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CHAPTER LIX. The Maypole cronies, little dreaming of the change
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so soon to come upon their favourite haunt, struck through
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the forest path upon their way to London, and avoiding
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the main road, which was hot and dusty, kept to
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the by-paths and the fields. As they drew nearer to
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their destination, they began to make inquiries of the people
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whom they passed, concerning the riots and the truth or
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falsehood of the stories they had heard. The answers went
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far beyond any intelligence that had spread to quiet Chigwell.
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One man told them that that afternoon the guards, conveying
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to Newgate some rioters who had been re-examined, had been
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set upon by the mob and compelled to retreat. Another,
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that the houses of two witnesses near Clare Market were
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about to be pulled down when he came away. another
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that Sir George Savelle's house in Leicester Fields was to
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be burned that night, and that it would go hard
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with Sir George if he fell into the people's hands,
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as it was he who had brought in the Catholic bill.
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All accounts agreed that the mob were out in stronger
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numbers and more numerous parties than had yet appeared, that
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the streets were unsafe, that no man's house or life
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was worth an hour's purchase, that the public consternation was
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increasing every moment, and that many families had already fled
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the city. One fellow, who wore the popular colour, damned
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them for not having cockades in their hats, and bade
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them set a good watch to-morrow night upon their prison doors,
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for the locks would have a straining. Another asked if
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they were fire-proof that they walked abroad without the distinguishing
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mark of all good and true men. And a third,
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who rode on horseback and was quite alone, ordered them
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to throw each man a shilling in his hat towards
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the support of the rioters. Although they were afraid to
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refuse compliance with this demand, and were much alarmed by
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these reports, they agreed, having come so far, to go
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forward and see the real state of things with their
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own eyes. So they pushed on quicker, as men do
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who are excited by portentous news, and, ruminating on what
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they had heard, spoke little to each other. It was
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now night, and as they came nearer to the city
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they had dismal confirmation of this intelligence in three great fires,
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all close together, which burnt fiercely and were gloomily reflected
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in the sky. Arriving in the immediate suburbs, they found
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that almost every house had chalked upon its door in
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large characters, no potpourri, that the shops were shut, and
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that alarm and anxiety were depicted in every face they passed.
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Noting these things, with a degree of apprehension which neither
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of the three cared to impart in its full extent
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to his companions, they came to a turnpike gate which
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was shut. They were passing through the turnstile on the
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path when a horseman rode up from London at a
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hard gallop and called to the toll-keeper in a voice
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of great agitation to open quickly in the name of God.
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The adjuration was so earnest and vehement that the man,
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with a lantern in his hand, came running out, toll-keeper
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though he was, and was about to throw the gate open, when,
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happening to look behind him, he exclaimed,' Good Heaven, what's that?
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Another fire?' At this the three turned their heads, and
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saw in the distance, straight in the direction whence they
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had come, a broad sheet of flame casting a threatening
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light upon the clouds, which glimmered as though the conflagration
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were behind them, and showed like a wrathful sunset. My
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mind misgives me, said the horseman, or I know from
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what far building those flames come. Don't stand aghast, my
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good fellow. Open the gate. Sir, cried the man, laying
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his hand upon his horse's bridle as he led him through,
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I know you now, sir. Be advised by me. Do
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not go on. I saw them pass, and know what
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kind of men they are. You will be murdered. So
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be it, said the horseman. looking intently towards the fire,
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and nodded him who spoke.' But, sir, sir,' cried the man,
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grasping at his rein more tightly yet,' if you do
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go on, wear the blue riband.' Here, sir,' he added,
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taking one from his own hat,' it' s necessity, not choice,
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that makes me wear it.' It' s love of life and home, sir.'
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Wear it for this one night, sir, only for this
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one night.'' Do,' cried the three friends, pressing round his horse,' Mr. Haredale,
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worthy sir, good gentleman, pray, be persuaded.'' Who' s that?' cried Mr. Hairdale,
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stooping down to look.' Did I hear Daisy's voice?'' You did, sir,'
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cried the little man.' Do be persuaded, sir. This gentleman
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says very true. Your life may hang upon it.'' Are you,'
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said Mr. Hairdale abruptly,' afraid to come with me?'' Aye, sir. No.''
