Six months passed. Left forlorn, with only the vivid memory of a
charming face, I had travelled to rid myself of the remembrance, but in
vain. Sometimes I felt inclined to regard my mysterious divinity as a
mere adventuress; at others I became lost in contemplation and puzzled
over her words almost to the point of madness. I knew that I had loved
her; that, fascinated by her great beauty and enmeshed in the soft web
of her silken tresses, she held me irrevocably for life or death.
Unhappy and disconsolate, heedless of London's pleasures or the
perpetual gaiety of the "smart" circle in which my friends and relations
moved, I spent the gloomy December days in my chambers in Shaftesbury
Avenue, endeavouring to distract the one thought that possessed me by
reading. My companions chaffed me, dubbing me a misanthrope, but to
none of them, not even Jack Bethune, the friend of my college days and
greatest chum, did I disclose the secret of my despair.
Thus weeks went by, until one morning my man, Saunders, brought me a
telegram which I opened carelessly, but read with breathless eagerness,
when I saw the signature was "Sybil."
The words upon the flimsy paper caused me such sudden and unexpected
delight that old Saunders, most discreet of servants, must have had some
apprehension as to my sanity. The telegram, which had been despatched
from Newbury, read:
"Must see you this evening. In Richmond Terrace Gardens, opposite the
tea-pavilion, is a seat beneath a tree. Be there at six. Do not
fail.--Sybil."
Almost beside myself with joyful anticipation of seeing her sweet, sad
face once again, I went out and whiled away the hours that seemed
never-ending, until at last when twilight fell I took train to the place
named.
Ten minutes before the hour she had indicated I found the seat in the
Terrace Gardens, but there was no sign of the presence of any human
being. It was almost closing time, and the Terrace was utterly
deserted. All was silent save the rushing of a train, or the dull
rumbling of vehicles passing along the top of the hill, and distant
sounds became mingled with the vague murmurs of the trees. The chill
wind sighed softly in the oaks, lugubriously extending their dark bare
arms along the walk like a row of spectres guarding the vast masses of
vapour spreading out behind them and across the valley, where the Thames
ran silent and darkly in serpentine wanderings, and the lights were
already twinkling. Even as I sat the last ray of twilight faded, and
night, cloudy and moonless, closed in.
Suddenly a harsh strident bell gave six hurried strokes, followed by
half a dozen others in different keys, the one sounding far distant
across the river, coming, I knew, from Isleworth's old time-stained
tower, with which boating men are so familiar.
It had seemed years full of sad and tender memories since we had parted,
yet in ecstasy I told myself that in a few moments she would be again at
my side, and from her eyes I might, as before, drink of the cup of love
to the verge of intoxication.
A light footstep sounded on the gravel, and peering into the darkness I
could just distinguish the form of a man. As he advanced I saw he was
tall, well-built, and muscular, nearly forty years of age, with a slight
black moustache and closely cropped hair that was turning prematurely
grey. He wore the conventional silk hat, an overcoat heavily trimmed
with astrakhan, and as he strode towards me he took a long draw at his
cigar.
"Good evening," he said courteously, halting before me as I rose, "I
believe I have the pleasure of addressing Mr Stuart Ridgeway, have I
_not_?"
"That is my name," I answered rather brusquely, not without surprise,
for I had expected Sybil to keep her appointment.
"I am the bearer of a message," he said in slow, deliberate tones. "The
lady who telegraphed to you this morning desires to express her extreme
regret at her inability to meet you. Since the telegram was sent,
events have occurred which preclude her attendance anywhere," and he
paused. Then he added with sadness: "Anywhere--except before her
Judge."
"Her Judge!" I gasped. "What do you mean? Speak! Is she dead?"
"No," he answered solemnly, "she still lives, and although overshadowed
by a secret terror, her only thought is of you, even in these very
moments when she is being carried swiftly by the overwhelming flood of
circumstances towards her terrible doom."
"You speak in enigmas," I said quickly. "We are strangers, yet you
apparently are aware of my acquaintance with Sybil. Will you not tell
me the nature of her secret terror?"
"I cannot, for two reasons," he replied. "The first is, because I am
not aware of the whole of the circumstances; the second, because I have
given her my promise to reveal nothing. Hence my lips are sealed. All
I can tell you is that a great danger threatens her--how great you
cannot imagine--and she desires you to fulfill your promise and render
her your aid."
"Whatever lies in my power I will do willingly," I answered. "If she
cannot come to me will you take me to her?"
"Upon two conditions only."
"What are they?"
"For your own sake as well as hers, it is imperative that she should
still preserve the strictest incognito. Therefore, in driving to her
house, you must allow the blinds of the carriage to be drawn, and,
however curious may appear anything you may witness in her presence, you
must give your word of honour as a gentleman--nay, you must take oath--
not to seek to elucidate it. Mystery surrounds her, I admit, but
remember that any attempt to penetrate it will assuredly place her in
graver peril, and thwart your own efforts on her behalf."
"Such conditions from a stranger are, to say the least, curious," I
observed.
"Ah!" he exclaimed, smiling, "your reluctance to accept is but natural.
Well, I can do no more, I have fulfilled my mission. The woman you love
has staked her young life--and alas! lost. She has counted upon your
aid in this hour of her extremity and despair, yet if you withhold it I
must return and tell her."
"But I love her," I said. "Surely I may know who she is, and why she is
haunted by this secret dread!"
For a few seconds he was silent. Then he tossed his cigar away with a
gesture of impatience.
