III

The man who valeted me was Lawson's own servant. As he was laying out

my clothes I asked after the health of his master, and was told that he

had slept ill and would not rise till late. Then the man, an

anxious-faced Englishman, gave me some information on his own account.

Mr. Lawson was having one of his bad turns. It would pass away in a

day or two, but till it had gone he was fit for nothing. He advised me

to see Mr. Jobson, the factor, who would look to my entertainment in

his master's absence.

Jobson arrived before luncheon, and the sight of him was the first

satisfactory thing about Welgevonden. He was a big, gruff Scot from

Roxburghshire, engaged, no doubt, by Lawson as a duty to his Border

ancestry. He had short grizzled whiskers, a weatherworn face, and a

shrewd, calm blue eye. I knew now why the place was in such perfect

order.

We began with sport, and Jobson explained what I could have in the way

of fishing and shooting. His exposition was brief and business-like,

and all the while I could see his eye searching me. It was clear that

he had much to say on other matters than sport.

I told him that I had come here with Lawson three years before, when he

chose the site. Jobson continued to regard me curiously. "I've heard

tell of ye from Mr. Lawson. Ye're an old friend of his, I understand."

"The oldest," I said. "And I am sorry to find that the place does not

agree with him. Why it doesn't I cannot imagine, for you look fit

enough. Has he been seedy for long?"

"It comes and it goes," said Mr. Jobson. "Maybe once a month he has a

bad turn. But on the whole it agrees with him badly. He's no' the man

he was when I first came here."

Jobson was looking at me very seriously and frankly. I risked a

question.

"What do you suppose is the matter?"

He did not reply at once, but leaned forward and tapped my knee. "I

think it's something that doctors canna cure. Look at me, sir. I've

always been counted a sensible man, but if I told you what was in my

head you would think me daft. But I have one word for you. Bide till

to-night is past and then speir your question. Maybe you and me will

be agreed."

The factor rose to go. As he left the room he flung me back a remark

over his shoulder--"Read the eleventh chapter of the First Book of

Kings."

After luncheon I went for a walk. First I mounted to the crown of the

hill and feasted my eyes on the unequalled loveliness of the view. I

saw the far hills in Portuguese territory, a hundred miles away,

lifting up thin blue fingers into the sky. The wind blew light and

fresh, and the place was fragrant with a thousand delicate scents.

Then I descended to the vale, and followed the stream up through the

garden. Poinsettias and oleanders were blazing in coverts, and there

was a paradise of tinted water-lilies in the slacker reaches. I saw

good trout rise at the fly, but I did not think about fishing. I was

searching my memory for a recollection which would not come. By-and-by

I found myself beyond the garden, where the lawns ran to the fringe of

Ashtaroth's Grove.

It was like something I remembered in an old Italian picture. Only, as

my memory drew it, it should have been peopled with strange

figures-nymphs dancing on the sward, and a prick-eared faun peeping

from the covert. In the warm afternoon sunlight it stood, ineffably

gracious and beautiful, tantalising with a sense of some deep hidden

loveliness. Very reverently I walked between the slim trees, to where

the little conical tower stood half in the sun and half in shadow.

Then I noticed something new. Round the tower ran a narrow path, worn

in the grass by human feet. There had been no such path on my first

visit, for I remembered the grass growing tall to the edge of the

stone. Had the Kaffirs made a shrine of it, or were there other and

strange votaries?

When I returned to the house I found Travers with a message for me.

Mr. Lawson was still in bed, but he would like me to go to him. I

found my friend sitting up and drinking strong tea,--a bad thing, I

should have thought, for a man in his condition. I remember that I

looked about the room for some sign of the pernicious habit of which I

believed him a victim. But the place was fresh and clean, with the

windows wide open, and, though I could not have given my reasons, I was

convinced that drugs or drink had nothing to do with the sickness.

He received me more civilly, but I was shocked by his looks. There

were great bags below his eyes, and his skin had the wrinkled puffy

appearance of a man in dropsy. His voice, too, was reedy and thin.

Only his great eyes burned with some feverish life.

"I am a shocking bad host," he said, "but I'm going to be still more

inhospitable. I want you to go away. I hate anybody here when I'm off

colour."

"Nonsense," I said; "you want looking after. I want to know about

this sickness. Have you had a doctor?"

He smiled wearily. "Doctors are no earthly use to me. There's nothing

much the matter I tell you. I'll be all right in a day or two, and

then you can come back. I want you to go off with Jobson and hunt in

the plains till the end of the week. It will be better fun for you,

and I'll feel less guilty."

