bazaar upset me a good deal, though there is really no need for me to
mind. I wish, however, I hadn't come by the wood, especially as I seem
to have lost the right path, and wandered rather out of my way. It is
eerie all by myself in the gloom, with such a tempest brewing too.
Bother! There's the rain!" he exclaimed, as two or three big drops
splashed against his face.
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, revealing to his anxious gaze the
rough hut which the boys had constructed with so much care, and which
stood only a few paces from the narrow track.
"A woodman's shed, I suppose," he said. "I may as well take refuge
inside, for it looks as if there was going to be a regular deluge."
He was right. Down came the rain, pattering loudly on the crisp autumn
leaves, first with a sort of measured beat, then more rapidly, as if
driven fiercely by an ever-compelling force from behind. Suddenly with a
mighty rush, it seemed as though the cloud had burst overhead, and
hissing torrents poured in straight unbroken lines from the clouds.
The little house was empty, and Mr. Field stood looking out of the door,
while the lightning played about the tops of the trees, illuminating the
depths of the dark copse as with the brightness of day. His was not a
brave nature at the best, and the scene was terrific enough to strike
awe into the heart of a bolder man than he claimed to be. He withdrew
further into the shed, as the thunder continued to roll above him in
long deafening crashes.
"Who is it says that thunder is the voice of the Almighty?" he muttered.
"It is in the Bible, I believe. It sounds awful enough for anything."
Just then a flash of more than usually vivid character lit up the
interior of the shelter, and to Mr. Field's consternation, words of fire
appeared to blaze out before his eyes. For a moment, to his excited
imagination it seemed like the writing on the wall at Belshazzar's
feast. Could this be the Hand as well as the Voice of God?
It was the text which Robin had pinned up inside the hut--
"THE EYES OF THE LORD ARE IN EVERY PLACE, BEHOLDING THE EVIL AND THE
GOOD."
It came like a message from an unseen Power, an answer to the thoughts
which had so lately filled his mind, and the words burnt into his very
soul.
"In every place--in every place. Beholding the evil--beholding the
evil."
The sentence echoed through his brain until he could bear it no longer.
"Will that verse never cease to haunt me?" he exclaimed. "Is there
truly a Witness in Heaven Who sees all--all--and Who can, when He wills,
bring even our hidden sins into the light?"
He made as though he would leave the hut, when suddenly to his horrified
gaze, a second flash revealed a pale emaciated face peering in through
the door.
With a loud cry, Mr. Field rushed at the opening, and with superhuman
strength hurled the apparition from him as he dashed past.
A dark form fell heavily into the bushes, but he stayed not to see.
Scrambling, falling in the inky blackness, he at last gained the edge of
the wood--how, he never knew. Drenched to the skin and with his eyes
staring wildly before him, he reached his home. Speechless and
trembling, he passed his astonished butler on the stairs, and paused not
till he had locked himself into the safety of his own room.
There, at length, he was able to regain his composure, and think more
calmly of the events of the preceding hour.
*CHAPTER XI*
*The Treacherous Shore*
It was about seven o'clock when a tap came at Mr. Field's door.
"Is that you, Burns?" was the response from within. "I am not feeling
very well this evening, so I shall not come downstairs to dinner. You
can bring me up something on a tray."
"Very good, sir," replied the butler, "but I wanted to ask you about
master Julius. He has not been home all day, and we don't know where
he's gone."
"Not been home all day," exclaimed Mr. Field, unlocking the door.
"Surely with a houseful of servants you might have looked better after
the boy than that."
Burns was relieved to find that his master appeared more like himself
than when he had last encountered him, though still strangely perturbed,
as if he had recently undergone some severe shock.
"Master Julius never turned up all the morning," answered Burns, "so we
came to the conclusion that you must have met him as you were going down
the drive, and taken him on with you to Westmarket. The chauffeur has
only now returned with the car, and he says master Julius never
accompanied you at all, so we thought it better to come and tell you at
once."
Messengers were sent out to make enquiries whether the lad had been seen
by anyone during the day, but neither garden, stables, nor farm could
contribute even the slightest clue to his movements.
Mr. Field was standing in the hall making arrangements to send
search-parties in other directions, when there was a ring at the bell,
and a lady was ushered in. She was dripping wet, and the light veil
over her head clung closely round her troubled and agitated face.