"Time does not admit of argument. I have merely to apologise for
bringing you down here to a fruitless appointment, and to wish you
good-evening," he said in a tone of mingled annoyance and
disappointment, as turning on his heel he walked away.
His words and manner aroused within me a sudden dislike, a curious
hatred that I could not describe, yet ere he had gone a dozen paces I
cried:
"Stop! I have reconsidered my decision. I must see her, for I promised
her assistance, and am ready to give it in whatever manner she desires."
"You know the conditions," he said, sauntering carelessly back to me,
"Do you accept them absolutely?"
"Yes."
"Then swear."
He had drawn from his pocket a Testament, and held it towards me. I
hesitated.
"You may be tempted to break your word. You will never violate your
oath," he added, in the same slow, deliberate tone in which he had first
addressed me. Still I was not prepared for this strange proceeding, and
not until he urged me to hasten and declared that my oath was
imperative, did I move.
Taking the book, I slowly raised it until it touched my lips.
Next second I regretted my action. I had a vague, indefinable feeling
that I had subjected myself to him; that I had foolishly placed myself
under his thrall.
Yet, as we walked together up the steep path and gained the Terrace, he
chatted gayly upon various topics, and the strange presage of evil that
I had first experienced was soon succeeded by lively anticipations of
seeing once again the beautiful woman I adored.
In Hill Rise, close to that row of glaring new semi-aesthetic houses
known as Cardigan Gate, a neat brougham drawn by a magnificent pair of
bays was in waiting, and before we entered, the footman carefully drew
down the blinds, then saluted as he closed the door.
The interior of the carriage would have been dark had not a tiny
glimmering lamp been placed there, and this showed that, in addition to
the blinds drawn down, heavy curtains had also been arranged, so that to
see outside was impossible. My strange companion was affable, even
amusing, but the drive occupied quite an hour and a half, although we
travelled at a pretty smart pace.
Presently my companion turned to me, saying: "There is still one small
thing more. Before we alight you must allow me to tie my handkerchief
across your eyes."
"In order that I may not note the exterior of the house--eh?" I
suggested, laughing.
He nodded, and a strange cynical smile played upon his lips.
"Very well," I said. "It is useless, I suppose, to protest."
He did not answer, but folding a silk handkerchief he placed it over my
eyes and tied it tightly at the back. Almost at the moment he had
completed this the conveyance stopped, the door was opened, and, led by
my mysterious companion, I alighted.
Taking his arm, we crossed the pavement and ascended a short flight of
steps. There were three. I counted them. I could also hear the wind
in some trees, and found myself wondering whether we were in town or
country.
A door opened, and we stepped into a hall, which, owing to the echo of
my conductor's voice, I concluded was a spacious one, but ere I had time
to reflect, the man whose arm I held said:
"Just a moment. You must sign the visitors' book--it is the rule here.
We'll excuse bad writing as you can't see," he added with a laugh.
At the same moment I felt a pen placed in my fingers by a man-servant,
who guided my hand to the book. Then I hastily scrawled my name.
It was strange, I thought; but the events of the evening were all so
extraordinary that there was nothing after all very unusual in signing a
visitors' book.
Again he took my arm, leading me up a long flight of stairs, the carpet
of which was so thick that our feet fell noiselessly. In the ascent I
felt that the balustrade was cold and highly polished, like glass.
Confused and mysterious whisperings sounded about me, and I felt
confident that I distinctly heard a woman's sob quite close to me, while
at the same moment a whiff of violets greeted my nostrils. Its
fragrance stirred my memory--it was Sybil's favourite perfume. Suddenly
my guide ushered me into a room and took the handkerchief from my eyes.
The apartment was a small study, cozy and well furnished, with a bright
fire burning in the grate, and lit only by a green-shaded reading-lamp.
"If you'll take off your overcoat and wait here a few moments I will
bring her to you," he said; adding, "you can talk here alone and
undisturbed," and he went out, closing the door after him.
Five eager minutes passed while I listened for her footstep, expecting
each second to hear her well-known voice; but gradually the atmosphere
seemed to become stifling. In my mouth was a sulphurous taste, and the
lamp, growing more dim, at last gave a weak flicker and went out.
Rushing to the door, I found, to my astonishment, it was locked!
I dashed to the window and tried to open it, but could not. In despair
I beat the door frantically with my fists and shouted. But my muffled
voice seemed as weak as a child's. I doubted whether it could be heard
beyond the walls.
Flinging myself upon my knees, I bent to examine the small fire, glowing
like a blacksmith's forge, and discovered to my horror that the chimney
had been closed, and that the grate was filled with burning charcoal.
Quickly I raked it out, but the red cinders only glowed the brighter,
and, even though I dashed the hearthrug upon them, I could not
extinguish them.
In desperation I tried to struggle to my feet, but failed. My legs
refused to support me; my head throbbed as if my skull would burst.
Then a strange sensation of nausea crept over me; my starting eyes
smarted as if acid had been flung into them, my tongue clave to the roof
of my parched mouth, my chest seemed held in contraction by a band of
iron, as half rising I fell next second, inert and helpless, a sudden
darkness obliterating all my senses.
What time elapsed I have no idea. Gradually I struggled back to
consciousness, and as I made desperate endeavour to steady my nerves and
collect my thoughts, I suddenly became painfully aware of a bright light
falling full upon me. My eyes were dazzled by the extraordinary
brilliancy. I closed them again, and tried to recollect what had
occurred.
"Pull yourself together, my dear fellow. You are all right now, aren't
you?" asked a voice in my ear.