin' so pretty, too! Lord!

It made me cry like any sucking child: beautiful it was--just

beau-ti-ful! Here's a story to tell my missus!"

I took the paper and read--

"TERRIBLE TRAGEDY IN A THEATRE. SUICIDE OF A FAMOUS ACTRESS.--

Last evening, the performance of the new and popular tragedy,

_Francesca_, at the Coliseum, was interrupted by a scene

perhaps the most awful that has ever been presented to the

play-going public. A sinister fate seems to have pursued this

play from the outset. It will be within the memory of all that

its young and gifted author was, on the very night of its

production, struck down suddenly in the street by an unknown

hand which the police have not yet succeeded in tracing.

Last night's tragedy was even more terrible. Clarissa Lambert,

whose name--"

But I wanted to read no more. To the countryman's astonishment the

paper slipped from my listless fingers, and once more my gaze turned

to the carriage window. On we tore through the snow that raced

horizontally by the pane, through the white and peaceful country--

homeward. Homeward to welcome whom? Whom but the man now sitting,

it might be, within a foot of me? To my heart I hugged the thought

of him, sitting there and gloating over the morrow.

The morrow! Somehow my own horizon did not stretch as far: it was

bounded by to-night. Before to-morrow one of us two should be a dead

man; perhaps both. So best: the world with its loves and hatreds

would end to-night. So westward we sped in the grey light beneath

which the snowy fields gleamed unnaturally--westward while the sun

above showed only as a crimson ball, an orb of blood, travelling

westward too. At Bristol it glared through a murky veil of smoke, at

Exeter and through the frozen pastures and leafless woodlands of

Devon dropped swiftly towards my goal, beckoning with blood-stained

hand across the sky. Past the angry sea we tore, and then again into

the whitened fields now growing dim in the twilight. In the carriage

the talk was unceasing--talk of home, of expectant friends, of

Christmas meetings and festivities. Every station was thronged, and

many a happy welcome I witnessed as I sat there with no friend but

hate. Friends! What had I to do with such? I had a friend once,

but he was dead. Friend, parents, love--all dead by one man's hand,

and he--But a little while now; but a little while!

We reached Plymouth shortly after five--the train being late--and

here the crowd in the carriages grew greater. It was dark, but the

moon was not yet up--the full moon by which the treasure was to be

sought. How slowly the train dragged through Cornwall! It would be

eight before we reached Penryn, and low water was at half-past

eleven. Should we be in time?

The snow had ceased to fall: a clear north-east wind had chased the

clouds from heaven, and scarcely had we passed Saltash before a

silver rim came slowly rising above the black woods on the river's

opposite bank. Clear into the frosty night it rose, and I fell to

wondering savagely with what thoughts Colliver saluted it.

It was already half-past eight as we changed our train at Truro, and

here again more time was wasted. Upon the platform I saw him again.

He was heavily cloaked and muffled now, for it was freezing hard; but

beneath the low brim of his hat I saw the deep, black eyes gleaming

with impatience. So at last once more we started.

"Penryn!"

I looked at my watch. It was nine o'clock; more than an hour and a

half late. By the light from the carriage window I saw him step out

into the shadow of the platform. I followed. Here also was a large

crowd bound for Helston, and the coach that waited outside was

quickly thronged inside and out. Colliver was outside the station in

a moment, and in another had jumped into a carriage waiting there

with two horses, and was gone up the hill beneath the shadow of the

bridge. In my folly I had forgotten that he might have telegraphed

for horses to meet him. However, the coach was fast and I could post

from Helston. I clambered up to the top, where for want of a better

seat I propped myself up on a pile of luggage, and waited whilst box

after box, amid vociferous cursing, was piled up beside me.

At length, just as I was beginning to despair of ever starting at

all, with a few final curses directed at the bystanders generally,

the driver mounted the box, shook his reins, and we were off.

The load was so heavy that at first five horses were used, but we

left one with his postillion at the top of the hill and swung down at

a canter into the level country. The snow lay fairly deep, and the

horses' hoofs were soundless as we plunged through the crisp and

tingling air. The wind raced past me as I sat perched on my rickety

seat, swaying wildly with every lurch of the coach. With every gust

I seemed to drink in fresh strength and felt the very motion and

swiftness enter into my blood. Across the white waste we tore, up a

stiff ascent and down across the moorland again--still westward; and

now across the stretches of the moor I could catch the strong scent

of the sea upon the wind. Along the level we sped, silent and swift

beneath the moon. Here a white house by the roadside glimmered out

and was gone; there a mine-chimney shot up against the sky and faded

back again. We were going now at a gallop, and from my perch I could

see the yellow light of the lamps on the sweating necks of the

leaders.

