THE LAST ADVENTURE
In order that Aline should not discover her presence, little Joan had
been put to sleep the first night in an upper chamber, in a wing of
the great castle remote from that occupied by the family. To avoid
extra trouble on the day of the birthday, she returned there the second
night, although in future she was to have a small ante-room connecting
with the girls’ chamber. In the rooms below her were the servants who
had been hired for the occasion. She half undressed and, as she sat
combing her hair, she looked out at the dark night. Below, she heard
the rushing of the burn, and, dimly, under the starry sky she could see
the great hills to the north. There was a close feeling in the air, as
though there might be thunder or heavy rain. It was a little oppressive
but her heart was so full of gladness that she refused to allow it to
influence her.
How strangely things had come about. She remembered the horrible
prophecy of “Moll o’ the graves” about her going away that seemed
to mean death. It was curious how it had been fulfilled and yet
not fulfilled. Could the old hag really in some way see into the
future, and what did the prophecy mean about her beautiful little
mistress,--“she shall follow not long after; marry, I see the fire
about her”? They had indeed come near to burning her, but she had
escaped the flames. “Well, all has turned out for the best so far.
Mistress Aline said that the light would overcome the dark. I believe
she is stronger than old Moll, after all,” she thought.
She had finished combing her hair, and after kneeling before her little
crucifix was soon in bed and asleep.
Aline meanwhile, however, lay awake; the heavy storm-feeling in the air
would not allow her to rest. She was excited also from the events of
the day. After an hour or two she got up and looked out. The stars had
all gone and the thick clouds made the night impenetrably black. Shiona
was sound asleep. She crept back again to bed and tossed and tossed,
but it was of no avail. Another hour passed. She thought she would get
up and feel for the tinder box and light the lamp. Where was it? Could
she find it in the dark?
As she lay there wondering, it seemed to get a little lighter. Yes,
it was certainly getting lighter, surely it could not be morning yet.
She lay for a few minutes, things in the room were rapidly becoming
visible, but that was surely not daylight; no, it was not daylight. She
jumped up and looked out. “Gramercy, the castle is on fire.” She looked
again; it was the wing where Joan slept. She crossed the room and woke
Shiona. “Quick,” she said, “the castle is on fire. Wake them all--tell
Ian--Joan will be burnt--I must go.”
She dashed down the stairs, as she was, without staying to put anything
on, and ran across the court yard. There she met the terrified servants
rushing from the building.
“Where is Joan, have you seen her?” she asked.
“No, Mistress,” they said, “she must still be in her room.”
Aline ran to the foot of the stairs.
“You must not go up,” they screamed, “you must not go up, the stairs
will fall.”
It was an unfortunate fact that at some time, when alterations were
being made, a wooden stairway had been substituted for the original
stone one, which now existed only in a ruinous condition.
But Aline ran on without heeding the warnings and started to climb the
stairs. The fire had broken out on the second floor and the flames were
raging through to the staircase. Could she get past? She caught up
her nightrobe in a tight bundle on her breast to try to keep it from
the fire and made a rush. The flames scorched her skin and she burned
her bare feet on the blazing boards. But she managed to get past.
One sleeve even caught alight, but she was able after she had passed
through to crush it out with her other hand.
“Joan, Joan,” she shouted, as she made her way into Joan’s room. Joan
was still asleep, partly stupified by the smoke. Aline roused her and
they rushed back to the stairs, but in the interval the whole stairway
had become a bellowing furnace and the flames roared up it, so that
they could not look down.
Joan gave a little pitiful cry. “We are lost, oh, Mistress Aline, we
are lost.”
“No, not yet, Joan, keep up a stout heart; let us try if there be not
another way.”
They ran through two rooms in the opposite direction to the stair and
came to a door. But it was locked. They tried in vain to open it. They
beat upon it, but it was beyond their strength to break, so they went
back to Joan’s room.
“Can you climb, Joan?” asked Aline.
“No.”
“Then I must try and let you down.” She seized the bedclothes as she
spoke and knotted them together. Alas, they could not possibly reach.
She remembered how Ian had saved Wilfred by the rope under the bed and
feverishly threw off the mattrass. The bed had wooden laths!
She looked out of the window and saw that a crowd had gathered below.
