When Vernon was a very little boy he was the sleepiest of mortals, but in the spring he had seasons of bad dreams, and breakfast became an idle meal. Mrs Ganthony, greatly concerned, sent for Dr Moreton from Axby, and homely1 remedies were prescribed.
"It is the spring fever," said the old man. "It gives the gout to me and nightmares to this baby; it brings lads and lasses together, and scatters3 young men about the world. An antique complaint, Mrs Ganthony. But it will right itself, never fear. Ver non semper viret." Chuckling4 at his ancient joke, the doctor mounted his horse, leaving the nurse only half comforted. "What fidgets me," she told the housekeeper5, "is the way his lordship holds his tongue. For usual he'll shout as lusty as a whelp. But now I finds him in the morning with his eyes like moons and[Pg 256] his skin white and shiny, and never a cheep has he given the whole blessed night, with me laying next door, and it open, and a light sleeper6 at all times, Mrs Wace, ma'am."
Every year the dreams came, generally—for his springs were spent at Severns—in the big new night-nursery at the top of the west wing, which his parents had built not long before their death. It had three windows looking over the moorish7 flats which run up to the Lancashire fells, and from one window, by craning your neck, you could catch a glimpse of the sea. It was all hung, too, with a Chinese paper whereon pink and green parrots squatted8 in wonderful blue trees, and there seemed generally to be a wood fire burning. Vernon's recollections of his childish nightmare are hazy9. He always found himself in a room different from the nursery and bigger, but with the same smell of wood smoke. People came and went, such as his nurse, the butler, Simon the head-keeper, Uncle Appleby his guardian10, Cousin Jennifer, the old woman who sold oranges in Axby, and a host of others. Nobody hindered them from going away, and they seemed to be pleading with him to come too. There was danger in the place; something was going to happen in that big[Pg 257] room, and if by that time he was not gone there would be mischief11. But it was quite clear to him that he could not go. He must stop there, with the wood smoke in his nostrils12, and await the advent13 of a terrible Something. But he was never quite sure of the nature of the compulsion. He had a notion that if he made a rush for the door at Uncle Appleby's heels he would be allowed to escape, but that somehow he would be behaving badly. Anyhow, the place put him into a sweat of fright, and Mrs Ganthony looked darkly at him in the morning.
Vernon was nine before this odd spring dream began to take definite shape—at least he thinks he must have been about that age. The dream-stage was emptying. There was nobody in the room now but himself, and he saw its details a little more clearly. It was not any apartment in the modern magnificence of Severns. Rather it looked like one of the big old panelled chambers14 which the boy remembered from visits to Midland country houses, where he had arrived after dark and had been put to sleep in a great bed in a place lit with dancing firelight. In the morning it had looked only an ordinary big room, but at that hour of the evening it had[Pg 258] seemed an enchanted16 citadel17. The dreamroom was not unlike these, for there was the scent18 of a wood fire and there were dancing shadows, but he could not see clearly the walls or the ceiling, and there was no bed. In one corner was a door which led to the outer world, and through this he knew that he might on no account pass. Another door faced him, and he knew that he had only to turn the handle and enter it. But he did not want to, for he understood quite clearly what was beyond. There was another room like the first one, but he knew nothing about it, except that opposite the entrance another door led out of it. Beyond was a third chamber15, and so on interminably. There seemed to the boy no end to this fantastic suite19. He thought of it as a great snake of masonry20, winding21 up hill and down dale away to the fells or the sea. Yes, but there was an end. Somewhere far away in one of the rooms was a terror waiting on him, or, as he feared, coming towards him. Even now it might be flitting from room to room, every minute bringing its soft tread nearer to the chamber of the wood fire.
About this time of life the dream was an unmitigated horror. Once it came while he was ill with a childish fever, and it sent his temperature[Pg 259] up to a point which brought Dr Moreton galloping23 from Axby. In his waking hours he did not, as a rule, remember it clearly; but during the fever, asleep and awake, that sinuous24 building, one room thick, with each room opening from the other, was never away from his thoughts. It fretted25 him to think that outside were the cheerful moors26 where he hunted for plovers27' eggs, and that only a thin wall of stone kept him from pleasant homely things. The thought used to comfort him for a moment when he was awake, but in the dream it never came near him. Asleep, the whole world seemed one suite of rooms, and he, a forlorn little prisoner, doomed28 to wait grimly on the slow coming through the many doors of a Fear which transcended29 word and thought.
He was a silent, self-absorbed boy, and though the fact of his nightmares was patent to the little household, the details remained locked in his heart. Not even to Uncle Appleby would he tell them when that gentleman, hurriedly kind, came down to visit his convalescent ward22. His illness made Vernon grow, and he shot up into a lanky30, leggy boy—weakly, too, till the hills tautened his sinews again. His Greek blood—his grandmother had been a Karolides—had given him a face curiously31 like the young Byron, with a finely-cut brow and nostrils, and hauteur32 in the full lips. But Vernon had no Byronic pallor, for his upland home kept him sunburnt and weather-beaten, and below his straight Greek brows shone a pair of grey and steadfast33 and very English eyes.