There was a company of sailors with me on the coach-top--smoking,

talking, and shouting. Once or twice one of them would address a

word or two to me, but got scanty answers. I was looking intently

along the road for a sign of Colliver's carriage. He must have

ordered good horses, for I saw no sign of him as yet. Stay! As we

swept round a sharp corner and swung on to the straight road again, I

thought I spied far in front a black object moving on the universal

white. Yes, it must be he: and again on the wings of the wind I

heard the call, "To-night! to-night! Kill him! kill him! kill--"

Crash! With a heavy and sickening lurch sideways, the coach hung for

an instant, tottered, and then plunged over on its side, flinging me

clear of the luggage which pounded and rattled after. As I struggled

to my feet, half dazed, I saw a confused medley of struggling horses,

frightened passengers and scattered boxes. Collecting my senses I

rushed to help those inside the coach and then amid the moaning,

cursing and general dismay, sought out my bundle, grasped it tightly

and set off at a run down the heavy road. I could wait now for no

man.

Panting, spent, my sore limbs weighted with snow, I gained the top of

the hill and plunged down the steep street into Helston. There, at

"the Angel" I got a post-chaise and pair, and set off once more.

At first, seeing my dress and wondering what a sailor could want with

post-chaises at that hour, they demurred, but the money quickly

persuaded them. They told me also that a gentleman had changed

horses there about half an hour before and gone towards the Lizard,

after borrowing a pickaxe and spade. Half an hour: should I yet be

in time?

I leant back in the chaise and pondered. I knew by heart the

shortest cuts across the downs. When I reached them I would stop

the carriage and take to my feet once more. The fresh horses

were travelling fast, and as we drew near the sea I dimly noted a

hundred familiar landmarks, and in each a fresh memory of Tom.

How affectionately we had taken leave of them, one by one, on our

journey to London! Now each seemed to cry, "What have you done with

your friend?" This was my home-coming.

At the beginning of the downs I stopped the carriage, paid and

dismissed the astonished post-boy and started off alone at a swinging

trot across the snow. Southward hung the white moon, now high in

heaven. It must be almost time. Along the old track I ran, still

clutching my bundle, over the frozen ruts, stumbling, slipping, but

with set teeth and straining muscles, skirted the hill above

Polkimbra with just a glimpse of the cottage roofs shining in the

hollow below, and raced along the cliffs towards Lantrig. I guessed

that Colliver would come across Polkimbra Beach, so had determined to

approach the rock from the northern side, over Ready-Money Cove.

Lantrig, my old home, was merrily lit up this Christmas Eve, and the

sight of it gave me one swift, sharp pang of anguish as I stole

cautiously downwards to the sands. At the cliff's foot I paused and

looked across the Cove.

Sable and gloomy as ever, Dead Man's Rock soared up against the moon,

the grim reality of that dark shadow which had lain upon all my

life. From it had my hate started; to it was I now at the last

returning. There it stood, the stern warder of that treasure for

which my grandfather had sold his soul, my father had given his life,

and I had lost all that made both life and soul worth having.

"Blood shall be their inheritance, and Fire their portion for ever."

The curse had lain upon us all.

Creeping along the shadow, I crossed the little Cove and peered

through the archway on to Polkimbra Sands, now sparkling in the

moonlight.

Not a soul in sight! As far as eye could see the beach was utterly

deserted and peaceful. I stepped down to a small pool, left by the

receding tide in the rock's shadow, removed my false hair and beard,

and carefully washed away all traces of paint from my face.

This done, I slipped off my shoes and holding them with the bundle in

my right hand, began softly and carefully to ascend the rock.

I gained the first ledge; crept out along it as far as the ring

mentioned on the clasp, and then began to climb again. This needed

care, for the ascent on the north side was harder at first than on

the other, and I could use but one hand with ease. Slowly, however,

and with effort I pulled myself up and then stole out towards the

face until I could command a view of Polkimbra Beach. Still I could

see nobody, only the lights of the little church-town twinkling

across the beach and, far beyond, the shadowy cliffs of Kynance.

