The Castle by the Sea/Chapter 21

HE blackness of night environed me. I drew a deep breath which was a sigh as I realized this, and knew that all I had gone through was a dream. It was indeed a characteristic dream, from the lapping of the water about my face to our arrival in the outer cavern, and to the storm and the Loreley of the storm as she swept down upon us in pity and majesty. I groaned loudly, and a voice called my name.

"Is that you, Norroy?" I asked weakly; "I 've had a strange and vivid dream. I dreamt we'd got down to the outer cavern."

"No, you didn't, old boy," said Norroy's voice. "It was n't a dream."

But these were not Norroy's hands that held mine, they were too small and delicate. In a maze I removed one hand of my own and put it out with a queer elation of the heart.

"Dearest!" whispered a voice to me. "Dearest!"

Perdita! Then it was no dream. But a dozen questions rushed upon me. What had happened? How did we get here? Where were we? And how was Perdita here. Yet in that exultant moment it was enough that she was there, sitting by my side, her tender hands clasping mine.

"Perdita!" I murmured. "Oh, my sweetheart, my dearest, my darling with the dove's eyes! Was it really you then, and no angelic vision merely? I saw you riding the storm, dearest, like a minister of mercy. What were you doing there, my sweet and beautiful?"

Her fingers trembled on mine. "I came to you," she whispered back.

"For me!" I echoed. "But how? But why—"

"You did not come," said Perdita, softly in the darkness that was now light to me. "You said you would come and you did n't. I went to the Castle, because you had told me where you were going, and I was afraid. I did n't believe that there was no danger. I felt there was danger." She shivered. "And at the Castle they had heard no news of you, and then I knew I was right. I knew that some evil had come to you. And so I came."

I drew her slowly, firmly, confidently out of the darkness towards me, and her face rested on my shoulder.

"Dear brave heart!" I murmured in her ear. "Tell me how."

"Feel any better, old chap?" broke in Norroy.

"Yes," I replied. "I am quite recovered. Indeed, I am fit for anything," I laughed. So great and strong and deep is Love that can conquer all things.

"I say, is n't Miss Forrest a brick?" he demanded heartily. "She came after us."

Me! Me! after me, O foolish and blind! I pressed her hair and it was wet and disordered. "I must learn all," I said. "Please go on, dear."

"And when you did n't come," proceeded Perdita, went back to the village, and I went to old Hawes, the boatman. And I told him all that I knew, and what you had said, and where you were going. And Hawes listened, and rubbed his tobacco and put it in his pipe, and he said:

"'Well, Miss, I reckon those caves are a bit mazing. When I was a boy I nigh got lost in them myself.'"

"And so we arranged to go to them at once, and see what—what had happened. Hawes would have it that you had lost your way, but somehow I knew better. And the tide was up, but I could n't wait, and so Hawes suggested that we should get as near to the cliff as we could, and then make our way along the rocks when the tide ran out of the caves. But the storm got up and the rain came, and somehow the rudder got broken, and we got in that current and drove on the rocks, and—Oh!" Perdita sobbed. "Poor Hawes is drowned. He must have gone down with the boat."

"No, no," I soothed her. "These old sailors know too much. He is sure to be all right." But I wanted to know more. What did Perdita in the caves with us? And where were we? It was Norroy who answered my query, and in a shambling awkward voice.

"Well, we 're back again, old chap! Same old business!"

"How back!" I cried. "But how is that. Why, we were in the outer cavern."

"It's that damned Cerberus—beg your pardon. Miss Forrest. But he is, you know. Lives in Hell. I should know, as I 've been there along with him for a fortnight. Fact is, Brabazon, it's plain the beggar was n't out of the caves, and he laid us out."

"Laid us out!"

"Yes, is n't your head a bit sore? Mine is. He and the other chap must have come up with us just as we were thinking of clearing out, and I saw the dwarf sock it into you. You gave a cry, and that called my attention. But you must have cried out before you got it. I saw the bar come down on you as I turned. And then t'other brute got me."