"I must apologize for intruding in this manner," she said, "but I am
dreadfully anxious about my little boy. He and your son left me about
two o'clock, and I have seen neither of them since. I hoped he might
have taken shelter here from the storm, so I just came up to see."
"It is Mrs. Power, sir, from Sea View Cottage," explained the butler, in
answer to Mr. Field's mystified look. "I believe master Julius often
goes to play with the young gentleman."
"The impertinent rascal sets all my commands at defiance, it appears,"
was the angry reply. "It is directly against my wishes, madam, that
Julius has made your acquaintance, and I have not the slightest notion
where either of the two lads have gone. Your son is certainly not here,
and neither is mine, for that matter."
"It is a dreadful night for anybody to be out," said Mrs. Power. "I
could scarcely battle against the wind and rain as I came along. The
lightning has ceased, but there is a regular hurricane blowing from the
sea. Robin would not willingly keep me in suspense, as he knows how
disturbed I should be, and I can't help fearing some accident may have
happened to them both."
All at once Mr. Field's heart seemed to well up with a sudden rush of
fatherly love, such as he had not experienced for years. He had allowed
such a thick crust of ambition and avarice to overgrow the softer
qualities of his character, that they had been well-nigh extinguished.
"What would all my wealth be without my little lad?" was the thought
that flashed across him as Mrs. Power spoke, and an agony of
apprehension filled his mind. "We must rouse the place at once," he
said aloud, "and I will turn out all my men. Surely it can't be long
before we discover the runaways."
The wood was thoroughly searched first, but with no result, and every
cottage in the village was applied to, but all in vain.
Suddenly a sickening fear seized Mrs. Power. "Was it possible that they
could have gone upon the beach?"
A brawny fisherman shrugged his shoulders hopelessly as he heard her
question.
"We've thought of that before," he replied, "but we didn't like to
suggest it to you, m'am. Some of us have been along the top of the cliff
already, to see if we could make out anything. They're beyond help now
if they went there, poor little chaps."
"Let us go to the shore," said Mrs. Power, but the men shook their heads
as they accompanied her upon her fruitless errand.
The long wall of cliff which extended for so many miles towards the
south came to an abrupt termination near the hamlet, and a flat extent
of coast reached thence to the next headland. A narrow lane at right
angles to the sea, and bordered by high hedges, led direct to the beach
at the point where the cliff ended. So long as the search-party kept
within the comparative shelter of this lane, all went well, but when
they emerged from it, they were met by the full strength of the gale.
The rain was over now, though the wind still raged with tempestuous
force. A full moon peeped out now and then through the rapidly driving
clouds, lighting up the wild expanse of waters which heaved and surged
in ceaseless turmoil as far as eye could reach.
"Could the boys have been caught between the cliff and the sea?" gasped
Mrs. Power. "Shall we go a little way along the shore in case they may
have taken refuge somewhere, and are afraid to move on?"
For answer one of the men pointed silently in the direction she had
indicated.
It was enough--no words were needed to prove the impossibility of the
task.
The moon gave sufficient light to show up the long dark line, at the
foot of which the yellow ribbon of sand was wont to lie. In its place
now tumbled a white mass of foaming waves. Here and there great
billows, lashed by the wind, would hurl themselves half-way up the steep
incline, breaking with thunderous noise upon the rampart which barred
their way, and sending up sheets of spray into the air, like the steam
from a boiling cauldron.
Mrs. Power covered her face with her hands.
"My boy!" she said. "Oh, my boy!"
Unresisting, she allowed herself to be led back to the silent cottage,
where all that long dreary night she sat, a pale and broken-hearted
watcher, waiting with dread for the only tidings which it seemed
possible could reach her now.
To understand what had happened to the boys, we must follow Julius as he
ran off to the wood on the morning of that long day. To do him justice
he had really meant to be back in time to go with his father in the car;
but an hour is short in the days of youth, and the time went all too
rapidly.