I pulled out my watch. It was close on half-past eleven, the hour of

dead low water.

As I looked up again I thought I saw a speck approaching over the

sands. Yes, I was not mistaken. I set my teeth and crouched down

nearer to the rock. Over the sands, beneath the shadow of the cliffs

he came, and as he drew nearer, I saw that he carried something on

his shoulder, doubtless the spade and pickaxe. A moment more and he

turned to see that no one was following. As he did so, the moon

shone full in his face, and I saw, stripped now of all disguises, the

features of my enemy.

I opened the tin box and took out my knife. I had caused the thin

sharp blade, found in my dead father's heart, to be fitted to a horn

handle into which it shut with an ordinary spring-clasp. As I opened

it, the moonlight glittered down the steel and lit up the letters

"Ricordati."

Still in the shadow, he crept down by the rock, and once more looked

about him. No single soul was abroad at that hour to see; none but

the witness crouching there above. I gripped the knife tighter as he

disappeared beneath the ledge on which I hung.

A low curse or two, and then silence. I held my breath and waited.

Presently he reappeared, with compass in one hand and measuring-tape

in the other, and stood there for a moment looking about him.

Still I waited.

About forty feet from the breakers now crisply splashing on the sand,

Dead Man's Rock suddenly ended on the southern side in a thin black

ridge that broke off with a drop of some ten feet. This ridge was,

of course, covered at high water, and upon it the _Belle Fortune_ had

doubtless struck before she reeled back and settled in deep water.

This was the "south point" mentioned on the clasp. Fixing his

compass carefully, he drew out the tape, and slowly began to measure

towards the north-west. "End South Point, 27 feet," I remembered

that the clasp said. He measured it out to the end, and then,

digging with his heel a small hole in the sand, began to walk back

towards the rock, this time to the north side. And still I waited.

Again I could hear him searching for the mark--an old iron ring, once

used for mooring boats--and cursing because he could not find it.

After a minute or two, however, he came into sight again, drawing his

line now straight out from the cliff, due west. He was very slow,

and every now and then, as he bent over his task, would look swiftly

about him with a hunted air, and then set to work again. Still there

was no sight but the round moon overhead, the sparkling stretch of

sand, and the gleam of the waves as they broke in curving lines of

silver: no sound but the sigh of the night breeze.

Apparently his measurements were successful, for the tape led him

once more to the hole he had marked in the sand. He paused for a

moment or two, drew out the clasp, which shot out a sudden gleam as

he turned it in his hand, and consulted it carefully. Presumably

satisfied, he walked back to the rock to fetch his tools. And still

I crouched, waiting, with knife in hand.

Arrived once more at the point where the two lines met, he threw a

hasty glance around, and began to dig rapidly. He faced the sea now,

and had his back turned to me, so that I could straighten myself up,

and watch at greater ease. He dug rapidly, and the pit, as his spade

threw out heap after heap of soft sand, grew quickly bigger.

If treasure really lay there, it would soon be disclosed.

Presently I heard his spade strike against something hard. Surely he

had not yet dug deeply enough. The clasp had said "four feet six

inches," and the pit could not yet be more than three feet in depth.

Colliver bent down and drew something out, then examined it intently.

As I strained forward to look, he half turned, and I saw between his

hands--a human skull. Whose? Doubtless, some victim's of those many

that went down in the _Belle Fortune_; or perhaps the skull of John

Railton, sunk here above the treasure to gain which he had taken the

lives of other men and lost in the end his own. It was a grisly

thought, but apparently troubled Colliver little, for with a jerk of

his arm he sent it bowling down the sands towards the breakers.

A bound or two, a splash, and it was swallowed up once more by the

insatiate sea.

With this he fell to digging anew, and I to watching. For a full

twenty minutes he laboured, flinging out the sand to right and left,

and every now and then stopping for a moment to measure his progress.

By this time, I judged, he must have dug below the depth pointed out

upon the clasp, for once or twice he drew it out and paused in his

work to consult it.

He was just resuming, after one of these rests, when his spade grated

against something. He bent low to examine it, and then began to

shovel out the sand with inconceivable rapidity.

The treasure was found!

Like a madman he worked: so that even from where I stood I could hear

his breath coming hard and fast. At length, with one last glance

around, he knelt down and disappeared from my view. My time was

come.