My heart sickened. We were back then in the old cave, with all the old terrors and despair. But no, there was no despair for me with Perdita by me, though I might experience fear for her.

"Th must have carted us somehow up here again," went on Norroy. "I came to a bit on the way, and there was a light, and I remember a huge cave." I knew what that must be—the warehouse of the smugglers. "Well, and here we are," he ended vaguely.

But Perdita was still unaccounted for. I had seen her go down in the storm and clamoring waves; and here she was by my side.

"Oh, that's a bit odd," said Norroy, when I plied a further question. "They must have fetched Miss Forrest up afterwards; anyway she was here when I got my senses again."

"I must have lost mine," said Perdita, softly. "I remember going down, and a huge gulf of water opening over me, and then I don't remember any more, until I was conscious of being carried somewhere in the dark. And then I felt a sudden shock, and I found I was lying on a cold rocky floor, and some one was groaning near. It was you, dear," she whispered in my ear.

"Rum thing their saving you," said Norroy.

"But I don't understand it all yet," replied Perdita. "Who are they?"

And so we told her of the dwarf, and of his confederates, of our struggle in the darkness, and of the copper lead in the bowels of the cliff. She listened silently and when I had done, said, "Then, they are keeping you here till the case is over." Swift and nimble were my dear love's wits upon this opening mystery.

"That's it," said Norroy.

"And they won't do us any harm," continued Perdita. "Because it's not in their interest to do more than prevent Sir Gilbert from putting in an appearance."

"You argue like a book, sweetheart," I whispered.

"And, moreover, they would n't have saved me if they had wanted to do us any harm."

"By Jove, no, no more they would," said Norroy cheerfully. "We 're looking up."

I said nothing. There was another explanation of the seeming mercy of our enemies. If Perdita had been allowed to go and had escaped the sea, she would have brought down a new expedition upon the rogues. Yet it was not clear that they had any interest in our death. Of course Norroy's evidence was sufficient to send the dwarf and his companion to prison; but they were evidently only the servants of the conspiracy. And there was no real connection yet traced between the prime culprits and the acts of violence to which we had been subjected. If the dwarf and his comrade vanished forever, what charge would lie against Naylor or Horne, who had merely taken advantage of the rights that the law allowed them?

Yet the mere optimistic statement of our case by Perdita in such confident tones seemed to infuse cheerfulness into the atmosphere. We were in prison again, but there were mitigations this time. We had proved that it was possible to get out, and our situation was known now to our friends above. I discovered this fact from Perdita, who had told Jackman on what mission she was bound, as well as Miss Fuller. The latter had endeavored to dissuade Perdita from the attempt, urging in her wisdom that the task was rather one for men alone. But my Perdita had obstinately run away from this advice, had taken the bit between her teeth and bolted, and had left behind her doubtless now an alarm. Moreover, it was not at all certain that Hawes had perished, or had been taken by the confederates. And for all these reasons we were justified in looking forward to our ultimate rescue.

The need immediately pressing was food and drink, certainly for Norroy and myself who had been long without either. This matter was discussed between us, and Norroy volunteered to feel his way round the wall so as to discover in what sort of place we were. I warned him to call out at regular intervals so that we might keep him in touch with us, and then he departed.

I should be content," I said. "I want nothing now, not even life, for you are life and I have you. Perdita, sweet, did you see me watching you, hear my prayers as you stood like the Spirit of Storm in the prow? I prayed for your safety. I know not why, but this darkness is full of light to me. I can see your face, can't I, sweet? There are two dove's eyes, alight and dewy, and a soft mouth that is a bud, a slender nose, a rain of bronze hair.... Ah, how its fragrance goes down into my soul! Were you wet by the ruthless sea, sweetheart? And did your beautiful hair toss like sea-weed in the foam? If I come upon that dwarf I will reward him with vast hoards of gold instead of killing him—because he saved you, my Loreley."

