Nine months had passed since my parting with Duke on the hillside, and my life in the interval1 had flowed on with an easy uneventful monotony that was at least restorative to my turbulent soul. We had not once heard during this stretch of time from Jason or Zyp, and could only conclude that, finding asylum2 in some remote corner of the world, they would not risk discovery in it by word or sign. Letters, like homing pigeons, sometimes go astray.
Duke had put in no second appearance. Dr. Crackenthorpe kept entirely4 aloof5. All the tragedy of that dark period, crushed within a single year of existence, seemed swept by and scattered6 like so much road dust. Only my father and I remained of the strutting7 and fretting8 actors to brood over the parts we had played; and one of us was gray at heart forevermore, and the other waxing halt and old and feeble.
Now, often I tried to put the vexing9 problem of my brother’s death behind me; and yet, if I thought for a moment I had succeeded, it was only to be conscious of a grinning skeleton at my back.
And in this year a strange and tragic10 thing happened in Winton that was indirectly11 the cause in me of a fresh fungus12 growth of doubt and dark suspicion; and it fell out in this wise:
Some twenty years before, when I was a mere13 child (the story came to me later), a great quarrel had taken place between two citizens of the old burg. They were partners, before the dispute, in a flourishing business, and the one of them who was ultimately worsted in the argument had been the benefactor14 of the man that triumphed. The quarrel rose on some question as to the terms of their mutual15 agreement, the partner who had been taken into the firm out of kindness claiming the right to oust16 the other by a certain date. The technicalities of the matter were involved in a mass of obscurity, but anyhow they went to law about it and the beneficiary won the case. The other was forced to retire, to all intents and purposes a ruined man, but he bore with him a possession that no judge could deprive him of—a deep, deadly hatred17 against the reptile18 whose fortunes he had made and who had so poisonously bitten him in return. He was heard to declare that alive or dead he would have his enemy by the heel some day, and no one doubted but that he meant it.
Some months later, as the successful partner was returning home from his office one winter night, a pistol shot cracked behind him and he was constrained19 to measure his portly figure in the slush of the street. There his late partner came and looked upon him and gave a weltering grunt20, like a satisfied hog21, and kicked the body and went his way. But his victim was scarcely finished with in the manner he fancied. The ball, glancing from a lamp-post, had smashed the bones of his right heel only, and he was merely feigning22 death. When his enemy was retired23 he crawled home on his hands and knees, leaving a sluggish24 trail of crimson25 behind him, and, once safe in the fortress26 of his household, sent for the doctor and an inspector27 of police.
The would-be murderer was of course captured, tried and sentenced to a twenty-year term of penal28 servitude. He made no protest and took it all in the nature of things. But, before leaving the dock, he repeated—looking with a quiet smile on his becrutched and bandaged oppressor sitting pallidly29 in the court—his remarkable30 formula about “alive or dead” having him by the heel some day.
Then he disappeared from Winton’s ken3 and for sixteen years the town knew him no more, and his victim prospered31 exceedingly and walked far into the regions of wealth and honor, for all a painful limp that seemed as if it should have impeded32 his advance.
At the end of this time a little local excitement was stirred by the return of the criminal, out on ticket-of-leave, and presenting all the appearance of a degraded, battered33 and senile old man. His one-time partner—a town councilor by then—resented his intrusion exceedingly; but finding him to be impervious34, apparently35, to the sting of memory, and presumably harmless to sting any more on his own account, he bestirred himself to quarter the driveling wreck36 on an almshouse—a proceeding37 which gained him much approval on the part of all but those who retained recollection of the origin of the quarrel.
In this happy asylum the poor ruin breathed his last within a month of its admission, and the rubbish of it was buried—not in the pauper38 corner of some city cemetery39, as one might suppose, but in the very yard of the cathedral itself. For, curiously40 enough, the fading creature before his death had claimed lying-room in a family vault41 sunk in that august inclosure, and his claim was found to be a legitimate42 one.
I knew the place where he lay, well; for an end of the old vault they had opened for his accommodation tunneled under a pathway that cut the yard obliquely43, and, passing along it one’s feet hit out the spot in a low reverberating44 thud of two steps that spoke45 of hollowness beneath the gravel46.
The July of the present year I write of being the fourth from that poor thing’s death and burial, was marked by one of the most terrific thunderstorms that have ever in my memory visited Winton.
