The building was broad-spread and low, with red-tiled roof, diamond-paned windows, and a profusion4 of dwelling rooms with smoke-blackened ceilings and oaken wainscots. In front was a small lawn, girt round with a thin fringe of haggard and ill grown beeches6, all gnarled and withered7 from the effects of the sea-spray. Behind lay the scattered8 hamlet of Branksome-Bere — a dozen cottages at most — inhabited by rude fisher-folk who looked upon the laird as their natural protector.
To the west was the broad, yellow beach and the Irish Sea, while in all other directions the desolate9 moors10, greyish-green in the foreground and purple in the distance, stretched away in long, low curves to the horizon.
Very bleak12 and lonely it was upon this Wigtown coast. A man might walk many a weary mile and never see a living thing except the white, heavy-flapping kittiwakes, which screamed and cried to each other with their shrill13, sad voices.
Very lonely and very bleak! Once out of sight of Branksome and there was no sign of the works of man save only where the high, white tower of Cloomber Hall shot up, like a headstone of some giant grave, from amid the firs and larches14 which girt it round.
This great house, a mile or more from our dwelling, had been built by a wealthy Glasgow merchant of strange tastes and lonely habits, but at the time of our arrival it had been untenanted for many years, and stood with weather-blotched walls and vacant, staring windows looking blankly out over the hill side.
Empty and mildewed16, it served only as a landmark17 to the fishermen, for they had found by experience that by keeping the laird’s chimney and the white tower of Cloomber in a line they could steer18 their way through the ugly reef which raises its jagged back, like that of some sleeping monster, above the troubled waters of the wind-swept bay.
To this wild spot it was that Fate had brought my father, my sister, and myself. For us its loneliness had no terrors. After the hubbub19 and bustle20 of a great city, and the weary task of upholding appearances upon a slender income, there was a grand, soul-soothing21 serenity22 in the long sky-line and the eager air. Here at least there was no neighbour to pry23 and chatter24.
The laird had left his phaeton and two ponies25 behind him, with the aid of which my father and I would go the round of the estate doing such light duties as fall to an agent, or “factor” as it was there called, while our gentle Esther looked to our household needs, and brightened the dark old building.
Such was our simple, uneventful existence, until the summer night when an unlooked-for incident occurred which proved to be the herald26 of those strange doings which I have taken up my pen to describe.
It had been my habit to pull out of an evening in the laird’s skiff and to catch a few whiting which might serve for our supper. On this well-remembered occasion my sister came with me, sitting with her book in the stern-sheets of the boat, while I hung my lines over the bows.
The sun had sunk down behind the rugged27 Irish coast, but a long bank of flushed cloud still marked the spot, and cast a glory upon the waters. The whole broad ocean was seamed and scarred with crimson28 streaks29. I had risen in the boat, and was gazing round in delight at the broad panorama30 of shore and sea and sky, when my sister plucked at my sleeve with a little, sharp cry of surprise.
“See, John,” she cried, “there is a light in Cloomber Tower!”.
I turned my head and stared back at the tall, white turret31 which peeped out above the belt of trees. As I gazed I distinctly saw at one of the windows the glint of a light, which suddenly vanished, and then shone out once more from another higher up. There it flickered32 for some time, and finally flashed past two successive windows underneath33 before the trees obscured our view of it. It was clear that some one bearing a lamp or a candle had climbed up the tower stairs and had then returned into the body of the house.
“Who in the world can it be?” I exclaimed, speaking rather to myself than to Esther, for I could see by the surprise upon her face that she had no solution to offer. “Maybe some of the folk from Branksome-Bere have wanted to look over the place.”
My sister shook her head.
“There is not one of them would dare to set foot within the avenue gates,” she said. “Besides, John, the keys are kept by the house-agent at Wigtown. Were they ever so curious, none of our people could find their way in”
When I reflected upon the massive door and ponderous34 shutters35 which guarded the lower storey of Cloomber, I could not but admit the force of my sister’s objection. The untimely visitor must either have used considerable violence in order to force his way in, or he must have obtained possession of the keys.