He had just passed the lodge gates on his return when he heard the motor
approaching, and quick as thought he had hidden himself behind the
laurels at the entrance of the drive. His heart beat as he meditated on
the punishment which doubtless awaited him for his disobedience, but a
reckless feeling soon intervened. "In for a penny, in for a pound." He
knew his father was not to return till dusk, for he had heard him tell
the butler so, therefore he might as well have a jolly day before the
reckoning came.
"I'll go back to Robin," he said, "and see if I can't do something
specially nice, as I needn't be home for ages."
It was with rather forced merriment, however, that he joined in the
games, for an uncomfortable feeling would obtrude itself even in the
most exciting moments, that something was hanging over him which sooner
or later must be faced.
Mrs. Power had asked him to stay for lunch, hearing that his father was
away for the day, and not knowing of the interdict which had been laid
upon the boy.
"Let us go for a walk, Robin," said Julius afterwards, the restless mood
increasing as the day wore on. "The tide is coming in strong, and I
shouldn't wonder if we found some buckles and things washed up on the
beach. You know the fishermen pick up lots of treasures along the
shore."
"Yes," answered Robin, "it is just like a fairy tale to hear of that
ancient city which once stood where the ocean now rolls. Old Timothy
has been telling me all about it--how there were churches, and streets,
and battlements there in the days of old, but the waves gradually ate
away the cliff, just as they are doing now, until one after another the
buildings fell into the sea, and the whole town was buried beneath the
water."
"I know a man who got quite a number of things which had been washed
up," remarked Julius, "seals, with people's names on them, and rings,
and dear little bronze brooches, besides crowds of coins. Couldn't we
go and have a hunt now?"
"I simply ache to find something," said Robin, "even if it is only an
old pin, but I'm not sure whether mother would like me to go without
her, as it is rather a dangerous beach when the tide is coming in."
"We're not babies," answered Julius, "surely we can keep a look-out so
as to get back in plenty of time. Besides, we needn't go far. The man
told me that the best place to find the things is just under the ruined
church, and it won't take us ten minutes to walk there."
"Well, if we only go a very little way," said Robin, "and come back when
the waves get at all near the cliff, I don't think there can be any
harm. Mother has never forbidden me to go, and I should like awfully to
find a brooch for her to wear."
Did no friendly eye watch the two young figures as they wandered further
and further along the treacherous shore? Time and tide were forgotten
in the excitement of searching for the spoil. When at length the gloom
of the coming storm caused them to look up, to their distress, they saw
that the white line of breakers had almost closed the pathway of their
return.
"Run, Julius," said Robin. "We may just do it, but the wind seems to be
driving the waves in fast, and there is not a minute to lose."
Their feet sank in the loose pebbles and sand! as they hurried along,
impeding their progress so that the inflowing tide gained upon them
every moment.
"I didn't know we had come so far," panted Julius. "I feel as if my
legs were made of lead. I don't think I can run any more."
They glanced up at the cliff, hoping against hope that some way might
reveal itself by which they could scramble up its face, out of the
danger zone below, but the sheer and crumbling surface offered no
foothold.
By this time some of the foremost waves were sweeping up in long cruel
rushes right across their track. It was only by waiting till they sank
back again and then making a dash before another came up, that the boys
were able to get on at all. Even then they were overtaken again and
again by the relentless waters, and had to wade as best they could
through the surf, the strong receding current threatening to carry them
off their feet into the sea.
To add to their terror, the storm which had surprised Mr. Field, now
burst above their heads, and the crash of thunder drowned even the roar
of the breakers upon the beach. It suddenly grew so dark that they were
unable to distinguish anything more than a few yards away, and the rain
coming down in torrents soon completed the drenching which the waves had
begun.
Just as they were about to give up in despair, Robin caught sight of a
feeble light glimmering upon the cliff above.
"I do believe it is Timothy's cottage," he exclaimed, "and if so, we
must be quite near the stair. Yes, here it is, Julius, I am holding the
railing in my hand."
In another moment two woebegone little objects were standing before the
old man's fire, too exhausted and miserable even to explain what had
brought them there in such a plight.
*CHAPTER XII*
*Death and the Tide*
The grey dawn was creeping in through the windows of Sea View Cottage,
eclipsing the yellow glow of the lamp which had burned all night in the
little sitting-room.