He was about fifteen—so he thinks—when he made the great discovery. The dream had become almost a custom now. It came in April at Severns during the Easter holidays—a night's discomfort34 (it was now scarcely more) in the rush and glory of the spring fishing. There was a moment of the old wild heart-fluttering; but a boy's fancy is quickly dulled, and the endless corridors were now more of a prison than a witch's ante-chamber. By this time, with the help of his diary, he had fixed35 the date of the dream: it came regularly on the night of the first Monday of April. Now the year I speak of he had been on a long expedition into the hills, and had stridden homewards at a steady four miles an hour among the gleams and shadows of an April twilight36. He was alone at Severns, so he had his supper in the big library, where afterwards he sat watching the leaping flames in the open stone hearth37. He was very weary, and[Pg 261] sleep fell upon him in his chair. He found himself in the wood-smoke chamber, and before him the door leading to the unknown. But it was no indefinite fear that lay beyond. He knew clearly—though how he knew he could not tell—that each year the Something came one room nearer, and was even now but ten rooms off. In ten years his own door would open, and then——
He woke in the small hours, chilled and mazed39, but with a curious new assurance in his heart. Hitherto the nightmare had left him in gross terror, unable to endure the prospect40 of its recurrence41, till the kindly42 forgetfulness of youth had soothed43 him. But now, though his nerves were tense with fright, he perceived that there was a limit to the mystery. Some day it must declare itself, and fight on equal terms. As he thought over the matter in the next few days he had the sense of being forewarned and prepared for some great test of courage. The notion exhilarated as much as it frightened him. Late at night, or on soft dripping days, or at any moment of lessened44 vitality45, he would bitterly wish that he had been born an ordinary mortal. But on a keen morning of frost, when he rubbed himself warm after a cold tub, or at high noon of summer, the adventure of the dream almost[Pg 262] pleased him. Unconsciously he braced47 himself to a harder discipline. His fitness, moral and physical, became his chief interest, for reasons which would have been unintelligible48 to his friends and more so to his masters. He passed through school an aloof49 and splendid figure, magnificently athletic50, with a brain as well as a perfect body—a good fellow in everybody's opinion, but a grave one. He had no intimates, and never shared the secret of the spring dream. For some reason which he could not tell, he would have burned his hand off rather than breathe a hint of it. Pure terror absolves51 from all conventions and demands a confidant, so terror, I think, must have largely departed from the nightmare as he grew older. Fear, indeed, remained, and awe52 and disquiet53, but these are human things, whereas terror is of hell.
Had he told any one, he would no doubt have become self-conscious and felt acutely his difference from other people. As it was, he was an ordinary schoolboy, much beloved, and, except at odd moments, unaware54 of any brooding destiny. As he grew up and his ambition awoke, the moments when he remembered the dream were apt to be disagreeable, for a boy's ambitions are strictly55 conventional and his soul [Pg 263]revolts at the abnormal. By the time he was ready for the University he wanted above all things to run the mile a second faster than any one else, and had vague hopes of exploring wild countries. For most of the year he lived with these hopes and was happy; then came April, and for a short season he was groping in dark places. Before and after each dream he was in a mood of exasperation56; but when it came he plunged57 into a different atmosphere, and felt the quiver of fear and the quick thrill of expectation. One year, in the unsettled moods of nineteen, he made an attempt to avoid it. He and three others were on a walking tour in Brittany in gusty58 spring weather, and came late one evening to an inn by an estuary59 where seagulls clattered60 about the windows. Youth-like they ordered a great and foolish feast, and sat all night round a bowl of punch, while school songs and "John Peel" contended with the dirling of the gale61. At daylight they took the road again, without having closed an eye, and Vernon told himself that he was rid of his incubus62. He wondered at the time why he was not more cheerful. Next April he was at Severns, reading hard, and on the first Monday of the month he went to bed with scarcely a thought of what that night used to mean. The[Pg 264] dream did not fail him. Once more he was in the chamber with the wood fire; once again he was peering at the door and wondering with tremulous heart what lay beyond. For the Something had come nearer by two rooms, and was now only five doors away. He wrote in his diary at that time some lines from Keats' 'Indian Maid's Song':—
"I would deceive her,
And so leave her,
But ah! she is so constant and so kind."
And there is a mark of exclamation63 against the "she," as if he found some irony64 in it.
From that day the boy in him died. The dream would not suffer itself to be forgotten. It moulded his character and determined65 his plans like the vow66 of the young Hannibal at the altar. He had forgotten now either to fear or to hope; the thing was part of him, like his vigorous young body, his slow kindliness67, his patient courage. He left Oxford68 at twenty-two with a prodigious69 reputation which his remarkable70 athletic record by no means explained. All men liked him, but no one knew him; he had a thousand acquaintances and a hundred friends, but no comrade. There was a sense of brooding power about him which attracted and repelled71 his little world. No one forecast any special career for him; indeed, it seemed almost disrespectful to condescend72 upon such details. It was not what Vernon would do that fired the imagination of his fellows, but what they dimly conceived that he already was. I remember my first sight of him about that time, a tall young man in the corner of a club smoking-room, with a head like Apollo's and eyes which received much but gave nothing. I guessed at once that he had foreign blood in him, not from any oddness of colouring or feature but from his silken reserve. We of the North are angular in our silences; we have not learned the art of gracious reticence73.