Knife in hand, I softly clambered down the south side of the rock,

and dropped upon the sand.

The pit lay rather to the north, so that by creeping behind the ridge

on the south side I could get close up to him unobserved, even should

he look. But he was absorbed now in his prize, so that I stole

noiselessly out across the strip of sand between us until within

about ten feet of him; then, on hands and knees, I crawled and pulled

myself to the trench's lip and peered over.

There, below me, within grasp, he sat, his back still turned towards

me. The moon was full in front, so that it cast no shadow of me

across him. There he sat, and in front of him lay, imbedded in the

sand, a huge iron chest, bound round with a broad band of iron, and

secured with an enormous padlock. On the rusty top I could even

trace the rudely-cut initials A. T.

I held my breath as he drew from his pocket my grandfather's key and

inserted it in the lock, after first carefully clearing away the

sand. The stubborn lock creaked heavily as at last and with

difficulty he managed to turn the key. And still I knelt above him,

knife in hand.

Then, with a long, shuddering sigh, he lifted and threw back the

groaning lid. We both gazed, and as we gazed were well-nigh blinded.

For this is what we saw:--

At first, only a blaze of darting rays that beneath the moon gleamed,

sparkled and shot out a myriad scintillations of colour--red, violet,

orange, green and deepest crimson. Then by degrees I saw that all

these flashing hues came from one jumbled heap of gems--some large,

some small, but together in value beyond a king's ransom.

I caught my breath and looked again. Diamonds, rubies, sapphires,

amethysts, opals, emeralds, turquoises, and innumerable other stones

lay thus roughly heaped together and glittering as though for joy to

see the light of heaven once more. Some polished, some uncut, some

strung on necklaces and chains, others gleaming in rings and

bracelets and barbaric ornaments; there they lay--wealth beyond the

hope of man, the dreams of princes.

The chest measured some five feet by three, and these jewels

evidently lay in a kind of sunken drawer, or tray, of iron. In the

corner of this was a small space of about four inches square, covered

with an iron lid. As we gazed with straining eyes, Colliver drew one

more long sigh of satisfied avarice, and lifted this smaller lid.

Instantly a full rich flood of crimson light welled up, serene and

glorious, with luminous shafts of splendour, that, as we looked, met

and concentred in one glowing heart of flame--met in one translucent,

ineffable depth of purple-red. Calm and radiant it lay there, as

though no curse lay in its deep hollows, no passion had ever fed its

flames with blood; stronger than the centuries, imperishably and

triumphantly cruel--the Great Ruby of Ceylon!

With a short gasp of delight, Colliver was stretching out his hand

towards it, when I laid mine heavily on his shoulder, then sprang to

my feet. My waiting was over.

He gave one start of uttermost terror, leapt to his feet, and in an

instant was facing me. Already his knife was half out of his

waist-band; already he had taken half a leap forwards, when he saw me

standing there above him.

Bareheaded I stood in the moonlight, the white ray glittering

up my knife and lighting up my bared chest and set stern face.

Bareheaded, with the light breeze fanning my curls, I stood there and

waited for his leap. But that leap never came.

One step forward he took and then looked, and looking, staggered back

with hands thrown up before his face. Slowly, as he cowered back

with hands upraised and straining eyeballs, I saw those eyeballs grow

rigid, freeze and turn to stone, while through his gaping, bloodless

lips came a hoarse and gasping sound that had neither words nor

meaning.

Then as I still watched, with murderous purpose on my face, there

came one awful cry, a scream that startled the gulls from slumber and

awoke echo after echo along the shore--a scream like no sound in

earth or heaven--a scream inhuman and appalling.

Then followed silence, and as the last echo died away, he fell.

As he collapsed within the pit, I made a step forward to the brink

and looked. He was now upon his hands and knees before the chest,

bathing his hands in the gleaming heap of gems, catching them up in

handfuls, and as they ran like sparkling rain through his fingers,

muttering incoherently to himself and humming wild snatches of song.

"Colliver--Simon Colliver!" I called.

He paid no attention, but went on tossing up the diamonds and rubies

in his hands and watching them as they rattled down again upon the

heap.

"Simon Colliver!"

I leapt down into the pit beside him, and laid my hand upon his

shoulder. He paused for a moment, and looked up with a vacant gleam

in his deep eyes.