Madelaine rose from her chair and pulled up the blind. The wind had
abated somewhat, though a stiff breeze still blew from the sea. Dead
twigs and fallen leaves were littered over the lawn, and the plants in
the border were bent and broken from the effects of the late gale. A
great sheaf of white chrysanthemums lay prostrate on the ground just in
front of where she stood, the pure blossoms all draggled and smirched.
"How Robin admired those flowers yesterday," she said to herself. "I
think I can see him now as he stood beside them, looking back at me with
his own bright, happy smile. Shall I never see him run to meet me
again--my precious little son!"
As she spoke, she heard the click of the garden gate, and there, right
before her on the path, was Robin himself--a pale, rather dishevelled
Robin, it is true, but there was no doubt about the reality of the
sight.
Madelaine felt almost delirious with joy as she held him in her arms,
and showered kisses upon his cheeks, his hands, his hair. She could
scarcely believe that the terrible dream of the night had passed away,
and that her treasure had been restored to her again.
"Mother," he said, looking anxiously up into her face, "I wish you would
go to Julius. I'm sure he is very ill, he looks so funny, and he is
talking such nonsense too. I couldn't get him even to sit up."
"Where is he, Robin, and what have you been doing with yourselves all
this time?"
"I was afraid you'd be worrying about us," answered the boy. "I wanted
to come on to you at once, after we had got rested a little in the
cottage, but the wind was so bad, I really don't think I could have
walked along the cliff by myself, even if it had been daylight. Then my
clothes were so sopping wet, old Timothy made me take them off and get
into his bed. I was dreadfully tired, mother, and I fell asleep in
about a minute, and didn't wake up until it was morning."
"Old Timothy!" repeated Mrs. Power. "Have you been in his house all
night, then?"
"Yes," replied Robin, "but I don't think it's at all safe for him and
Julius to be there now. A great piece of the wall fell down just as it
began to get light. I rather fancy it was that which woke me. There is
only one end of the cottage left, and a big hole came in the ceiling of
the kitchen just as I was going out at the door."
Mrs. Power rose to her feet.
"I must go to the village at once and rouse the men," she said. "The
rest of the house may fall at any minute. Oh, Robin my boy, to think
what you have escaped! It makes me shudder, even to imagine it!"
"It was nothing to the awful time we had upon the beach, before we got
into shelter," answered the child, "but I'll tell you all about it,
mother, after you come back. I do so want you to go and look at
Julius."
Leaving Robin to be fed and cared for by Mrs. Sheppard, Madelaine Power
sallied forth without further delay.
Only one or two were stirring in the hamlet at that early hour, but
among these she gladly recognized Benjamin Green as he opportunely
issued from "The Bull." He had wakened that morning with a strange
feeling of guilt upon his conscience. It seemed to lie like a heavy
burden, not to be easily shaken off. For a moment he was unable to
account for such an unwonted sensation, when suddenly recollection
returned to him, and leaping up, he hastily put on his clothes.
"I ought to have gone last night," he said. "Such a storm as it was, and
poor old father all alone up there in that dangerous place!"
Tardy thoughts of duty rose within his breast, and faint pulses of
filial affection, long passed away, began once more to make themselves
felt. He willingly joined Mrs. Power as with rapid steps she trod the
narrow path which led along the top of the cliff.
The storm had passed away, but the sea still flung itself sullenly upon
the shore. As they neared the spot, Madelaine gave an exclamation of
distress.
"Look what a huge piece of the crag has gone!" she said. "I thought
Robin was exaggerating when he told me half the cottage had fallen down,
but it is much worse than I expected."
"It's a good thing the kitchen is at the landward end," remarked Ben.
"I see it is standing yet."
They were soon at the little garden gate, but though it was wide open,
they found their way barred. It now hung uselessly over a great empty
gap, its broken rails flapping drearily in the wind. A long crack down
the middle of what remained of the house showed where the next slip
would probably come. The portion next the cliff had already given way
and the rafters were even now overhanging the edge. Some bricks from the
chimney loosened as they approached, and they heard them clatter down
the roof and fall with a dull thud on the beach below.
"Surely father will not be against leaving the place now!" said Ben.
"If we get him out before the whole thing goes down, we shall be lucky."