Piqued36 by the little mystery, I pulled for the beach, with the determination to see for myself who the intruder might be, and what were his intentions. Leaving my sister at Branksome, and summoning Seth Jamieson, an old man-o’-war’s-man and one of the stoutest37 of the fishermen, I set off across the moor11 with him through the gathering38 darkness.
“It hasna a guid name after dark, yon hoose,” remarked my companion, slackening his pace perceptibly as I explained to him the nature of our errand. “It’s no for naething that him wha owns it wunna gang within a Scotch39 mile o’t.”
“Well, Seth, there is some one who has no fears about going into it,” said I, pointing to the great, white building which flickered up in front of us through the gloom.
The light which I had observed from the sea was moving backwards40 and forward past the lower floor windows, the shutters of which had been removed. I could now see that a second fainter light followed a few paces behind the other. Evidently two individuals, the one with a lamp and the other with a candle or rushlight, were making a careful examination of tile building.
“Let ilka man blaw his ain parritch,” said Seth Jamieson doggedly41, coming to a dead stop. “What is it tae us if a wraith42 or a bogle minds tae tak’ a fancy tae Cloomber? It’s no canny43 tae meddle44 wi’ such things.”
“Why, man,” I cried, “you don’t suppose a wraith came here in a gig? What are those lights away yonder by the avenue gates?”
“The lamps o’ a gig, sure enough!” exclaimed my companion in a less lugubrious45 voice. “Let’s steer for it, Master West, and speer where she hails frae.”
By this time night had closed in save for a single long, narrow slit46 in the westward47. Stumbling across the moor together, we made our way into the Wigtown Road, at the point where the high stone pillars mark the entrance to the Cloomber avenue. A tall dog-cart stood in front of the gateway48, the horse browsing49 upon the thin border of grass which skirted the road.
“It’s a’ richt!” said Jamieson, taking a close look at the deserted50 vehicle. “I ken5 it weel. It belongs tae Maister McNeil, the factor body frae Wigtown — him wha keeps the keys.”
“Then we may as well have speech with him now that we are here,” I answered. “They are coming down, if I am not mistaken.”
As I spoke51 we heard the slam of the heavy door and within a few minutes two figures, the one tall and angular, the other short and thick came towards us through the darkness. They were talking so earnestly that they did not observe us until they had passed through the avenue gate.
“Good evening, Mr. McNeil,” said I, stepping forward and addressing the Wigtown factor, with whom I had some slight acquaintance.
The smaller of the two turned his face towards me as I spoke, and showed me that I was not mistaken in his identity, but his taller companion sprang back and showed every sign of violent agitation52.
“What is this, McNeil?” I heard him say, in a gasping53, choking voice. “Is this your promise? What is the meaning of it?”
“Don’t be alarmed, General! Don’t be alarmed!” said the little fat factor in a soothing fashion, as one might speak to a frightened child. “This is young Mr. Fothergill West, of Branksome, though what brings him up here tonight is more than I can understand. However, as you are to be neighbours, I can’t do better than take the opportunity to introduce you to each other. Mr. West, this is General Heatherstone, who is about to take a lease of Cloomber Hall.”
I held out my hand to the tall man, who look it in a hesitating, half-reluctant fashion.
“I came up,” I explained, “because I saw your lights in the windows, and I bought that something might be wrong. I am very glad I did so, since it has given me the chance of making the general’s acquaintance.”
Whilst I was talking, I was conscious that the new tenant15 of Cloomber Hall was peering at me very closely through the darkness. As I concluded, he stretched out a long, tremulous arm, and turned the gig-lamp in such a way as to throw a flood of light upon my face.
“Good Heavens, McNeil!” he cried, in the same quivering voice as before, “the fellow’s as brown as chocolate. He’s not an Englishman. You’re not an Englishman — you, sir?”
“I’m a Scotchman, born and bred,” said I, with an inclination54 to laugh, which was only checked by my new acquaintance’s obvious terror.