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Put that ribbon in your hat. If we meet the rioters,
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swear that I took you prisoner for wearing it. I
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will tell them so with my own lips, for as
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I hope for mercy when I die—' I will take
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no quarter from them, nor shall they have quarter from
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me if we come hand to hand to-night. Up here,
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behind me, quick! Clasp me tight round the body, and
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fear nothing. In an instant they were riding away at
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full gallop in a dense cloud of dust, and speeding
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on like hunters in a dream. It was well the
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good horse knew the road he traversed, for never once, no,
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never once in all the journey did Mr. Hairdale cast
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his eyes upon the ground or turn them for an
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instant from the light towards which they sped so madly.
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Once he said in a low voice, It is my house.
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But that was the only time he spoke. When they
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came to dark and doubtful places, he never forgot to
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put his hand upon the little man to hold him
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more securely in his seat. But he kept his head
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erect and his eyes fixed on the fire, then and always.
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The road was dangerous enough, for they went the nearest way, headlong,
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far from the highway, by lonely lanes and paths, where
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wagon wheels had worn deep ruts, where hedge and ditch
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hemmed in the narrow strip of ground, and tall trees
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arching overhead made it profoundly dark. But on, on, on,
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with neither stop nor stumble, till they reached the may-pole door,
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and could plainly see that the fire began to fade
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as if for want of fuel. Down, for one moment,
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for but one moment, said Mr. Hairdale, helping Daisy to
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the ground and following himself. Will it? Will it? Where
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are my niece and servants? Will it? Crying to him distractedly,
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he rushed into the bar. The landlord bound and fastened
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to his chair, the place dismantled, stripped, and pulled about
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his ears. Nobody could have taken shelter here. He was
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a strong man, accustomed to restrain himself and suppress his
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strong emotions. But this preparation for what was to follow,
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though he had seen that fire burning and knew that
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his house must be razed to the ground, was more
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than he could bear. He covered his face with his
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hands for a moment and turned away his head.' Johnny! Johnny!'
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said Solomon, and the simple-hearted fellow cried outright and wrung
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his hands.' Oh, dear old Johnny, here's a change! The
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Maypole Bar should come to this, and we should live
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to see it! The old Warren, too, Johnny! Mr. Haredale! Oh, Johnny,
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what a piteous sight this is!' Pointing to Mr. Haredale
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as he said these words, little Solomon Daisy put his
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elbows on the back of Mr. Willett's chair and fairly
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blubbered on his shoulder. While Solomon was speaking— Old John sat,
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mute as a stockfish, staring at him with an unearthly glare,
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and displaying, by every possible symptom, entire and complete unconsciousness.
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But when Solomon was silent again, John followed with his
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great round eyes the direction of his looks, and did
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appear to have some dawning distant notion that somebody had
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come to see him.' You know us, don't you, Johnny?'
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said the little clerk, wrapping himself on the breast.' Daisy,
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you know? Chigwell Church? Bellringer?' Little desk on Sundays, eh, Johnny? Mr.
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Willett reflected for a few moments and then muttered, as
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it were mechanically, Let us sing to the praise and
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glory of— Yes, to be sure, cried the little man hastily.
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That's it. That's me, Johnny. You're all right now, ain't you?
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Say you're all right, Johnny. All right, pondered Mr. Willett,
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as if that were a matter entirely between himself and
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his conscience. All right. Ah!' They haven't been misusing you
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with sticks or pokers or any other blunt instruments, have they, Johnny?'
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asked Solomon, with a very anxious glance at Mr. Willett's head.'
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They didn't beat you, did they?' John knitted his brow,
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looked downwards, as if he were mentally engaged in some
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arithmetical calculation, then upwards, as if the total would not
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come at his call, then at Solomon Daisy, from his
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eyebrow to his shoe-buckle, then very slowly round the bar.'
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and then a great, round, leaden-looking, and not at all
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transparent tear came rolling out of each eye, and he said,
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as he shook his head, If they'd only had the
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goodness to murder me, I'd have thanked them kindly. No, no, no,
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don't say that, Johnny, whimpered his little friend. It's very,
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very bad, but not quite so bad as that. No, no.
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Looky here, sir, cried John, turning his rueful eyes on Mr. Hairdale,
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who had dropped on one knee and was hastily beginning
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to untie his bonds. Lookie here, sir, the very maypole,
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the old dumb maypole, stares in at the winder, as
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if it said, John Willett, John Willett, let's go and
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pitch ourselves in the nighest pool of water as is
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deep enough to hold us, for our day is over. Don't, Johnny, don't,
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cried his friend, no less affected with this mournful effort
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of Mr. Willett's imagination than by the sepulchral tone in
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which he had spoken of the maypole. Please don't, Johnny.