He vaulted over the low wall, and in a few strides had crossed the
garden plot. Mrs. Power scrambled after him and reached the door almost
as soon as he did. In spite of the peril and the ominous sounds of
sliding and cracking which surrounded them on every hand their steps
were arrested on the threshold.
Old Timothy was lying asleep on his pillow as they entered, his white
hair scarcely whiter than his face. No sign of fear was on it, and he
seemed breathing as peacefully as a child upon its mother's arm. Beside
him in the bed lay Julius, flushed and feverish, moving his head
restlessly from side to side.
As they stood, the first rays of the rising sun burst through the little
latticed window and shone full on the old man's face. He felt the glow
through his closed eyelids, and opened them with a startled glance.
Springing up in his bed, he stretched out his arms to the light,
apparently dazzled with the sudden brightness.
"It is the glory of God!" he cried--and to Madelaine his homely features
seemed transfigured with a radiance that was divine. "It is the blessed
Angel of Death, and he has come to bear me up to the city of gold."
Folding his hands as if in prayer, he closed his eyes and reverently
bowed his head.
"I'm waiting, old friend," he said. "I'm waiting, and I'm wholly ready
to go."
Suddenly the frail figure relaxed its tension and fell back upon the
pillow.
"He's gone," whispered Ben.
Madelaine went forward and gently smoothed his brow. "We can do no more
for him now," she said.
"His poor body must not be left here," remarked Ben. "I shall take it
to some safer resting-place than this. If I carried him, do you think
that you would be able to manage the boy?"
"Easily," replied Madelaine, as she gathered up the lad in her strong
motherly arms. Ben wrapped the still form of his father in a blanket
and followed her out of the room.
Some fishermen had by this time arrived at the cottage and were standing
beside the garden fence. Gladly they relieved Mrs. Power and her
companion of their burdens and bore them away from the dangerous spot.
They had not proceeded many yards, when a low rumble, growing louder as
they listened, caused them to turn quickly round in the direction whence
the sound came.
All at once a noise like thunder smote upon their ears, and to their
horror they saw a long chasm yawn between them and the cottage wall. It
widened as they gazed, until with a crash, a great slice of the cliff
suddenly disappeared from before their eyes. Where the old house had so
lately stood, the edge of the cliff now cut straight across the
horizon--there was nothing to break the level line where earth joined
sky.
"I'm glad father didn't see it go," said Ben. "It would have fairly
broken his heart. Queer fancies he used to take about some things!"
"We need not mourn for him," replied Mrs. Power. "His faith has been
rewarded, and he has now a more enduring dwelling-place above. He was
quite right about his friends. The Tide has had its will in the end,
but the Angel of Death came for him first. Old Timothy has been
received into the eternal home, and has seen the glorious face of Him he
called 'The Best Friend of all.' Truly we could not wish him back."
*CHAPTER XIII*
*Near Death's Door*
Leaving Ben and his comrades to continue their sad procession to the
village, Mrs. Power and one of the men made their way straight to
Farncourt, carrying little Julius with them. The boy was evidently very
ill, and quite unconscious of what was passing around him.
It grieved Madelaine sorely when she had to give up her charge at the
door of the large comfortless house, where no mother awaited the child
to give him the gentle care he so much needed.
"Of course he will have the best doctors and attendance in the kingdom,
and everything that money can provide," she said to herself as she
walked down the drive, "but something more is wanted than that. I can't
bear to think of that poor little fellow with no loving woman's face
bending over him to draw him back into life again."
Certainly, as Madelaine had surmised, nothing was left untried which
skill could suggest or riches procure. A famous London physician was
summoned, regardless of cost, to the bedside of the child, and trained
nurses watched unceasingly day and night, combating the fever that
threatened to sap the strength from out the feeble frame.
The horrors of that awful race against the tide, combined with the
drenching sustained both from sea and rain, proved almost more than the
boy's body and mind could withstand. Again and again he screamed aloud
in his terror, calling out that the waves had got hold of him, and
starting up in his bed, he would try to escape from the clutches of the
monsters he seemed always to have before his eyes, ready to seize him in
their deadly grasp.
When at length the frenzy passed away and reason appeared to be
returning once more to the overwrought brain, the efforts of his
attendants were still baffled by a strange restlessness which took
possession of the little invalid and which all their care could not
dispel.