His twenty-third April was spent in a hut on the Line, somewhere between the sources of the Congo and the Nile, in the trans-African expedition when Waldemar found the new variety of okapi. The following April I was in his company in a tent far up on the shoulder of a Kashmir mountain. On the first Monday of the month we had had a heavy day after ovis, and that night I was asleep almost before my weary limbs were tucked into my kaross. I knew nothing of Vernon's dream, but next morning I [Pg 266]remember that I remarked a certain heaviness of eye, and wondered idly if the frame of this Greek divinity was as tough as it was shapely.
II
Next year Vernon left England early in March. He had resolved to visit again his grandmother's country and to indulge his passion for cruising in new waters.
His 20-ton yawl was sent as deck cargo74 to Patras, while he followed by way of Venice. He brought one man with him from Wyvenhoe, a lean gipsy lad called Martell, and for his other hand he found an Epirote at Corfu, who bore a string of names that began with Constantine. From Patras with a west wind they made good sailing up the Gulf75 of Corinth, and, passing through the Canal, came in the last days of March to the Pir?us. In that place of polyglot76 speech, whistling engines, and the odour of gasworks, they delayed only for water and supplies, and presently had rounded Sunium, and were beating up the Euripus with the Attic77 hills rising sharp and clear in the spring sunlight. Vernon had no plans. It was a joy to him to be alone with the racing78 seas and the dancing winds, to scud79 past little headlands, pink and white with[Pg 267] blossom, or to lie of a night in some hidden bay beneath the thymy crags. It was his habit on his journeys to discard the clothes of civilisation80. In a blue jersey81 and old corduroy trousers, bareheaded and barefooted, he steered82 his craft and waited on the passing of the hours. Like an acolyte83 before the temple gate, he believed himself to be on the threshold of a new life.
Trouble began under the snows of Pelion as they turned the north end of Eub?a. On the morning of the first Monday in April the light west winds died away, and sirocco blew harshly from the south. By midday it was half a gale, and in those yeasty shallow seas with an iron coast on the port the prospect looked doubtful. The nearest harbour was twenty miles distant, and as no one of the crew had been there before it was a question if they could make it by nightfall. With the evening the gale increased, and Constantine advised a retreat from the maze38 of rocky islands to the safer deeps of the ?gean. It was a hard night for the three, and there was no chance of sleep. More by luck than skill they escaped the butt84 of Skiathos, and the first light found them far to the east among the long seas of the North ?gean, well on the way to Lemnos. By eight o'clock the gale had blown itself out,[Pg 268] and three soaked and chilly85 mortals relaxed their vigil. Soon bacon was frizzling on the cuddy-stove, and hot coffee and dry clothes restored them to comfort.
The sky cleared, and in bright sunlight, with the dregs of the gale behind him, Vernon stood in for the mainland, where the white crest86 of Olympus hung in the northern heavens. In the late afternoon they came into a little bay carved from the side of a high mountain. The slopes were gay with flowers, yellow and white and scarlet87, and the young green of crops showed in the clearings. Among the thyme a flock of goats was browsing88, shepherded by a little girl in a saffron skirt, who sang shrilly89 in snatches. Midway in the bay and just above the anchorage rose a great white building, which showed to seaward a blank white wall pierced with a few narrow windows. At first sight Vernon took it for a monastery90, but a look through the glasses convinced him that its purpose was not religious. Once it had been fortified91, and even now a broad causeway ran between it and the sea, which looked as if it had once held guns. The architecture was a jumble92, showing here the enriched Gothic of Venice and there the straight lines and round arches of the East. It had once, he[Pg 269] conjectured93, been the hold of some Venetian sea-king, then the palace of a Turkish conqueror94, and now was, perhaps, the homely manor-house of this pleasant domain95.
A fishing-boat was putting out from the shore. He hailed its occupant and asked who owned the castle.
The man crossed himself and spat96 overboard. "Basilissa," he said, and turned his eyes seaward.
Vernon called Constantine from the bows and asked him what the word might mean. The Epirote crossed himself also before he spoke97. "It is the Lady of the Land," he said, in a hushed voice. "It is the great witch who is the Devil's bride. In old days in spring they made sacrifice to her, but they say her power is dying now. In my country we do not speak her name, but elsewhere they call her 'Queen.'" The man's bluff98 sailorly assurance had disappeared, and as Vernon stared at him in bewilderment he stammered99 and averted100 his eyes.
By supper-time he had recovered himself, and the weather-beaten three made such a meal as befits those who have faced danger together. Afterwards Vernon, as was his custom, sat alone in the stern, smoking and thinking his thoughts.[Pg 270] He wrote up his diary with a ship's lantern beside him, while overhead the starless velvet101 sky seemed to hang low and soft like an awning102. Little fires burned on the shore at which folk were cooking food—he could hear their voices, and from the keep one single lit window made an eye in the night.