“A Scotchman, eh?” said he, with a sigh of relief. “It’s all one nowadays. You must excuse me, Mr.— Mr. West. I’m nervous, infernally nervous. Come along, McNeil, we must be back in Wigtown in less than an hour. Good-night, gentlemen, good-night!”
The two clambered into their places; the factor cracked his whip, and the high dog-cart clattered55 away through the darkness, casting a brilliant tunnel of yellow light on either side of it, until the rumble56 of its wheels died away in the distance.
“What do you think of our new neighbour, Jamieson?” I asked, after a long silence.
“‘Deed, Mr. West, he seems, as he says himsel’, to be vera nervous. Maybe his conscience is oot o’ order.”
“His liver, more likely,” said I. “He looks as if he had tried his constitution a bit. But it’s blowing chill, Seth, my lad, and it’s time both of us were indoors.”
I bade my companion good-night, and struck off across the moors for the cheery, ruddy light which marked the parlour windows of Branksome.
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1
dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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stuffy
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| adj.不透气的，闷热的 | |
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profusion
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| n.挥霍；丰富 | |
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ken
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| n.视野，知识领域 | |
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beeches
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| n.山毛榉( beech的名词复数 )；山毛榉木材 | |
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7
withered
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| adj. 枯萎的，干瘪的，（人身体的部分器官）因病萎缩的或未发育良好的 动词wither的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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8
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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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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moors
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| v.停泊，系泊（船只）( moor的第三人称单数 ) | |
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moor
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| n.荒野，沼泽；vt.(使)停泊；vi.停泊 | |
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12
bleak
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| adj.(天气)阴冷的；凄凉的；暗淡的 | |
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shrill
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| adj.尖声的；刺耳的；v尖叫 | |
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larches
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| n.落叶松（木材）( larch的名词复数 ) | |
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tenant
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| n.承租人；房客；佃户；v.租借，租用 | |
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16
mildewed
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| adj.发了霉的，陈腐的，长了霉花的v.（使）发霉，（使）长霉( mildew的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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17
landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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18
steer
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| vt.驾驶，为…操舵；引导；vi.驾驶 | |
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19
hubbub
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| n.嘈杂；骚乱 | |
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bustle
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| v.喧扰地忙乱，匆忙，奔忙；n.忙碌；喧闹 | |
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21
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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serenity
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| n.宁静，沉着，晴朗 | |
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pry
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| vi.窥(刺)探，打听；vt.撬动(开，起) | |
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chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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ponies
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| 矮种马，小型马( pony的名词复数 )； ￡25 25 英镑 | |
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herald
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| vt.预示...的来临，预告，宣布，欢迎 | |
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rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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29
streaks
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| n.（与周围有所不同的）条纹( streak的名词复数 )；（通常指不好的）特征（倾向）；（不断经历成功或失败的）一段时期v.快速移动( streak的第三人称单数 )；使布满条纹 | |
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30
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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turret
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| n.塔楼，角塔 | |
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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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underneath
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| adj.在...下面，在...底下；adv.在下面 | |
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ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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shutters
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| 百叶窗( shutter的名词复数 )； （照相机的）快门 | |
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piqued
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| v.伤害…的自尊心( pique的过去式和过去分词 )；激起（好奇心） | |
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stoutest
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| 粗壮的( stout的最高级 )； 结实的； 坚固的； 坚定的 | |
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gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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40
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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doggedly
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| adv.顽强地，固执地 | |
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42
wraith
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| n.幽灵；骨瘦如柴的人 | |
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43
canny
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| adj.谨慎的，节俭的 | |
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44
meddle
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| v.干预，干涉，插手 | |
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45
lugubrious
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| adj.悲哀的，忧郁的 | |
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46
slit
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| n.狭长的切口；裂缝；vt.切开，撕裂 | |
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47
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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48
gateway
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| n.大门口，出入口，途径，方法 | |
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49
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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50
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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51
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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52
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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53
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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54
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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55
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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56
rumble
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| n.隆隆声；吵嚷；v.隆隆响；低沉地说 | |
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