Of course I pooh-poohed the idea, and Lawson got angry. "Damn it,

man," he cried, "why do you force yourself on me when I don't want you?

I tell you your presence here makes me worse. In a week I'll be as

right as the mail and then I'll be thankful for you. But get away now;

get away, I tell you."

I saw that he was fretting himself into a passion. "All right," I said

soothingly; "Jobson and I will go off hunting. But I am horribly

anxious about you, old man."

He lay back on his pillows. "You needn't trouble. I only want a

little rest. Jobson will make all arrangements, and Travers will get

you anything you want. Good-bye."

I saw it was useless to stay longer, so I left the room. Outside I

found the anxious-faced servant "Look here," I said, "Mr. Lawson

thinks I ought to go, but I mean to stay. Tell him I'm gone if he asks

you. And for Heaven's sake keep him in bed."

The man promised, and I thought I saw some relief in his face.

I went to the library, and on the way remembered Jobson's remark about

Ist Kings. With some searching I found a Bible and turned up the

passage. It was a long screed about the misdeeds of Solomon, and I

read it through without enlightenment. I began to re-read it, and a

word suddenly caught my attention--

"For Solomon went after Ashtaroth, the goddess of the Zidonians."

That was all, but it was like a key to a cipher. Instantly there

flashed over my mind all that I had heard or read of that strange

ritual which seduced Israel to sin. I saw a sunburnt land and a people

vowed to the stern service of Jehovah. But I saw, too, eyes turning

from the austere sacrifice to lonely hill-top groves and towers and

images, where dwelt some subtle and evil mystery. I saw the fierce

prophets, scourging the votaries with rods, and a nation Penitent

before the Lord; but always the backsliding again, and the hankering

after forbidden joys. Ashtaroth was the old goddess of the East. Was

it not possible that in all Semitic blood there remained transmitted

through the dim generations, some craving for her spell? I thought of

the grandfather in the back street at Brighten and of those burning

eyes upstairs.

As I sat and mused my glance fell on the inscrutable stone birds. They

knew all those old secrets of joy and terror. And that moon of

alabaster! Some dark priest had worn it on his forehead when he

worshipped, like Ahab, "all the host of Heaven." And then I honestly

began to be afraid. I, a prosaic, modern Christian gentleman, a

half-believer in casual faiths, was in the presence of some hoary

mystery of sin far older than creeds or Christendom. There was fear in

my heart--a kind of uneasy disgust, and above all a nervous eerie

disquiet. Now I wanted to go away and yet I was ashamed of the

cowardly thought. I pictured Ashtaroth's Grove with sheer horror.

What tragedy was in the air? What secret awaited twilight? For the

night was coming, the night of the Full Moon, the season of ecstasy and

sacrifice.

I do not know how I got through that evening. I was disinclined for

dinner, so I had a cutlet in the library and sat smoking till my tongue

ached. But as the hours passed a more manly resolution grew up in my

mind. I owed it to old friendship to stand by Lawson in this

extremity. I could not interfere--God knows, his reason seemed already

rocking, but I could be at hand in case my chance came. I determined

not to undress, but to watch through the night. I had a bath, and

changed into light flannels and slippers. Then I took up my position

in a corner of the library close to the window, so that I could not

fail to hear Lawson's footsteps if he passed.

Fortunately I left the lights unlit, for as I waited I grew drowsy, and

fell asleep. When I woke the moon had risen, and I knew from the feel

of the air that the hour was late. I sat very still, straining my

ears, and as I listened I caught the sound of steps. They were

crossing the hall stealthily, and nearing the library door. I huddled

into my corner as Lawson entered.

He wore the same towel dressing-gown, and he moved swiftly and silently

as if in a trance. I watched him take the alabaster moon from the

mantelpiece and drop it in his pocket. A glimpse of white skin showed

that the gown was his only clothing. Then he moved past me to the

window, opened it and went out.

Without any conscious purpose I rose and followed, kicking off my

slippers that I might go quietly. He was running, running fast, across

the lawns in the direction of the Grove--an odd shapeless antic in the

moonlight. I stopped, for there was no cover, and I feared for his

reason if he saw me. When I looked again he had disappeared among the

trees.

I saw nothing for it but to crawl, so on my belly I wormed my way over

the dripping sward. There was a ridiculous suggestion of deer-stalking

about the game which tickled me and dispelled my uneasiness. Almost I

persuaded myself I was tracking an ordinary sleep-walker. The lawns

were broader than I imagined, and it seemed an age before I reached the

edge of the Grove. The world was so still that I appeared to be making

a most ghastly amount of noise. I remember that once I heard a

rustling in the air, and looked up to see the green doves circling

about the tree-tops.