She pressed close; I put my arm across her heart and she was dripping from the sea.

"Sea water, child, never hurt a baby," I said. "But we will soon strip those wet garments from you and clothe you in shining soft vesture. I like you in all colors, dearest. What shall I buy you for a wedding-gown?"

"A man does n't buy the wedding-gown," stammered Perdita.

"Oh, does n't he. Well, I will, you see, and that makes the difference between a man and me. You may think me an ogre, Miss Forrest, but—"

"Hark!" said she, "is that Sir Gilbert?"

I called to him and was answered.

"Perdita, you are, like all your sex, a deceitful little cat, full of tricks. You knew it was n't Norroy. Well, of course, I 'll alter all that when we are safely married."

"But you don't know if we shall be," murmured shy Perdita. "You 've never asked me."

"I apologize, Miss Forrest. I'm very sorry. But a previous engagement unfortunately interfered with my proposal. However, I'm  glad you did not wait for me to propose, and I beg to acknowledge your esteemed favor containing your own proposal with thanks—the same is receiving consideration and will receive answer in due course—"

"Oh!" said Perdita.

"Please, Perdita, tell me what you will do directly we are released. I always like my plans laid well ahead. I know what I'm going to do, and I have a natural curiosity to learn what you will. Personally, I'm  going to be married."

"Who—to whom?" said Perdita.

"Oh, just a beauty. At least, critically considered, I don't know—perhaps—well, yes—if she had a little— But, anyway, she 'll do for me. Her name begins with a P because she is pretty."

"I say, Brabazon," Norroy's voice boomed from the rocks, "here's a go. I believe I 've found—"

"Where are you?" I called.

"Over here. There's the mouth of another cave here, and I tumbled over something."

I rose, helped Perdita to her feet, and with my arm about her groped my way across to his voice. We passed through an opening and I kicked something with my foot.

"That's it," said Norroy, excitedly. "What the devil is it?" I stooped and felt. It was a box. We groped on the floor for some minutes patiently.

"I 've got a tin of some sort," I said.

"Golly, I've got a bottle. What do you think?" said Norroy.

"It's the larder!" I exclaimed.

"The larder!" said both. I explained. I had come across the larder in my earlier explorations.

"This is all right," said Sir Gilbert. "Miss Forrest, would you like a go at this? It's bottled beer!"

His tone was triumphant. Perdita declined on the ground that she was not thirsty, and I heard the gurgle down Norroy's throat. We sat and drank, and ate from the tin which we opened with a knife, and which contained mutton.

"Now we shan't be long," said the cheerful baronet. We sat and talked, and our spirits were amazing for people immured in Stygian darkness, and beset by obdurate and unscrupulous foes.

"Anyhow," was Norroy's summing up, "we 've got possession of the grub. We 're going to confound their knavish tricks. And what's more, with this blessed mine under me I'm not going to lose the Castle. I 'll stick by what's stuck by us all these centuries. I shan't need to beg of my Rivers cousin, the little manufacturess."

Perdita's hand was in mine and I felt it jump. Rivers! What was Rivers doing in my mind? I suddenly remembered. The letters dropped from the burst packet had been addressed to Miss Rivers.

Norroy was talking still, but I did not hear him. My wits were busy. Perdita's hand trembled in mine. A strange thought came into my head. What was Miss Fuller doing with letters for Miss Rivers. Perdita tried to pull her hand out of mine, and somehow I guessed—somehow I knew. I held her hand fast.

"What," I asked slowly, "is the name of your cousin?"

"Name!" There was a pause. Perdita was trembling all over.

"Is it Perdita?" I whispered in her ear.

"I don't know," he said. "Must have heard it, but I 've never seen my mother's relations—governor quarreled with 'em. She's probably a decent sort, high cheekbones and big features and all that."

"She's not," I cried. "Norroy, you impertinent, blind ass! You 've thrown away all your chances. I can tell you what she's like. She's the most lovely woman that walks this earth. Her eyes—"

"Don't, don't," pleaded Perdita in tears.