"Colliver, I have to speak a word with you."

"Oh, yes, I know you. Trenoweth, of course: Ezekiel Trenoweth come

back again after the treasure. But you are too late, too late, too

late! You are dead now--ha, ha! dead and rotting.

"For his glittering eyes are the salt sea's prize,

And his fingers clutch the sand, my lads.

"Aha! his fingers clutch the sand. Here's pretty sand for you! sand

of all colours; look, look, there's a brave sparkle!" And again he

ran the priceless shower through his fingers.

"Oh, yes," he continued after a moment, looking up, "oh, yes, I know

you--Ezekiel Trenoweth, of course; or is it Amos, or Jasper?

No matter, you are all dead. I killed the last of you last year--no,

last night; all dead.

"And the devil has got his due, my lads!

"His due, his due! Look at it! look again! I had a skull just now.

John Railton's skull, no eyes in it though,

"For his glittering eyes are the salt sea's--

"Where is the skull? Let me fit it with a bonny pair of eyes here--

here they are, or here, look, here's a pair that change colour when

they move. Where is the skull? Give it me. Oh, I forgot, I lost

it. Never mind, find it, find it. Here's plenty of eyes when you

find it. Or give it this big, red one. Here's a flaming, fiery

eye!"

As he stretched out his hand over the Great Ruby, I caught him by the

wrist. But he was too quick for me, and with a sharp snarl and click

of his teeth, had whipped his hand round to his back.

Then in a flash, as I grappled with him, he thrust me back with his

left palm, and, with a sweep of his right, hurled the great jewel far

out into the sea. I saw it rise and curve in one long, sparkling

arch of flame, then fall with a dropping line of fire down into the

billows. A splash--a jet of light, and it was gone:--gone perhaps to

hide amid the rotting timbers of what was once the _Belle Fortune_,

or among the bones of her drowned crew to watch with its blood-red

tireless eye the extremity of its handiwork. There, for aught I

know, it lies to-day, and there, for aught I care, beneath the waters

it shall treasure its infernal loveliness for ever.

Into its red heart I have looked once, and this was what I read:--of

treachery, lust and rapine; of battle and murder and sudden death; of

midnight outcries, and poison in the guest-cup; of a curse that said,

"Even as the Heart of the Ruby is Blood and its Eyes a Flaming Fire,

so shall it be for them that would possess it: Fire shall be their

portion, and Blood their inheritance for ever." Of that quest and

that curse we were the two survivors. And what were we, that night,

as we stood upon the sands with that last hellish glitter still

dancing in our eyes? The one, a lonely and broken man; the other--

I turned to look at Colliver. He was huddled against the pit's side,

with his dark eyes gazing wistfully up at me. In their shining

depths there lurked no more sanity than in the heart of the Great

Ruby. As I looked, I knew him to be a hopeless madman, and knew also

that my revenge had slipped from me for ever.

We were still standing so when a soft wave came stealing up the beach

and flung the lip of its foam over the pit's edge into the chest.

I turned round. The tide was rising fast, and in a minute or so

would be upon us. Catching Colliver by the shoulder, I pointed and

tried to make him understand; but the maniac had again fallen to

playing with the jewels. I shook him; he did not stir, only sat

there jabbering and singing. And now wave after wave came splashing

over us, soaking us through, and hissing in phosphorescent pools

among the gems.

There was no time to be lost. I tore the madman back, stamped down

the lid, locked it, and took out the key; then caught Colliver in my

arms and heaved him bodily out of the trench. Jumping out beside

him, I caught up the spade and shovelled back the wet sand as fast as

I could, until the tide drove us back. Colliver stood quite tamely

beside me all this while and watched the treasure disappearing from

his view; only every now and then he would chatter a few wild words,

and with that break off again in vacant wonder at my work.

When all was done that could be, I took my companion's hand, led him

up the sands beyond high-water mark, and then sat down beside him,

waiting for the dawn.

And there, next morning, by Dead Man's Rock they found us, while

across the beach came the faint music of Polkimbra bells as they rang

their Christmas peal, "Peace on earth and goodwill toward men."