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Your loss is great, and your misfortune a heavy one,
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said Mr. Hairedale, looking restlessly towards the door and this
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is not a time to comfort you if it were
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i am in no condition to do so before i
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leave you tell me one thing and try to tell
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me plainly i implore you have you seen or heard
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of emma no said mr Willett. Nor anyone but these bloodhounds? No.
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They rode away, I trust, in heaven, before these dreadful
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scenes began, said Mr. Hairdale, who, between his agitation, his
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eagerness to mount his horse again, and the dexterity with
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which the cords were tied, had scarcely yet undone one knot.
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A knife, Daisy. You didn't. said John, looking about as
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though he had lost his pocket-handkerchief or some such slight article.'
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Either of you gentlemen see a coffin anywheres, did you?''
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Will it!' cried Mr. Hairedale. Solomon dropped the knife, and
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instantly becoming limp from head to foot, exclaimed,' Good gracious!'' Because,'
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said John, not at all regarding them,' a dead man
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called a little time ago on his way yonder.' I
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could have told you what name was on the plate'
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if he had brought his coffin with him and left
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it behind.' If he didn't, it don't signify. His landlord,
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who had listened to these words with breathless attention, started
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that moment to his feet, and without a word drew
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Solomon Daisy to the door, mounted his horse, took him
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up behind again, and flew, rather than gallop, towards the
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pile of ruins, which that day's sun had shone upon,
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a stately house. Mr. Willett stared after them, listened, looked
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down upon himself to make quite sure that he was
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still unbound, and without any manifestation of impatience, disappointment, or surprise,
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gently relapsed into the condition from which he had so
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imperfectly recovered. Mr. Hairdale tied his horse to the trunk
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of a tree, and, grasping his companion's arm, stole softly
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along the footpath and into what had been the garden
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of his house. He stopped for an instant to look
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upon its smoking walls and at the stars that shone
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through roof and floor upon the heap of crumbling ashes.
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Solomon glanced timidly in his face but his lips were
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tightly pressed together. A resolute and stern expression sat upon
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his brow, and not a tear, a look, or gesture
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indicating grief escaped him. He drew his sword, felt for
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a moment in his breast as though he carried other
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arms about him, then, grasping Solomon by the wrist again,
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went with a cautious step all round the house. He
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looked into every doorway and gap in the wall, retraced
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his steps at every rustling of the air among the leaves,
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and searched in every shadowed nook with outstretched hands. Thus
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they made the circuit of the building, but they returned
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to the spot from which they had set out without
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encountering any human being or finding the least trace of
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any concealed straggler. After a short pause, Mr. Hairdale shouted
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twice or thrice, then cried aloud, Is there anyone in
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hiding here who knows my voice? There is nothing to
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fear now. If any of my people are near, I
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entreat them to answer. He called them all by name.
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His voice was echoed in many mournful tones. Then all
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was silent as before. They were standing near the foot
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of the turret where the alarm bell hung. The fire
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had raged there, and the floors had been sawn and
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hewn and beaten down besides. It was open to the night,
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but a part of the staircase still remained, winding upward
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from a great mound of dust and cinders. Fragments of
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the jagged and broken steps offered an insecure and giddy
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footing here and there, and then were lost again behind
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protruding angles of the wall or in the deep shadows
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cast upon it by other portions of the ruin. for
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by this time the moon had risen and shone brightly.
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As they stood here, listening to the echoes as they
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died away, and hoping in vain to hear a voice
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they knew, some of the ashes in this turret slipped
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and rolled down. Startled by the least noise in that
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melancholy place, Solomon looked up in his companion's face and
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saw that he had turned towards the spot and that
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he watched and listened keenly. He covered the little man's
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mouth with his hand and looked again. Instantly, with kindling eyes,
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he bade him on his life keep still, and neither
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speak nor move. Then holding his breath and stooping down,
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he stole into the turret with his drawn sword in
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his hand and disappeared. Terrified to be left there by
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himself under such desolate circumstances, and after all he had
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seen and heard that night, Solomon would have followed. But
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there had been something in Mr. Haerdale's manner and his look,
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the recollection of which held him spellbound. He stood rooted
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to the spot, and, scarcely venturing to breathe, looked up
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with mingled fear and wonder. Again the ashes slipped and rolled, very,
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very softly, again and then again, as though they crumbled
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underneath the tread of a stealthy foot. And now a
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figure was dimly visible, climbing very softly, and often stopping
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to look down. Now it pursued its difficult way, and
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now it was hidden from the view again. It emerged
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once more into the shadowy and uncertain light, Higher now,
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but not much, for the way was steep and toilsome,
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and its progress very slow. What phantom of the brain
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did he pursue? And why did he look down so constantly?