"If you could see her you would know," I said. "But you can't because it is dark, and your eyes have always been blind. Perdita!"

"Eh, what?" said Norroy.

Perdita was weeping, I think, but, dear heart, I did not know then why she wept. It was only afterwards that I discovered that she wept for foolish shame. In the full panoply of romantic sentiment she had come forth to see this unknown cousin in disguise, and had fallen in love with a—nobody. And now she was ashamed of that innocent and foolish whim.

"Shall I tell him, Perdita?" I asked softly, and I got no answer. But I kept her hand.

"Your cousin is going to be my wife," I said as softly.

"Good Lord!" ejaculated Norroy. "Why, who the Devil, what?"

"Oh, it is my fault; oh, I am ashamed!" cried Perdita, burying her face in my arm. "I should n't have done it. I only wanted to see— How did you guess? How abominable of you to guess!"

"It was a packet of letters," I explained, "and the solution has just come to me."

"Oh, I heard—it was too bad of Isabel—I was afraid—"

"I should like to know what the mischief it all means," said dull Sir Gilbert.

I told him, and he said, "Good Lord!" and then after a moment he began to chuckle. "It's a rum go," he said. "By Jove, it's a sort of romance. Are you Miss Rivers then, Miss Forrest? I say, what am I to call you, cousin?"

"You can go on calling her Miss Forrest," I said quickly. "You 're not going to call her Perdita."

"I say, Brabazon!" he exclaimed, and then the situation beat him. "Well, I'm damned!" he declared. "Fancy you being the little Rivers girl!"

"She is not little, and I 'll ask you to address my future wife properly," I said with dignity.

"Well, you kept it pretty dark, both of you, I must say," said Norroy, paying no heed to this. "I suppose I ought to call you cousin, and take cousinly privileges."

"I don't like that word privileges," I said. "I think you'd better go away, Norroy. Go to your Plutus."

"What beats me is how you came to be about here, cousin," said the persistent and clumsy Norroy,

"That's nothing to do with you," I declared, as I felt Perdita shiver. "She came on a sketching tour."

"Oh!" He thought it all over, and either decided to let it pass, or was derailed by a side track.

"Is Miss Harvey pretty well?" he inquired politely. There is a story of a filibustering Englishman who marched an army into the territory of a friendly power, was encountered by its forces, and engaged in battle. A truce having been arranged to discuss the terms of surrender, our Englishman met the enemy's envoys with the offer of a drink and the clumsy, inconsequent attempt at civility of "I hope we have n't knocked you fellows about much."

I shall always think of Sir Gilbert Norroy in connection with that filibuster. He was self-centered to a fault, yet never mislaid his manners; and never appreciating the full significance of things he thus would shed a farcical light upon the most tragic situations. Yet I shall always think of him as something heroic in his way. Consider what length of time he had endured in this darkness and with these privations, and admire the way he maintained his sang-froid. This was the more noticeable to me as time went on, and my own hopes sank. Of course I said nothing, but, on the contrary, did my best to cheer Perdita, but I do not know that I made so gallant, an effort as this unimaginative Englishman. He must have refrained with difficulty from his native candor, and from thus blurting out our predicament. Instead, he rattled on foolishly about horses and Monte Carlo, and odd meaningless adventures he had had here and there and everywhere. I never knew more pointless stories than Norroy told, and I even came to wait and look for the banality of them as one expects the point and crisis of an ordinary tale. They meandered like a stream vaguely in different directions for some time, and then simply disappeared in the ground. Still, his flow kept us from thinking of our own case, and Perdita was interested in his having been to Pompeii. I think he rode off on to that on some race-horse with an Italian name, like a true conversationalist. Perdita inquired Vvhat Pompeii, untombed, was like.

"Jolly," said Sir Gilbert. "Awfully jolly," and hurried on as a lively memory occurred to him, "and, I say, I saw a chap in the streets there stand on his head and shake his trousers right down to his knee! Look here, cousin, you ought to visit Pompeii," he concluded with avuncular wisdom.

