"Very wrong, very wrong,
Very wrong and bad."
_Child World_.
"Let's run on fast a little way," said Bertrand, "to make her think we
won't wait for her. That will frighten her, and she will run after us,
you'll see. Don't look round, Ruby."
In his heart he really did not believe that Mavis would change her mind
or run after them. And he did not care. Indeed, he much preferred
having Ruby alone, as he knew he could far more easily persuade her by
herself to join in his mischievous schemes. But he felt that she was
half-hearted about leaving her sister, and so he did not hesitate to
trick her too.
They hurried on for some distance. Then Ruby, who was growing both
tired and cross, pulled her hand away from Bertrand.
"Stop," she said. "I'm quite out of breath. And I want to see if Mavis
is coming."
Bertrand had to give in. They were on higher ground than the shore, and
could see it clearly. There lay the little boat as they had left it,
and Mavis sitting in it calmly. To all appearance at least.
"She's not coming--not a bit of her," exclaimed Ruby angrily. "I don't
believe you thought she would, Bertrand."
"She _will_ come, you'll see," said the boy, "and even if she doesn't,
what does it matter? We'll run on and spy out the old wizard and have
some fun. Mavis will stay there safe enough till we get back."
"I thought you meant to go home by the village and tell the people about
old Adam, if we _do_ see anything queer," said Ruby.
"So I did, but if you're in such a fidget about Mavis perhaps we'd
better go home as we came, and not say anything in the village to-day.
I'd like to see what Master Winfried has been up to when we get back.
Perhaps he'll have got some old witch to lend him a broomstick, and we
shall find him flown;" and Bertrand laughed scornfully.
Ruby laughed too.
"I don't think that's likely," she said. "But there's no telling. I do
wish he and his grandfather were out of the country altogether. There's
something about Winfried that makes me feel furious. He _is_ such a
prig; and he's even got cousin Hortensia to think him a piece of
perfection."
"He may take his perfections elsewhere, and he shall, too," said
Bertrand. And the fierceness of his tone almost startled even Ruby.
They were not far from the old fisherman's cottage by this time. They
stopped again to take breath. Mavis and the boat were not visible from
where they stood, for the path went in and out among the rocks, and just
here some large projecting boulders hid the shore from sight.
Suddenly, as if it came from some cave beneath their feet, both children
grew conscious of a faint sound as of distant music. And every moment
it became clearer and louder even though muffled. Bertrand and Ruby
looked at each other.
"Mermaids!" both exclaimed.
"They always sing," said Bertrand.
"Yes," added Ruby, with her old confusion of ideas about syrens; "and
they make people go after them by their singing, and then they catch
them and kill them, and I'm not sure but what they _eat_ them. I know
I've read something about bare dry bones being found. Shall we put our
fingers in our ears, Bertrand?" She looked quite pale with fear.
"Nonsense," said the boy. "That's only sailors at sea. They lure them
in among the rocks. We're quite safe on dry land. Besides, I don't
think it's _mermaids_ that do that. They're miserable crying creatures;
but I don't think they kill people."
The subterraneous music came nearer and nearer. Somehow the children
could not _help_ listening.
"Didn't you say you and Mavis heard singing the day you were here
before--at the wizard's cottage, I mean?" said Bertrand.
"N-no, not exactly singing. It was laughing, and a voice calling out
good-bye in a singing way," answered Ruby.
As if in response to her words, the ringing suddenly stopped, and from
below their feet--precisely below it seemed--came the sound of ringing,
silvery laughter, clear and unmistakable.
"Oh," cried Ruby, "come away, Bertrand. I'm sure it's the mermaids, and
they _will_ catch us and kill us, you'll see."
Her boasted courage had not come to much. And yet there was nothing
very alarming in the pretty sounds they had heard.
"And what if it is the mermaids?" said Bertrand coolly. "We came out to
catch them, didn't we? It's just what we wanted. Come along, Ruby.
How do we get to the cottage? There seems to be a sort of wall in
front."
"We go round by the back," said Ruby. "It's there there are the queer
grottoes and little caves. But you won't go far into them, will you,
Bertrand? For I am not at all sure but that the mermaids come up from
the sea through these caves; you see they _do_ come some underground
way."
Bertrand gave a sort of grunt. What Ruby said only made him the more
determined to explore as far as he possibly could.
They entered the strange little garden I have already described without
further adventure. There seemed no one about, no sound of any kind
broke the almost unnatural stillness.
"How _very_ quiet it is," said Ruby with a little shiver. "And there's
no smoke coming out of the chimney--there was the last time, for there
was a good fire in the kitchen where old Adam was."
And as she said this there came over her the remembrance of the kind old
man's gentle hospitality and interest in them. Why had she taken such a
hatred to Winfried and his grandfather, especially since Bertrand's
arrival? She could not have given any real reason.
"I hope he isn't very ill--or--_dead_," she said, dropping her voice.