He had leisure now for the thought which had all day been at the back of his mind. The night had passed and there had been no dream. The adventure for which he had prepared himself had vanished into the ?gean tides. He told himself that it was a relief, that an old folly103 was over, but he knew in his heart that he was bitterly disappointed. The fates had prepared the stage and rung up the curtain without providing the play. He had been fooled, and somehow the zest104 and savour of life had gone from him. No man can be strung high and then find his preparation idle without suffering a cruel recoil105.
As he scribbled106 idly in his diary he found some trouble about dates. Down in his bunk107 was a sheaf of Greek papers bought at the Pir?us and still unlooked at. He fetched them up and turned them over with a growing mystification. There was something very odd about[Pg 271] the business. One gets hazy about dates at sea, but he could have sworn that he had made no mistake. Yet here it was down in black and white, for there was no question about the number of days since he left the Pir?us. The day was not Tuesday, as he had believed, but Monday, the first Monday of April.
He stood up with a beating heart and that sense of unseen hands which comes to all men once or twice in their lives. The night was yet to come, and with it the end of the dream. Suddenly he was glad, absurdly glad; he could almost have wept with the joy of it. And then he was conscious for the first time of the strangeness of the place in which he had anchored. The night was dark over him like a shell, enclosing the half-moon of bay and its one lit dwelling108. The great hills, unseen but felt, ran up to snows, warding109 it off from a profane110 world. His nerves tingled111 with a joyful112 anticipation113. Something, some wonderful thing, was coming to him out of the darkness.
Under an impulse for which he could give no reason, he called Constantine and gave his orders. Let him be ready to sail at any moment—a possible thing, for there was a light breeze off shore. Also let the yacht's dinghy be ready in[Pg 272] case he wanted it. Then Vernon sat himself down again in the stern beside the lantern, and waited....
He was dreaming, and did not hear the sound of oars114 or the grating of a boat alongside. Suddenly he found a face looking at him in the ring of lamplight—an old bearded face curiously wrinkled. The eyes, which were grave and penetrating115, scanned him for a second or two, and then a voice spoke,—
"Will the Signor come with me? There is work for him to do this night."
Vernon rose obediently. He had waited for this call these many years, and he was there to answer it. He went below and put a loaded revolver in his trouser-pocket, and then dropped over the yacht's side into a cockleshell of a boat. The messenger took the oars and rowed for the point of light on shore.
A middle-aged116 woman stood on a rock above the tide, holding a small lantern. In its thin flicker117 he made out a person with the air and dress of a French maid. She cast one glance at Vernon, and then turned wearily to the other. "Fool, Mitri!" she said. "You have brought a peasant."
"Nay118," said the old man, "he is no peasant. He is a Signor, and as I judge, a man of his hands."
The woman passed the light of her lantern over Vernon's form and face. "His dress is a peasant's, but such clothes may be a nobleman's whim119. I have heard it of the English."
"I am English," said Vernon in French.
She turned on him with a quick movement of relief.
"You are English and a gentleman? But I know nothing of you, only that you have come out of the sea. Up in the House we women are alone, and my mistress has death to face, or a worse than death. We have no claim on you, and if you give us your service it means danger—oh, what danger! The boat is waiting. You have time to go back and go away and forget that you have seen this accursed place. But, O Monsieur, if you hope for Heaven and have pity on a defenceless angel, you will not leave us."
"I am ready," said Vernon.
"God's mercy," she sighed, and, seizing his arm, drew him up the steep causeway, while the old man went ahead with the lantern. Now and then she cast anxious glances to the right where the little fires of the fishers twinkled along the[Pg 274] shore. Then came a point when the three entered a narrow uphill road, where rocky steps had been cut in a tamarisk thicket120. She spoke low in French to Vernon's ear,—
"My mistress is the last of her line, you figure; a girl with a wild estate and a father long dead. She is good and gracious, as I who have tended her can witness, but she is young and cannot govern the wolves who are the men of these parts. They have a long hatred121 of her house, and now they have it rumoured122 that she is a witch and blights123 the crops and slays124 the children. No one will look at her; the priest—for they are all in the plot—signs himself and crosses the road; the little ones run screaming to their mothers. Once, twice, they have cursed our threshold and made the blood mark on the door. For two years we have been prisoners in the House, and only Mitri is true. They name her Basilissa, meaning the Queen of Hell, whom the ancients called Proserpine. There is no babe but will faint with fright if it casts eyes on her, and she as mild and innocent as Mother Mary...."
The woman stopped at a little door in a high wall of masonry. "Nay, wait and hear me out. It is better that you hear the tale from me than[Pg 275] from her. Mitri has the gossip of the place through his daughter's husband, and the word has gone round to burn the witch out. The winter in the hills has been cruel, and they blame their sorrow on her. The dark of the moon in April is the time fixed, for they say that a witch has power only in moonlight. This is the night, and down on the shore the fishers are gathered. The men from the hills are in the higher woods."
"Have they a leader?" Vernon asked.