There is little more to tell. Next day, at low ebb, with the aid of

Joe Roscorla (still hale and hearty) and a few Polkimbra fishermen

whom I knew, the rest of my grandfather's treasure was secured and

carried up from the sea. In the iron chest, besides the gems already

spoken of, and beneath the iron tray containing them, was a

prodigious quantity of gold and silver, partly in ingots, partly in

coinage. This last was of all nationalities: moidores, dollars,

rupees, doubloons, guineas, crown-pieces, louis, besides an amount of

coins which I could not trace, the whole proving a most catholic

taste in buccaneering. So much did it all weigh, that we found it

impossible to stir the chest as it stood, and therefore secured the

prize piecemeal. Strangest of all, however, was a folded parchment

which, we discovered beneath the tray of gems and above the coins.

It contained but few words, which ran as follows--

FAIR FORTUNE WRECKED, FAIR FORTUNE FOUND,

AND ALL BUT THE FINDER UNDERGROUND.--A.T.

This, as, far as I know, was my grandfather's one and only attempt at

verse; and its apparent application to the wreck of the _Belle

Fortune_ is a coincidence which puzzles me to this day.

The reader will search the chronicles of wrecks in vain for the story

of that ill-fated ship. But if he comes upon the record of a certain

vessel, the _James and Elizabeth_, wrecked upon the Cornish coast on

the night of October 11th, 1849, he may know it to be the same.

For that was the name given by the only survivor, one Georgio

Rhodojani, a Greek sailor, and as the _James and Elizabeth_ she

stands entered to this day.

If, however, his curiosity lead him further to inquire into the

after-history of this same Georgio Rhodojani, let him go on a fine

summer day to the County Lunatic Asylum at Bodmin, and, with

permission, enter the grounds set apart for private patients.

There he may chance to see a strange sight.

On a garden seat against the sunny wall sit two persons--a man and a

woman. The man is decrepit and worn, being apparently about

sixty-seven or eight years old; but the woman, as the keepers will

tell, is ninety. She is his mother, and as they sit together, she

feeds him with sweets and fruit as tenderly as though he were a

child. He takes them, but never notices her, and when he has had

enough, rises abruptly and walks away humming a song which runs--

"So it's hey! for the homeward bound, my lads!

And ho! for the drunken crew,

For his mess-mates round lie dead and drowned,

And the devil has got his due, my lads--

Sing ho! but he waits for you!"

This is his only song now, and he will walk round the gravel paths by

the hour, singing it softly and muttering. Sometimes, however, he

will sit for long beside his mother and let her pat his hand.

They never speak.

Folks say that she is as mad as her son, but she lodges in the town

outside the walls and comes to see him every day. Certainly she is

as remarkable to look upon, for her skin is of a brilliant and

startling yellow, and her withered hands are loaded with diamonds.

As you pass, she will stare at you with eyes absolutely passionless

and vague; but see them as she sighs and turns to go, see them as she

watches for a responsive touch of love on her son's face, and you may

find some meaning in them then.

Mrs. Luttrell was never seen again from the hour when she stood below

the river steps and waved her white arms to me, crying "Kill him!

kill him!" I made every inquiry but could learn nothing, save that

my boat had been found floating below Gravesend, quite empty.

She can scarcely be alive, so that is yet one soul more added to the

account of the Great Ruby.

Failing to find her mother, I had Claire's body conveyed to

Polkimbra. She lies buried beside my father and mother in the

little churchyard there. Above her head stands a white stone with

the simple words, "In memory of C. L., died Dec. 23rd, 1863.

'Love is strong as death.'"

The folk at Polkimbra have many a fable about this grave, but if

pressed will shake their heads sagely and refer you to "Master

Trenoweth up yonder at Lantrig. Folks say she was a play-actor and

he loved her. Anyway you may see him up in the churchyard most days,

but dont'ee go nigh him then, unless you baint afeard of th'evil

eye."

And I? After the treasure was divided with Government, I still had

for my share what I suppose would be called a considerable fortune.

The only use to which I put it, however, was to buy back Lantrig, the

home of a stock that will die out with me. There again from the

middle beam in the front parlour hangs my grandfather's key, covered

with cobwebs as thickly as on the day when my father went forth to

seek the treasure. There I live a solitary life--an old man, though

scarcely yet past middle age. For all my hopes are buried in the

grave where sleeps my lost love, and my soul shall lie for ever under

the curse, engulfed and hidden as deeply as the Great Ruby beneath

the shadow of Dead Man's Rock.