If there was one man abroad in those bitter hours, there was one only, I should say, and he paid a grewsome price for his temerity47. He was returning home from a birthday party, was that fated councilor, and, fired with a Dutch courage, must have taken that very path across the yard under which his once partner lay, and which he generally for some good reason rather avoided. What followed he might never describe himself, for that was the last of him. But a strange and eerie48 scene met the sight of an early riser abroad in the yard the next morning.
It appeared that a bolt had struck and wrenched49 a huge limb from one of the great lime trees skirting the path; that the heavy butt50 of this, clapping down upon that spot of the gravel under which the end of the vault lay, had splintered the massive lid stone into half a dozen pieces, so that they collapsed51 and fell inward, crashing upon and breaking open in their fall the pauper’s coffin52 underneath53.
“Whom God seeks to destroy, He first maddens.” Into this awful trap, in the rain and storm and darkness, Mr. Councilor walked plump, and there he was found in the morning, dead and ghastly, his already once-wounded leg caught in a crevice54 made by the broken stone and wood—his heel actually resting in the bony hand of his enemy who had waited for him so long.
All that by the way. It was a grim enough story by itself, no doubt, but I mention it only here as bearing indirectly upon a little matter of my own.
Old Peggy had retailed55 it to me, with much grisly decoration, on the afternoon following the night of the tempest. The thorns of her mind were stored with a wriggling56 half-hundred of such tales.
By and by I walked out to visit the scene of the tragedy. It was dark and gloomy and still threatening storm. There was little left of the ruin of the night. The fallen branch had been sawed to lengths and carted away, and only its litter remained; the vault had been covered in again with a great slab57 lifted and brought from one of the precinct pathways that were paved with ancient gravestones; a solitary58 man was raking and trimming the gravel over the restored surface. The crowds who no doubt had visited the spot during the day were dwindled59 to a half-dozen morbid60 idlers, and a sweeping61 flaw of tempest breaking suddenly from the clouds even as I approached drove the last of these to shelter.
I myself scuttled62 for a long low tunnel that pierced a south wing of the cathedral and promised the best cover available. This was to be reached by way of a double-arched portal which enjoyed the distinction of conveying ill-luck to any who should have the temerity to walk through a certain one of its two openings.
Turning when I reached the archway, I saw that the solitary grave-trimmer was running for the same shelter as myself. With head bent63 to the storm, he bolted through the gate of ill-omen; stopped, recognized his error, hurriedly retraced64 his steps; spat65 out the evil and came through the customary opening at slower pace. As he approached me I saw, what I had not noticed before, that he was my friend the sexton of St. John’s.
“Good-afternoon,” said I, as he walked under the tunnel, seized off his cap and jerked the rain drops from it.
I fancied there was a queer wild look on his face, and at first he hardly seemed to be able to make me out.
“Ah!” he said, suddenly. “Good-arternoon to you.”
Even then he didn’t look at but beyond me, following with his bloodshot eyes, as it were, the movements of something on the stone wall at my back.
“So you’re translated, it appears?”
“You’re promoted to the yard here, aren’t you?”
“I come to oblige Jem Sweet, ars be down wi’ the arsmer,” he said.
“That was friendly, anyhow. It was an unchancy task you took upon yourself.”
“What isn’t?” he shouted, quite fiercely, all in a moment. “Give me another marn as’ll walk all day wi’ the devil arm in arm, as I does.”
“You found him down there, eh?”
He took off his cap and flung it with quick violence at the wall behind me, then pounced67 upon it lying on the ground, as if something were caught underneath it.
“My!” he muttered, rising with the air of a schoolboy who has captured a butterfly, and, seeking to investigate his prize, made a frantic68 clutch in the air, as if it had escaped him.
“A warsp!” he cried in a sort of furious fright. “Who ever see a pink warsp wi’ a mouth like a purse and blue inside?”
He stood by me, shaking and perspiring70, and suddenly seized me with a tremulous hand.
“They shudn’t a’ sent me down there,” he whispered; “it give me the horrors, it did, to see that they’d burried him quick, and that for fower year he’d been struggling and wrenching71 to get out.”
“I’m afraid that the devil’s got you indeed, my friend.”
“It’s all along o’ thart. He come and he looked down upon me there in the pit.”