"And Winfried locked up and not able to get to him. It would be our
fault, Bertrand."
"Nonsense," said Bertrand roughly, with his usual scornful contempt of
any softer feelings. "He's fallen asleep over his pipe and glass of
grog. I daresay he drinks lots of grog--those fellows always do."
"I'm sure _he_ doesn't," contradicted Ruby, feeling angry with herself
as well as Bertrand. "Let's go to the window and peep in before we look
at the caves."
She ran round to the front, followed by her cousin, taking care to make
as little sound as possible. She remembered on which side of the door
was the kitchen, and softly approached what she knew must be its window.
But how surprised she was when she looked in! It was the kitchen; she
remembered the shape of the room; she recognised the neat little
fireplace, but all was completely deserted. Every trace of furniture
had disappeared; old Adam's large chair by the hearth might never have
been in existence, well as she remembered it. Except that it was clean
and swept, the room might not have, been inhabited for years.
Ruby turned to Bertrand, who was staring in at another window.
"I say, Ruby," he whispered, "the room over here is quite--"
"I know," she said. "So is the kitchen. They're gone, Bertrand, quite
gone, and we've had all our trouble for nothing. It's too bad."
"_They_!" repeated Bertrand, "you can't say _they_, when you know that
Winfried is locked up in the turret-room."
"Oh," exclaimed Ruby starting, "I quite forgot. He must have hidden his
grandfather somewhere. And yet I don't see how they could have managed
it so quietly. We always know when any of the village people are moving
their furniture; they send to borrow our carts."
"Well," said Bertrand, "there's one thing certain. If you didn't
believe it before, you must now; I should think even Mavis would--the
old fellow _is_ a wizard, and so's his precious grandson."
"Shall we go into the house?" said Ruby, though she looked half afraid
to do so.
"Isn't the door locked?" said Bertrand, trying it as he spoke. It
yielded to his touch; he went in, followed, though tremblingly, by Ruby.
But after all there was little or nothing to see; the three rooms,
though scrupulously clean, even the windows shining bright and polished,
were perfectly empty. As the children strolled back to the kitchen,
annoyed and disappointed, feeling, to tell the truth, rather small,
something caught Ruby's eye in one corner of the room. It was a small
object, gleaming bright and blue on the white stones of the floor. She
ran forward and picked it up, it was a tiny bunch of forget-me-nots tied
with a scrap of ribbon; the same large brilliant kind of forget-me-not
as those which she and Mavis had so admired on their first visit to the
now deserted cottage. She gave a little cry.
"Look, Bertrand," she said, "they can't have been long gone. These
flowers are quite fresh. I wonder where they came from. They must have
been growing in a pot in the house, for there are none in the garden. I
looked as we came through."
Bertrand glanced at the flowers carelessly.
"Wizards," he began, "can--"
But his sentence was never finished. For as he spoke there came a
sudden gust of wind down the wide chimney, so loud and furious that it
was as startling as a clap of thunder. Then it subsided again, but for
a moment or two a long low wail sounded overhead, gradually dying away
in the distance.
"What was that?" said Bertrand. While the sounds lasted both children
had stood perfectly still.
"The wind of course," said Ruby. She was more accustomed than her
cousin to the unexpected vagaries of the storm spirits so near the sea,
still even she seemed startled. "It's often like that," she was
beginning to say, but she hesitated. "It _was_ very loud," she added.
"There must be rough weather coming," said Bertrand. "We'd better go
home by the road, I think, Ruby."
"_We_," exclaimed Ruby indignantly. "Do you mean you and me, Bertrand?
And what about Mavis?"
"She can come on shore," replied the boy carelessly. "She knows where
we are. It's her own fault. Come along, there's nothing to wait for in
this empty old hole. I want you to show me the caves outside."
"I'll try to signal to Mavis first," said Ruby. "I'll tie my
handkerchief to a stick and wave it about. She can see us up here quite
well, and perhaps when she finds we're alone she'll come."
They left the cottage, and Ruby got out her handkerchief. But it was
small use. For just as they stepped on to the rough little terrace in
front from whence they could clearly see the shore, there came another
and even--it seemed so at least now they were standing outside--more
violent blast. It was all Ruby could do to keep her feet, and when she
recovered from the giddying effect of the wind she was still breathless
and shaken. And that the hurricane was gathering strength every second
was plain to be seen; the waves were dashing in excitedly, the sky at
one side had that strange lurid purple colour which foretells great
disturbance.
But it was not these things only which made Ruby turn pale and shiver.
"Bertrand," she gasped, "I don't know if there's something the matter
with my eyes, I can't see clearly--Bertrand--look--where is Mavis--Mavis
and the boat; can you see them?"
Bertrand shaded his brow with his hand and gazed.