"A leader?" her voice echoed shrilly. "But that is the worst of our terrors. There is one Vlastos, a lord in the mountains, who saw my mistress a year ago as she looked from the balcony at the Swallow-singing, and was filled with a passion for her. He has persecuted125 her since with his desires. He is a king among these savages126, being himself a very wolf in man's flesh. We have denied him, but he persists, and this night he announces that he comes for an answer. He offers to save her if she will trust him, but what is the honour of his kind? He is like a brute127 out of a cave. It were better for my lady to go to God in the fire than to meet all Hell in his arms. But this night we must choose, unless you prove a saviour128."
"Did you see my boat anchor in the bay?"[Pg 276] Vernon asked, though he already knew the answer.
"But no," she said. "We live only on the landward side of the House. My lady told me that God would send a man to our aid. And I bade Mitri fetch him."
The door was unlocked and the three climbed a staircase which seemed to follow the wall of a round tower. Presently they came into a stone hall with curious hangings like the old banners in a church. From the open flame of the lantern another was kindled129, and the light showed a desolate130 place with crumbling131 mosaics132 on the floor and plaster dropping from the cornices. Through another corridor they went, where the air blew warmer and there was that indefinable scent which comes from human habitation. Then came a door which the woman held open for Vernon to enter. "Wait there, Monsieur," she said, "My mistress will come to you."
It was his own room, where annually133 he had waited with a fluttering heart since he was a child at Severns. A fire of wood—some resinous134 thing like juniper—burned on the hearth, and spirals of blue smoke escaped the stone chimney and filled the air with their pungent135 fragrance136. On a Spanish cabinet stood an antique silver[Pg 277] lamp, and there was a great blue Chinese vase filled with spring flowers. Soft Turcoman rugs covered the wooden floor—Vernon noted137 every detail, for never before had he been able to see his room clearly. A woman had lived here, for an embroidery138 frame lay on a table and there were silken cushions on the low divans139. And facing him in the other wall there was a door.
In the old days he had regarded it with vague terror in his soul. Now he looked at it with the hungry gladness with which a traveller sees again the familiar objects of home. The hour of his destiny had struck. The thing for which he had trained himself in body and spirit was about to reveal itself in that doorway141....
It opened, and a girl entered. She was tall and very slim, and moved with the free grace of a boy. She trod the floor like one walking in spring meadows. Her little head on the flower-like neck was bent142 sideways as if she were listening, and her eyes had the strange disquieting143 innocence144 of a child's. Yet she was a grown woman, nobly made, and lithe145 and supple146 as Artemis herself when she ranged with her maidens147 through the moonlit glades148. Her face had the delicate pallor of pure health, and above it the masses of dark hair were bound with a thin[Pg 278] gold circlet. She wore a gown of some soft white stuff, and had thrown over it a cloak of russet furs.
For a second—or so it seemed to Vernon—she looked at him as he stood tense and expectant like a runner at the start. Then the hesitation149 fled from her face. She ran to him with the confidence of a child who has waited long for the coming of a friend and has grown lonely and fearful. She gave him both her hands and in her tall pride looked him full in the eyes. "You have come," she sighed happily. "I did not doubt it. They told me there was no help, but, you see, they did not know about you. That was my own secret. The Monster had nearly gobbled me, Perseus, but of course you could not come quicker. And now you will take me away with you? See, I am ready. And Elise will come too, and old Mitri, for they could not live without me. We must hurry, for the Monster is very near."
In that high moment of romance, when young love had burst upon him like spring, Vernon retained his odd discipline of soul. The adventure of the dream could not be satisfied by flight, even though his companion was a goddess.
"We will go, Andromeda, but not yet. I have something to say to the Monster."
She broke into a ripple150 of laughter. "Yes, that is the better way. Mitri will admit him alone, and he will think to find us women. But you will be here and you will speak to him." Then her eyes grew solemn. "He is very cruel, Perseus, and he is full of evil. He may devour151 us both. Let us be gone before he comes."
It was Vernon's turn to laugh. At the moment no enterprise seemed too formidable, and a price must be paid for this far-away princess. And even as he laughed the noise of a great bell clanged through the house.
Mitri stole in with a scared face, and it was from Vernon that he took his orders. "Speak them fair, but let one man enter and no more. Bring him here, and see that the gate is barred behind him. After that make ready for the road." Then to the girl: "Take off your cloak and wait here as if you were expecting him. I will stand behind the screen. Have no fear, for I will have him covered, and I will shoot him like a dog if he lays a finger on you."
From the shelter of the screen Vernon saw the door open and a man enter. He was a big fellow of the common mountain type, gorgeously[Pg 280] dressed in a uniform of white and crimson152, with boots of yellow untanned leather, and a beltful of weapons. He was handsome in a coarse way, but his slanting153 eyes and the heavy lips scarcely hidden by the curling moustaches were ugly and sinister154. He smiled, showing his white teeth, and spoke hurriedly in the guttural Greek of the north. The girl shivered at the sound of his voice, and to the watcher it seemed like Pan pursuing one of Dian's nymphs.
"You have no choice, my Queen," he was saying. "I have a hundred men at the gate who will do my bidding, and protect you against those fools of villagers till you are safe with me at Louko. But if you refuse me I cannot hold the people. They will burn the place over your head, and by to-morrow's morn these walls will be smouldering ashes with your fair body in the midst of them."