“Who did? The devil?”
“Him or thart Chis’ll doctor. It’s all one. I swat cold, I tell ye. I see his face make a ugly fiddle-pattern on the sky. My mate, he’d gone to dinner and the yard was nigh empty. ‘Look’ee here,’ I whispered up to him. ‘He were burried quick, as they burried that boy over in St. John’s, yonder, that you murdered.’”
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1
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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2
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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3
ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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aloof
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| adj.远离的；冷淡的，漠不关心的 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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strutting
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| 加固，支撑物 | |
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fretting
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| n. 微振磨损 adj. 烦躁的, 焦虑的 | |
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vexing
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| adj.使人烦恼的，使人恼火的v.使烦恼( vex的现在分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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10
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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indirectly
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| adv.间接地，不直接了当地 | |
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12
fungus
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| n.真菌，真菌类植物 | |
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13
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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14
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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15
mutual
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| adj.相互的，彼此的；共同的，共有的 | |
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16
oust
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| vt.剥夺，取代，驱逐 | |
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hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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18
reptile
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| n.爬行动物；两栖动物 | |
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19
constrained
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| adj.束缚的,节制的 | |
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20
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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21
hog
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| n.猪；馋嘴贪吃的人；vt.把…占为己有，独占 | |
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22
feigning
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| 假装，伪装( feign的现在分词 )； 捏造（借口、理由等） | |
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23
retired
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| adj.隐退的，退休的，退役的 | |
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24
sluggish
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| adj.懒惰的，迟钝的，无精打采的 | |
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25
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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26
fortress
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| n.堡垒，防御工事 | |
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27
inspector
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| n.检查员，监察员，视察员 | |
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28
penal
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| adj.刑罚的；刑法上的 | |
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pallidly
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| adv.无光泽地，苍白无血色地 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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impeded
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| 阻碍，妨碍，阻止( impede的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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impervious
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| adj.不能渗透的，不能穿过的，不易伤害的 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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36
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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38
pauper
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| n.贫民，被救济者，穷人 | |
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39
cemetery
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| n.坟墓，墓地，坟场 | |
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40
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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41
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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42
legitimate
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| adj.合法的，合理的，合乎逻辑的；v.使合法 | |
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43
obliquely
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| adv.斜； 倾斜； 间接； 不光明正大 | |
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44
reverberating
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| 回响，回荡( reverberate的现在分词 )； 使反响，使回荡，使反射 | |
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45
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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46
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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47
temerity
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| n.鲁莽，冒失 | |
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48
eerie
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| adj.怪诞的；奇异的；可怕的；胆怯的 | |
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49
wrenched
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| v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的过去式和过去分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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50
butt
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| n.笑柄；烟蒂；枪托；臀部；v.用头撞或顶 | |
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51
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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52
coffin
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| n.棺材，灵柩 | |
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53
underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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54
crevice
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| n.(岩石、墙等)裂缝；缺口 | |
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55
retailed
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| vt.零售（retail的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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56
wriggling
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| v.扭动，蠕动，蜿蜒行进( wriggle的现在分词 )；（使身体某一部位）扭动；耍滑不做，逃避（应做的事等）；蠕蠕 | |
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57
slab
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| n.平板，厚的切片；v.切成厚板，以平板盖上 | |
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58
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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59
dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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60
morbid
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| adj.病的；致病的；病态的；可怕的 | |
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61
sweeping
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| adj.范围广大的，一扫无遗的 | |
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62
scuttled
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| v.使船沉没( scuttle的过去式和过去分词 )；快跑，急走 | |
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63
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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64
retraced
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| v.折回( retrace的过去式和过去分词 )；回忆；回顾；追溯 | |
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65
spat
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| n.口角，掌击；v.发出呼噜呼噜声 | |
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66
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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67
pounced
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| v.突然袭击( pounce的过去式和过去分词 )；猛扑；一眼看出；抓住机会（进行抨击） | |
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68
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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69
wasp
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| n.黄蜂，蚂蜂 | |
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70
perspiring
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的现在分词 ) | |
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wrenching
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| n.修截苗根，苗木铲根（铲根时苗木不起土或部分起土）v.（猛力地）扭( wrench的现在分词 )；扭伤；使感到痛苦；使悲痛 | |
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