"Perdita is going with me when I go," I said. "Pray, address your remarks to me, Sir Gilbert Norroy. What, by the way, did you say you were going to do when we 'got out'?" I asked Perdita.

"I did n't say anything," said she.

"Well, tell the kind gentleman now," I enjoined.

"You don't seem to realize," murmured Perdita, "that I am not subject to your orders."

"I always begin as I mean to go on," I told her. "Some people enter into the bonds of matrimony with their eyes wilfully shut. I insist upon yours being open, Perdita."

"But I don't happen to be going to be married," said Perdita.

"Wha-at!" I gasped. "Norroy, is this the way you bring up your cousin?"

"I say, I'm sorry I spoke of you as I did," broke in Sir Gilbert at this juncture. He had been thinking it over, "but I didn't know, you know—about the money, I mean."

"It did n't matter at all," said Perdita, quickly.

"But why did you call yourself Miss—"

"You 've talked too long," I interposed hastily. "Go to sleep."

"It is n't a bad idea," said the good-natured fellow, "if we only could. They may come in time to wake us up."

We had that beautiful idea to drop off from; but, alas, it is not so easy to control the mind. I believe Norroy went to sleep, but Perdita did not, nor I. And the silence and the darkness suddenly began to oppress her. She grew frightened, and cried out to me; and I drew her nearer, and she wept.

"It is the long night," she whispered. "I did not think I was such a coward. Oh, forgive me!" She gulped back her tears and clung to me. She had faced the storm and the water with brave heart, but she had succumbed to the awful sapping of these silent terrors. The darkness sat round about us in league. Perdita's tears wet my cheek. I kept her close, and whispered to her, as it were a father soothing his child.

At length she passed into slumber, pillowed against me, but I lay wide awake, staring into the dark, and hoping—hoping—

The silence was punctuated by the deep breathing of my two companions. I did not know what time it was, but I guessed that it was night again, and that it had been four and twenty hours since Perdita had come ashore. I lay, with all my senses preternaturally alert, looking at a blankness which began to be relieved with gloomy pictures. Dark figures strove in it and executed grotesque and horrible contortions. Whether I shut my eyes or opened them it was the same. The blackness began to get on my nerves as it had upon poor Perdita's. Thank God, she was sweetly asleep, an occasional movement only witnessing to the perturbed spirit.

On my ears, straining in the deep silence, a small sound fell and I turned my head. It was like a mutter, interrupted and resumed again. And on that there was a chink as of a pick on stone. I stirred, listened, gently and softly put Perdita from me, so as not to disturb her, and got to my feet, still listening.

A regular chink, chink, now struck on my ears, and I groped along the wall in the direction from whence it came. You will remember the twine, so fatally diverted from its use. I had, from a sense of prudence, even in my despair, retained the balls I had wound up. And now they came in useful to me. I tied the end of a ball round one of the boxes in our cell, and letting out the string followed it. I had all along resolved that after the party had been refreshed by rest we should make once more a determined attack on the maze, using these balls as the means of getting back to our base of supplies in the event of failure. But I found this earlier use for them. The noise of the pick on stone, continuously repeated, guided me, and I made my way through various windings of the passages until I heard it more clearly. There was now no mistake possible; it was the obvious noise of a pickaxe.

It came louder, and then a little suffused light broke on the senses, and now furtively I pushed on, until, rounding a corner, I came in view of two figures.

The blaze of the lantern by them dazzled my enfeebled eyes, but after a little I made out two men,—one the dwarf with a pick in his hand, wielding it with huge arms on the wall before him. The other man was evidently the lean, dark fisherman from the Point. He stood by and watched, and occasionally examined something which he held in his hand.