How far down would the bedclothes extend? She made trial and shouted
to the crowd that some one should try and find a tall ladder, while
others, in case of failure, should bring a blanket and make a soft pile
of hay. The crowd scattered and in a few moments there was a great heap
of hay and some ten persons holding a blanket stretched above it. Yet,
look as they would, no ladder was to be found except a little short
thing that was no use. Possibly the other ladder was in the burning
building, possibly it had been mislaid in the festal preparations.
Aline’s lips were parched and her tongue clave to the roof of her
mouth; for the moment she nearly succumbed to her fear. So it was
Joan’s life or hers? “Why cannot Joan climb?” she thought. Surely she
could manage to get down as far as that? She looked at the child; but
she was stiff with terror and absolutely helpless.
Somehow Aline felt it was not the same thing as when she had swum the
river, then she had a chance of her life; indeed, if she had had no
chance there was not the slightest use in trying to swim, as it could
not have helped Ian. Here there was no chance; could she think of no
other way?
The flames roared nearer, she began to find it hard to breathe.
“Perhaps there is a way,” she said, “but who can think in a case like
this?”
Joan had now become unconscious. Aline thought no more; the sacrifice
was made; she tied one end round Joan and put a pillow on the sill to
prevent chafing. She dragged the bed to the window and took a turn with
the extemporised rope round one of the knobs to prevent it going too
fast. She lifted the child and gently lowered her toward the ground.
For a moment she hesitated again. “Could she climb down and untie
Joan?” No, the whole thing might break.
The drop below Joan was about fifteen feet. “Hold tight,” she shouted,
and those below braced themselves together and gripped the blanket
firmly and the child fell into it. She was so light that the hay below
was not necessary.
The fire had now reached half across the room itself and was breaking
through the floor boards in little tongues of flame, when the choking
smoke curled upward.
The end had come then; there was no hope. She turned to go and see if
by any chance the locked door could be made to yield. It was vain, as
indeed she knew, and the flame and smoke in that room was worse than
her own. She ran back and looked out of the window. She thought she saw
Ian with a white drawn face looking upward, but he disappeared.
Once again in the frenzy of despair she rushed to the other room and
flung herself against the door; but had to stagger back to Joan’s room
before she was completely overcome. The flames again caught her night
robe and she tore it from her as she struggled to the window where she
might still breathe. The heat was awful; oh, the pain of it! “But I
must die bravely,” she said, “as father would have me do.”
All that she had ever done seemed to rise before her. She saw her
mother as in the portrait. She saw her father and Audry, and last she
saw Ian. He seemed to be weeping over her! Was she already dead? No,
and she prayed;--“Lord Jesus, Thou hast taught me to come unto Thee and
I beg of Thee to forgive me all that I have done wrong in my life. Take
me in Thy arms and if it please Thee, end this terrible pain. Be with
Ian and comfort him, Lord, when I am gone. Watch over little Joan and
make her happier than I have been. Oh, Lord, the pain, the pain!” The
smoke thickened, she gave one little gasp and spoke no more.
Aline was right; it was Ian that she had seen below. Shiona had first
roused her mother and then Ian. He had gone to the stairway just
in time to see it give way and come down with a crash. He had then
endeavoured to get round the other way, but the smoke and flame was
impossible. Once more he had come down and obtained some wet cloths to
wrap over his face and make one more attempt. It was on this occasion
that he had glanced up and seen Aline at the window.
She looked just as he had seen her in his visions with the flame and
smoke rushing round her. It was this then that he had foreseen. It was
this that the old woman had foretold. A sword went through his heart,
followed by a dull crushing pain that seemed to paralyse his will.
He ran as in a dream. Again he reached the range of upper rooms. The
flames belched forth at him and the smoke took weird fantastic shapes.
It stretched out long skinny arms as though to hold him back and there
all round him were evil mocking faces spitting out at him with tongues
of flame.
Voices surged through the air. “This is the end, you shall not reach
her, she shall die, but you shall live--live.” The voices ended in a
peal of laughter. What was life to him without Aline. He was going mad.
He knew it. Mad! Mad! That was the fiendish scheme of the powers of
darkness. He would live and yet never see anything all his life but the
dead child. Horrible!