Then his wooing became rougher. The satyr awoke in his passionate155 eyes. "Nay, you are mine, whether you will it or not. I and my folk will carry you off when the trouble begins. Take your choice, my girl, whether you will go with a good grace, or trussed up behind a servant. We have rough ways in the hills with ungracious wenches."
"I am going away," she whispered, "but not with you!"
The man laughed. "Have you fetched down friend Michael and his angels to help you? By Saint John the Hunter, I would I had a rival. I would carve him prettily156 for the sake of your sweet flesh."
Vernon kicked aside the screen. "You will have your chance," he said. "I am ready."
Vlastos stepped back with his hand at his belt. "Who in the devil's name are you?" he asked.
"One who would dispute the lady with you," said Vernon.
The man had recovered his confidence. "I know nothing of you or whence you come, but to-night I am merciful. I give you ten seconds to disappear. If not, I will spit you, my fine cock, and you will roast in this oven."
"Nevertheless the lady goes with me," said Vernon, smiling.
Vlastos plucked a whistle from his belt, but before it reached his mouth he was looking into the barrel of Vernon's revolver. "Pitch that thing on the floor," came the command. "Not there! Behind me! Off with that belt and give it to the lady. Quick, my friend."
The dancing grey eyes dominated the sombre[Pg 282] black ones. Vlastos flung down the whistle, and slowly removed the belt with its silver-mounted pistols and its brace46 of knives.
"Put up your weapon," he muttered, "and fight me for her, as a man should."
"I ask nothing better," said Vernon, and he laid his revolver in the girl's lap.
He had expected a fight with fists, and was not prepared for what followed. Vlastos sprang at him like a wild beast and clasped him round the waist. He was swung off his feet in a grip that seemed more than human. For a second or two he swayed to and fro, recovered himself, and by a back-heel stroke forced his assailant to relax a little. Then, locked together in the middle of the room, the struggle began. Dimly out of a corner of his eye he saw the girl pick up the silver lamp and stand by the door holding it high.
Vernon had learned the rudiments157 of wrestling among the dalesmen of the North, but now he was dealing158 with one who followed no ordinary methods. It was a contest of sheer physical power. Vlastos was a stone or two heavier, and had an uncommon159 length of arm; but he was clumsily made, and flabby from gross living. Vernon was spare and hard and clean,[Pg 283] but he lacked one advantage—he had never striven with a man save in friendly games, and the other was bred to kill. For a minute or two they swayed and stumbled, while Vernon strove for the old Westmorland "inside click." Every second brought him nearer to it, while the other's face was pressed close to his shoulder.
Suddenly he felt a sharp pain. Teeth met in his flesh, and there was the jar and shiver of a torn muscle. The thing sickened him, and his grip slackened. In a moment Vlastos had swung him over in a strangle-hold, and had his neck bent almost to breaking.
On the sickness followed a revulsion of fierce anger. He was contending not with a man, but with some shaggy beast from the thicket. The passion brought out the extra power which is dormant160 in us all against the last extremity161. Two years before he had been mauled by a leopard162 on the Congo, and had clutched its throat with his hand and torn the life out. Such and no other was his antagonist163. He was fighting with one who knew no code, and would gouge164 his eyes if he got the chance. The fear which had sickened him was driven out by fury. This wolf should go the way of other wolves who dared to strive with man.
By a mighty165 effort he got his right arm free, and though his own neck was in torture, he forced Vlastos' chin upward. It was a struggle of sheer endurance, till with a snarl166 the other slackened his pressure. Vernon slipped from his grasp, gave back a step, and then leaped for the under-grip. He seemed possessed167 with unholy strength, for the barrel of the man gave in his embrace. A rib2 cracked, and as they swayed to the breast-stroke, he felt the breath of his opponent coming in harsh gasps168. It was the end, for with a twist which unlocked his arms he swung him high, and hurled169 him towards the fireplace. The head crashed on the stone hearth, and the man lay stunned170 among the blue jets of wood-smoke.
Vernon turned dizzily to the girl. She stood, statue-like, with the lamp in her hand, and beside her huddled171 Mitri and Elise.
"Bring ropes," he cried to the servants. "We will truss up this beast. The other wolves will find him and learn a lesson." He bound his legs and arms and laid him on a divan140.
The fire of battle was still in his eyes, but it faded when they fell upon the pale girl. A great pity and tenderness filled him. She swayed to his arms, and her head dropped on his[Pg 285] shoulder. He picked her up like a child, and followed the servants to the sea-stair.
But first he found Vlastos' whistle, and blew it shrilly. The answer was a furious hammering at the castle door.
Far out at sea, in the small hours, the yacht sped eastward172 with a favouring wind. Behind in the vault173 of night at a great distance shone a point of brightness, which flickered174 and fell as if from some mighty fire.
The two sat in the stern in that first rapture175 of comradeship which has no words to fit it. Her head lay in the crook176 of his arm, and she sighed happily, like one awakened177 to a summer's dawn from a night of ill dreams. At last he spoke.
"Do you know that I have been looking for you for twenty years?"
She nestled closer to him.