There was no sign of Lawson. On the edge of the Grove I think that all

my assurance vanished. I could see between the trunks to the little

tower, but it was quiet as the grave, save for the wings above. Once

more there came over me the unbearable sense of anticipation I had felt

the night before. My nerves tingled with mingled expectation and

dread. I did not think that any harm would come to me, for the powers

of the air seemed not malignant. But I knew them for powers, and felt

awed and abased. I was in the presence of the "host of Heaven," and I

was no stern Israelitish prophet to prevail against them.

I must have lain for hours waiting in that spectral place, my eyes

riveted on the tower and its golden cap of moonshine. I remember that

my head felt void and light, as if my spirit were becoming disembodied

and leaving its dew-drenched sheath far below. But the most curious

sensation was of something drawing me to the tower, something mild and

kindly and rather feeble, for there was some other and stronger force

keeping me back. I yearned to move nearer, but I could not drag my

limbs an inch. There was a spell somewhere which I could not break. I

do not think I was in any way frightened now. The starry influence was

playing tricks with me, but my mind was half asleep. Only I never took

my eyes from the little tower. I think I could not, if I had wanted to.

Then suddenly from the shadows came Lawson. He was stark-naked, and he

wore, bound across his brow, the half-moon of alabaster. He had

something, too, in his hand,--something which glittered.

He ran round the tower, crooning to himself, and flinging wild arms to

the skies. Sometimes the crooning changed to a shrill cry of passion,

such as a maenad may have uttered in the train of Bacchus. I could make

out no words, but the sound told its own tale. He was absorbed in some

infernal ecstasy. And as he ran, he drew his right hand across his

breast and arms, and I saw that it held a knife.

I grew sick with disgust,--not terror, but honest physical loathing.

Lawson, gashing his fat body, affected me with an overpowering

repugnance. I wanted to go forward and stop him, and I wanted, too, to

be a hundred miles away. And the result was that I stayed still. I

believe my own will held me there, but I doubt if in any case I could

have moved my legs.

The dance grew swifter and fiercer. I saw the blood dripping from

Lawson's body, and his face ghastly white above his scarred breast.

And then suddenly the horror left me; my head swam; and for one

second--one brief second--I seemed to peer into a new world. A strange

passion surged up in my heart. I seemed to see the earth peopled with

forms not human, scarcely divine, but more desirable than man or god.

The calm face of Nature broke up for me into wrinkles of wild

knowledge. I saw the things which brush against the soul in dreams,

and found them lovely. There seemed no cruelty in the knife or the

blood. It was a delicate mystery of worship, as wholesome as the

morning song of birds. I do not know how the Semites found Ashtaroth's

ritual; to them it may well have been more rapt and passionate than it

seemed to me. For I saw in it only the sweet simplicity of Nature, and

all riddles of lust and terror soothed away as a child's nightmares are

calmed by a mother. I found my legs able to move, and I think I took

two steps through the dusk towards the tower.

And then it all ended. A cock crew, and the homely noises of earth

were renewed. While I stood dazed and shivering, Lawson plunged

through the Grove toward me. The impetus carried him to the edge, and

he fell fainting just outside the shade.

My wits and common-sense came back to me with my bodily strength. I

got my friend on my back, and staggered with him towards the house. I

was afraid in real earnest now, and what frightened me most was the

thought that I had not been afraid sooner. I had come very near the

"abomination of the Zidonians."

At the door I found the scared valet waiting. He had apparently done

this sort of thing before.

"Your master has been sleep-walking and has had a fall," I said. "We

must get him to bed at once."

We bathed the wounds as he lay in a deep stupor, and I dressed them as

well as I could. The only danger lay in his utter exhaustion, for

happily the gashes were not serious, and no artery had been touched.

Sleep and rest would make him well, for he had the constitution of a

strong man. I was leaving the room when he opened his eyes and spoke.

He did not recognize me, but I noticed that his face had lost its

strangeness, and was once more that of the friend I had known. Then I

suddenly bethought me of an old hunting remedy which he and I always

carried on our expeditions. It is a pill made up from an ancient

Portuguese prescription. One is an excellent specific for fever. Two

are invaluable if you are lost in the bush, for they send a man for

many hours into a deep sleep, which prevents suffering and madness,

till help comes. Three give a painless death. I went to my room and

found the little box in my jewel-case. Lawson swallowed two, and

turned wearily on his side. I bade his man let him sleep till he woke,

and went off in search of food.