I now thought that I had the mystery clear. These were two of the men in the secret of the gang employed to prospect the ore, and doubtless they were at work here tracing the lead through the galleries. Yet my heart, dismissing their errand, rejoiced at the new promise of rescue. I had the connections with our prison cell safe behind me, and if I dogged the tracks of these men I should eventually find the way to the light of the sun. It was only necessary for me to keep hidden and not to risk discovery. When I had set out on my rash expedition to the caves I had taken the precaution to arm myself with a small revolver. I felt this now in my pocket in order to be prepared for any emergency. It was clear we were dealing with unscrupulous rogues, and I was ready to fight to the end for what I felt was our last chance. I stood in the dark shadows and watched and waited.

After a time the dwarf ceased, and paused, leaning on the haft of his implement. A distant murmur now became audible, and I recognized it as the cry of the sea, but no longer was it like the travail of lost souls. It had, on the contrary, a note of hope, of encouragement, of triumph; it was a friendly sound.

"There's half an hour before the tide," said the tall man.

"It will take less," said the dwarf, grimly. "I'd best go a bit more in."

He lifted his pickaxe again, and struck, detaching a big piece from the wall.

"That should be enough," said his companion. "It will give plenty of room."

The dwarf leaned on his pick. "Damn that swab," he said. "'T is he bringing all this on us."

"Well, maybe they 'll find nothing," said the other, with a short laugh. "We can't afford to run that risk."

I could not understand. But it seemed as if the boatman had escaped and was giving our enemies trouble. Yet what else did their talk mean?

A few more blows with the pickaxe followed, and then the fisherman stooped and peered down into the hole. "That will do," said he.

"Ay, I 've seen worse blasts than that," said the dwarf.

The two men bent their heads together over the hole, and I could not hear their exchanges. Then they rose.

"That fixes it," said the dwarf. "We 'll give it the five minutes."

In my anxiety I peered out of my black corner, but I could only see their retreating forms. I was resolved to keep them in sight, and I moved forward. One of the men was stooped as he went along, as if he manipulated something on the floor.

I got as far as the place where they had been working, but, though I cast a glance at the hole, it was now involved in gloom, owing to the receding light. I went on, and suddenly my eye was caught by a trail on the ground. I scrutinized it, and then bent and touched it. The men were twenty feet away, round a bend in the passage.

It was hard and continuous to my fingers. In a rush the terrible truth came upon me. It was a blasting-fuse and they were designing a blast of dynamite!

With that discovery the purport and the consequence& of the destined explosion flashed on me. They were engaged in sealing up the caverns! The pursuit, the hue and cry on the surface of the earth, had pressed them so far that they were removing all trace of their nefarious plot and their wickedness, and cared not a rap that in so doing they were dooming to a horrible death the three unfortunate victims of their conspiracy.

Immediately, in the phrase, I saw red. I sped down the passage, and rushed on them round the corner, drawing my revolver from my pocket. They must have heard my footsteps, for the dwarf had his pickaxe raised to strike. Without hesitation I fired in a frenzy and an oath followed. Then he dashed at me, and pulling on a second cartridge, I dodged. The edge of his weapon took my shoulder, knocking me down, and the reverberation of my shot raised a thousand echoes from the corridor.

"Quick, quick,—" An obscene oath ensued. I struggled to my feet, and, the pistol having dropped from my hands in the fall, grappled with the dwarf. He was broad of figure, and seemed immovable, but I strove to get my leg between his, and throw him. Alas, he came of Cornish stock, and he flung me off as a bulldog would a terrier. Then he stooped, and, seizing me, tottered with me in his arms up the passage. A voice behind us followed with echoes that swallowed up the meaning of the words. Neither he nor I heeded. I wrestled and struggled, but his gorilla-like arms circumscribed me, and at last we fell together on the floor.

"Horne! Horne! Back! Back!" came like the voice of a bull from behind. "Back, you fool!"

The dwarf disengaged himself, throwing off my grip with a final effort, and turned to go. He sped with antic leaps down the passage in the twilight. I saw his body in the air for an instant. And then the drums of my ears were almost broken with a terrific roar, and I knew nothing more.