"And I," she said, "have been waiting on you from the beginning of the world."
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1
homely
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| adj.家常的，简朴的；不漂亮的 | |
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rib
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| n.肋骨，肋状物 | |
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scatters
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| v.（使）散开， （使）分散，驱散( scatter的第三人称单数 )；撒 | |
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chuckling
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的现在分词 ) | |
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5
housekeeper
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| n.管理家务的主妇，女管家 | |
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6
sleeper
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| n.睡眠者，卧车，卧铺 | |
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7
moorish
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| adj.沼地的，荒野的，生[住]在沼地的 | |
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8
squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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hazy
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| adj.有薄雾的，朦胧的；不肯定的，模糊的 | |
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guardian
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| n.监护人；守卫者，保护者 | |
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11
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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12
nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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13
advent
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| n.(重要事件等的)到来，来临 | |
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14
chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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15
chamber
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| n.房间，寝室；会议厅；议院；会所 | |
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16
enchanted
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| adj. 被施魔法的，陶醉的，入迷的 动词enchant的过去式和过去分词 | |
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17
citadel
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| n.城堡；堡垒；避难所 | |
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18
scent
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| n.气味，香味，香水，线索，嗅觉；v.嗅，发觉 | |
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19
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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20
masonry
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| n.砖土建筑；砖石 | |
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21
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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22
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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23
galloping
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| adj. 飞驰的, 急性的 动词gallop的现在分词形式 | |
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24
sinuous
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| adj.蜿蜒的，迂回的 | |
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25
fretted
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| 焦躁的，附有弦马的，腐蚀的 | |
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26
moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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27
plovers
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| n.珩，珩科鸟（如凤头麦鸡）( plover的名词复数 ) | |
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28
doomed
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| 命定的 | |
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29
transcended
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| 超出或超越（经验、信念、描写能力等）的范围( transcend的过去式和过去分词 )； 优于或胜过… | |
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30
lanky
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| adj.瘦长的 | |
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31
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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32
hauteur
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| n.傲慢 | |
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33
steadfast
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| adj.固定的，不变的，不动摇的；忠实的；坚贞不移的 | |
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34
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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35
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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36
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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37
hearth
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| n.壁炉炉床，壁炉地面 | |
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38
maze
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| n.迷宫，八阵图，混乱，迷惑 | |
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39
mazed
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| 迷惘的，困惑的 | |
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40
prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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41
recurrence
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| n.复发，反复，重现 | |
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42
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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43
soothed
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| v.安慰( soothe的过去式和过去分词 )；抚慰；使舒服；减轻痛苦 | |
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44
lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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45
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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46
brace
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| n. 支柱,曲柄,大括号; v. 绷紧,顶住,(为困难或坏事)做准备 | |
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47
braced
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| adj.拉牢的v.支住( brace的过去式和过去分词 )；撑牢；使自己站稳；振作起来 | |
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48
unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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49
aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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50
athletic
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| adj.擅长运动的，强健的；活跃的，体格健壮的 | |
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51
absolves
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| 宣告…无罪，赦免…的罪行，宽恕…的罪行( absolve的第三人称单数 )； 不受责难，免除责任 [义务] ,开脱（罪责） | |
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52
awe
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| n.敬畏，惊惧；vt.使敬畏，使惊惧 | |
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53
disquiet
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| n.担心，焦虑 | |
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54
unaware
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| a.不知道的，未意识到的 | |
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55
strictly
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| adv.严厉地，严格地；严密地 | |
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56
exasperation
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| n.愤慨 | |
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57
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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58
gusty
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| adj.起大风的 | |
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59
estuary
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| n.河口，江口 | |
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60
clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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61
gale
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| n.大风，强风，一阵闹声（尤指笑声等） | |
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62
incubus
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| n.负担；恶梦 | |
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63
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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64
irony
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| n.反语，冷嘲；具有讽刺意味的事，嘲弄 | |
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65
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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66
vow
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| n.誓(言)，誓约；v.起誓，立誓 | |
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67
kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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68
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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69
prodigious
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| adj.惊人的，奇妙的；异常的；巨大的；庞大的 | |
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70
remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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71
repelled
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| v.击退( repel的过去式和过去分词 )；使厌恶；排斥；推开 | |
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72
condescend
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| v.俯就，屈尊；堕落，丢丑 | |
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73
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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74
cargo
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| n.(一只船或一架飞机运载的)货物 | |
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75
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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76
polyglot
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| adj.通晓数种语言的；n.通晓多种语言的人 | |
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77
attic
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| n.顶楼，屋顶室 | |
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78
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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79
scud
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| n.疾行；v.疾行 | |
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80
civilisation
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| n.文明，文化，开化，教化 | |
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81
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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82
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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83
acolyte
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| n.助手，侍僧 | |
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84
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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85
chilly
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| adj.凉快的，寒冷的 | |
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86
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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87
scarlet
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| n.深红色，绯红色，红衣；adj.绯红色的 | |
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88
browsing
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| v.吃草( browse的现在分词 )；随意翻阅；（在商店里）随便看看；（在计算机上）浏览信息 | |
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89
shrilly
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| 尖声的； 光亮的，耀眼的 | |
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90
monastery