He had come to the worst part; he wrapped one of the wet cloths about
his mouth and nose and over his hair and plunged into the smoke and
flame. It roared, it stung, it blinded him, he nearly screamed, but he
staggered through and came to the great oak door. He tried, like Aline,
to open it, but it would not yield. He hurled his weight against it;
it was of no avail. Again and again he tried and then stood back to
look for some weapon. A heavy oak table all ablaze stood on one side of
the room; he dashed at it, and heaved it over, seizing one of the legs
and wrenching at it with all his might. He strove and pulled and then
kicked it with his foot. It came away with a loud crash.
It was partly burned and the red hot surface bit into his flesh. He did
not care but raised it above his head and turned to the door. Tortured
by the agony of heat as he was, there, to his excited imagination,
appeared the horrible form of “Moll o’ the graves,” leering at him and
barring the way. She seemed to push him back with her bony claw-like
hand. He swung the heavy oak leg through the air like a maniac and
shrieked,--“All the devils in Hell shall not hold me back.” He frothed
at the mouth and battered in her skull. She grinned at him as the blood
trickled through her teeth and pointed to the monstrous shapes that
seemed to gather out of the smoke. He thrust her aside with his foot,
his heart ceased to beat, but he thundered on the door. Once. Twice.
Thrice. And the fourth time it gave way, while the door flew open and
he fell heavily forward.
He scrambled to his feet and hurried on. There, by the window, lay the
beautiful little body. As his brain reeled he saw the martyr, George
Wishart, standing over it in the fire, holding the evil spirits at
bay. Ian’s eyes seemed to start from his head. He pressed his hands
over them as he advanced and looked again. The flames were actually
touching her. Ah, she was dead, but how unutterably beautiful! Why for
the second time in his life must death snatch out of it the one supreme
treasure? Legions of thoughts swirled through his mind. He would paint
her like that. Why was he not a sculptor? He would immortalise her form
in marble. What transcendent loveliness!
As he stooped quickly, suddenly his brain cleared, and, gathering up
her hair, he wrapped it in one of the wet cloths and drew it in a
single thickness over her face. With another he covered what he could
of the exquisite white form and picked it up and ran.
This time the fiends seemed unable to reach him, but before he arrived
at the third room there was a reverberating roar, part of the floor
had given way and a great blank ten or twelve feet wide yawned before
him.
Once more the voices shouted;--“You are ours--ours--and she is dead.”
Yet he heeded them not, but turned back a little way, then ran with all
his might and leaped and cleared the chasm.
On he went, down the stairs, the madness was on him again. “Keep
back, keep back,” he shouted as he tore through the crowd. He looked
so terrible, his face distorted with pain, as he ran past that they
scattered in all directions. Shiona, at first, alone dared to follow
him. He took Aline to one of the lower rooms in the other part of the
castle. “Oil,” he cried, “send some one for oil and linen.”
Little Joan was coming timidly behind and ran for the things. Ian bent
over Aline; she did not breathe. He filled his lungs with fresh air and
putting his face down to hers breathed into her and drew the air forth.
It was the intuition of affection and it saved her life. After a few
moments she began to breathe again. Joan had then returned with the oil.
It was the smoke and gases of the fire that had suffocated her, and
except on the soles of the little feet there were nowhere any serious
burns. But there were great red patches here and there all over her,
and the arm where the night dress had first caught fire was slightly
blistered. He wrapped her entirely in oiled linen, and laid her gently
on a mattrass that had been brought down.
All the time he never spoke a word and Shiona was frightened at his
strange manner. Immediately he had finished he fell senseless to the
ground. They picked him up and laid him on the mattrass. He was badly
burned in several places, particularly the palms of his hands; he had
also, as they afterwards discovered, strained himself severely in the
leap with the child in his arms. For a time he lay still and then began
to rave in wild delirium.
They did what they could for him, while Walter took his best horse and
galloped to Stirling for a physician. Meanwhile the neighbours from far
and near were fighting the fire. There were three well-shafts, carried
up to the roof in the walls of the castle; and chains of men and women
passed the buckets from hand to hand. The same was done from the burn
down below. They did not attempt to do more than keep the fire from
spreading beyond the blazing wing. But a new ally came to their aid
that helped them not a little. The long threatened storm burst upon
them with thunder and lightning, but accompanied by a torrential deluge
of rain; and before morning the fire was completely under control.