"'Pon my soul," he said, "it's very odd. _I_ can't see them. And
there's not been time for Mavis to have rowed out to sea or even to have
drifted out; we can see right out ever so far, and there's no boat; not
a sign of one."
"Can--can she have landed and dragged the boat ashore somehow?" said
Ruby, her teeth chattering with cold and fear.
"No," said Bertrand, "we'd certainly see her and the boat in that case."
"Then, where is she?" cried Ruby. "_Bertrand_, you must care. What do
you think has become of her?"
"Can't say, I'm sure," said the boy. "The boat may have capsized: the
sea's awfully rough now."
"Do you mean that Mavis may be drowned or drowning?" screamed Ruby. She
had to scream, even had she been less terribly excited, for the roar of
wind was on them again, and her voice was scarcely audible.
"I don't see that she need be drowned," said Bertrand. "It's shallow.
She _may_ have crept on shore, and be lying somewhere among those big
stones; and if not, can't your precious wizard friends look after her?
She's fond enough of them."
He was partly in earnest; but Ruby took it all as cruel heartless
mocking. She turned upon him furiously.
"You're a brutal wicked boy," she screamed. "I wish you were drowned; I
wish you had never come near us; I wish--" she stopped, choked by her
fury and misery, and by the wind which came tearing round again.
Bertrand came close to her.
"As you're so busy wishing," he called into her ear, "you'd better wish
you hadn't done what you have done yourself. It was all you who started
the plan, and settled how we were to trick Winfried into the
turret-room; you know you did."
"And did I plan to drown Mavis, my own darling little sister?" returned
Ruby as well as she could speak between her sobs and breathlessness.
"Come down to the shore with me this moment and help me to look for her,
if you're not altogether a cruel heartless bully."
"Not I," said Bertrand, "we'd probably get drowned ourselves. Just see
how the waves come leaping in; they look as if they were alive. I
believe it's all witches' work together. I'm not going to trust myself
down there. Come and show me the grottoes and the caves, Ruby. We may
as well shelter in them till the wind goes down a bit. We can't do
Mavis any good; if she's on the shore she can take care of herself, and
if she's under the water _we_ can't reach her;" and he caught hold of
Ruby to pull her along, but she tore herself from his grasp with a
wrench.
"You wicked, you heartless, brutal boy," she cried.
"I don't care if I am drowned; I would rather be drowned with Mavis than
stay alive with you."
And almost before Bertrand knew what she was doing, Ruby was rushing
through the little garden at the back of the cottage on her way to
descend the rough path to the shore.
He stood looking after her coolly for a moment or two with his hands in
his pockets. He tried to whistle, but it was not very successful; the
wind had the best of it.
"I don't believe Mavis has come to any harm," he said aloud, though
speaking to himself, and almost as if trying to excuse his own conduct.
"Anyway, I don't see that it's my business to look after her, it was all
her own obstinacy."
He kicked roughly at the pebbles at his feet, and as he did so, his
glance fell on a tiny speck of colour just where he was kicking. It was
one of the blue flowers Ruby had found in the cottage. Bertrand stooped
and picked it up, and, strange to say, he handled it gently. But as he
looked at it there came again to him the queer smarting pain in his eyes
which he had complained of in the turret-room, and glancing up he became
aware that the wind had suddenly gone down, everything had become almost
unnaturally still, while a thin bluish haze seemed gathering closely
round where he stood. Bertrand rubbed his eyes.
"There can't be smoke here," he said. "What can be the matter with my
eyes?" and he rubbed them impatiently. It did no good.
"No, that will do no good," said a voice. It seemed quite near him.
"Look up;" and in spite of himself the boy could not help looking up.
"_Oh_," he screamed; "_oh_, what is it? what is it?"
For an agony, short but indescribable, had darted through his eyeballs,
piercing, it seemed to him, to his very brain; and Bertrand was not in
some ways a cowardly boy.
There was silence, perfect, dead silence, and gradually the intense
aching, which the short terrible pain had left, began to subside. As it
did so, and Bertrand ventured to look up again, he saw that--what he had
seen, he could not describe it better--was gone, the haze had
disappeared, the air was again clear, but far from still, for round the
corner of the old cottage the blast now came rushing and tearing, as if
infuriated at having been for a moment obliged to keep back; and with it
now came the rain, such rain as the inland-bred boy had never seen
before--blinding, drenching, lashing rain, whose drops seemed to cut and
sting, with such force did they fall. It added to his confusion and
bewilderment. Like a hunted animal he turned and ran, anywhere to get
shelter; and soon he found himself behind the house, and then the
thought of the grottoes the little girls had told him of returned to his
mind.
"I won't go back into that witches' hole," he said to himself as he
glanced back at the house. "I'll shelter in one of the grottoes."
As he thought this he caught sight of an opening in the rockery before
him. It was the entrance to the very cave where Mavis had been left by
Ruby. Bertrand ran in; what happened to him there you shall hear in
good time.