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| n.修道院，僧院，寺院 | |
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91
fortified
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| adj. 加强的 | |
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92
jumble
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| vt.使混乱，混杂；n.混乱；杂乱的一堆 | |
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93
conjectured
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| 推测，猜测，猜想( conjecture的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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94
conqueror
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| n.征服者，胜利者 | |
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95
domain
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| n.(活动等)领域，范围；领地，势力范围 | |
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96
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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97
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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98
bluff
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| v.虚张声势，用假象骗人；n.虚张声势，欺骗 | |
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99
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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100
averted
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| 防止，避免( avert的过去式和过去分词 )； 转移 | |
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101
velvet
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| n.丝绒，天鹅绒；adj.丝绒制的，柔软的 | |
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102
awning
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| n.遮阳篷；雨篷 | |
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103
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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104
zest
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| n.乐趣；滋味，风味；兴趣 | |
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105
recoil
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| vi.退却，退缩，畏缩 | |
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106
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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107
bunk
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| n.(车、船等倚壁而设的)铺位；废话 | |
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108
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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109
warding
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| 监护，守护（ward的现在分词形式） | |
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110
profane
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| adj.亵神的，亵渎的；vt.亵渎，玷污 | |
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111
tingled
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| v.有刺痛感( tingle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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112
joyful
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| adj.欢乐的，令人欢欣的 | |
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113
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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114
oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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115
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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116
middle-aged
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| adj.中年的 | |
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117
flicker
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| vi./n.闪烁，摇曳，闪现 | |
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118
nay
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| adv.不；n.反对票，投反对票者 | |
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119
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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120
thicket
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| n.灌木丛，树林 | |
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121
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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122
rumoured
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| adj.谣传的；传说的；风 | |
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123
blights
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| 使凋萎( blight的第三人称单数 )； 使颓丧； 损害； 妨害 | |
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124
slays
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| 杀死，宰杀，杀戮( slay的第三人称单数 ) | |
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125
persecuted
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| （尤指宗教或政治信仰的）迫害(~sb. for sth.)( persecute的过去式和过去分词 )； 烦扰，困扰或骚扰某人 | |
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126
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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127
brute
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| n.野兽，兽性 | |
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128
saviour
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| n.拯救者，救星 | |
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129
kindled
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| （使某物）燃烧，着火( kindle的过去式和过去分词 )； 激起（感情等）； 发亮，放光 | |
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130
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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131
crumbling
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| adj.摇摇欲坠的 | |
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132
mosaics
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| n.马赛克( mosaic的名词复数 )；镶嵌；镶嵌工艺；镶嵌图案 | |
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133
annually
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| adv.一年一次，每年 | |
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134
resinous
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| adj.树脂的，树脂质的，树脂制的 | |
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135
pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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136
fragrance
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| n.芬芳，香味，香气 | |
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137
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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138
embroidery
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| n.绣花，刺绣；绣制品 | |
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139
divans
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| n.（可作床用的）矮沙发( divan的名词复数 )；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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140
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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141
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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142
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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143
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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144
innocence
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| n.无罪；天真；无害 | |
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145
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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146
supple
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| adj.柔软的，易弯的，逢迎的，顺从的，灵活的；vt.使柔软，使柔顺，使顺从；vi.变柔软，变柔顺 | |
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147
maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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148
glades
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| n.林中空地( glade的名词复数 ) | |
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149
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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150
ripple
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| n.涟波，涟漪，波纹，粗钢梳；vt.使...起涟漪，使起波纹； vi.呈波浪状，起伏前进 | |
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151
devour
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| v.吞没；贪婪地注视或谛听，贪读；使着迷 | |
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152
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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153
slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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154
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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155
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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156
prettily
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| adv.优美地；可爱地 | |
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157
rudiments
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| n.基础知识，入门 | |
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158
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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159
uncommon
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| adj.罕见的，非凡的，不平常的 | |
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160
dormant
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| adj.暂停活动的；休眠的；潜伏的 | |
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161
extremity
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| n.末端，尽头；尽力；终极；极度 | |
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162
leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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163
antagonist
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| n.敌人，对抗者，对手 | |
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164
gouge
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| v.凿；挖出；n.半圆凿；凿孔；欺诈 | |
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165
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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166
snarl
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| v.吼叫，怒骂，纠缠，混乱；n.混乱，缠结，咆哮 | |
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167
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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168
gasps
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| v.喘气( gasp的第三人称单数 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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169
hurled
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| v.猛投，用力掷( hurl的过去式和过去分词 )；大声叫骂 | |
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170
stunned
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| adj. 震惊的，惊讶的 动词stun的过去式和过去分词 | |
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171
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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172
eastward
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| adv.向东；adj.向东的；n.东方，东部 | |
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173
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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174
flickered
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| （通常指灯光）闪烁，摇曳( flicker的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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175
rapture
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| n.狂喜；全神贯注；着迷；v.使狂喜 | |
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176
crook
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| v.使弯曲；n.小偷，骗子，贼；弯曲(处) | |
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177
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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