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He knew he was alone. Surely his mind was not
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affected by that night's loss and agony. He was not
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about to throw himself headlong from the summit of the
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tottering wall. Solomon turned sick and clasped his hands. His
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limbs trembled beneath him, and a cold sweat broke out
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upon his pallid face. IF HE COMPLIED WITH MR. HAIRDALE'S
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LAST INJUNCTION NOW, IT WAS BECAUSE HE HAD NOT THE
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POWER TO SPEAK OR MOVE. HE STRAINED HIS GAZE AND
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FIXED IT ON A PATCH OF MOONLIGHT, INTO WHICH, IF
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HE CONTINUED TO ASCEND, HE MUST SOON EMERGE. WHEN HE
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APPEARED THERE, HE WOULD TRY TO CALL TO HIM. AGAIN
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THE ASHES SLIPPED AND CRUMBLED. SOME STONES ROLLED DOWN AND
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FELL WITH A DULL, HEAVY SOUND UPON THE GROUND BELOW.
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HE KEPT HIS EYES UPON THE PIECE OF MOONLIGHT. The
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figure was coming on, for its shadow was already thrown
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upon the wall. Now it appeared, and now looked round
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at him, and now... The horror-stricken clerk uttered a scream
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that pierced the air and cried, The ghost! The ghost!
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Long before the echo of his cry had died away,
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another form rushed out into the light, flung itself upon
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the foremost one, knelt down upon its breast, and clutched
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its throat with both hands. Villain! cried Mr. Hairdale in
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a terrible voice, for it was he, dead and buried,
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as all men supposed, through your infernal arts, but reserved
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by Heaven for this, at last, at last I have you,
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you whose hands are red with my brother's blood and
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that of his faithful servant, shed to conceal your own
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atrocious guilt, you, rudge, double murderer and monster, I arrest
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you in the name of God who has delivered you
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into my hands. No, though you had the strength of
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twenty men, he added, as the murderer writhed and struggled,
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You could not escape me or loosen my grasp to-night.
1
00:00:02.180 --> 00:00:16.019
CHAPTER LIX. The Maypole cronies, little dreaming of the change
2
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so soon to come upon their favourite haunt, struck through
3
00:00:19.210 --> 00:00:22.390
the forest path upon their way to London, and avoiding
4
00:00:22.410 --> 00:00:25.230
the main road, which was hot and dusty, kept to
5
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the by-paths and the fields. As they drew nearer to
6
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their destination, they began to make inquiries of the people
7
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whom they passed, concerning the riots and the truth or
8
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falsehood of the stories they had heard. The answers went
9
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far beyond any intelligence that had spread to quiet Chigwell.
10
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One man told them that that afternoon the guards, conveying
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to Newgate some rioters who had been re-examined, had been
12
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set upon by the mob and compelled to retreat. Another,
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that the houses of two witnesses near Clare Market were
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about to be pulled down when he came away. another
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that Sir George Savelle's house in Leicester Fields was to
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be burned that night, and that it would go hard
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with Sir George if he fell into the people's hands,
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as it was he who had brought in the Catholic bill.
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All accounts agreed that the mob were out in stronger
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numbers and more numerous parties than had yet appeared, that
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the streets were unsafe, that no man's house or life
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was worth an hour's purchase, that the public consternation was
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increasing every moment, and that many families had already fled
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the city. One fellow, who wore the popular colour, damned
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them for not having cockades in their hats, and bade
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them set a good watch to-morrow night upon their prison doors,
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for the locks would have a straining. Another asked if
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they were fire-proof that they walked abroad without the distinguishing
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mark of all good and true men. And a third,
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who rode on horseback and was quite alone, ordered them
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to throw each man a shilling in his hat towards
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the support of the rioters. Although they were afraid to
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refuse compliance with this demand, and were much alarmed by
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these reports, they agreed, having come so far, to go
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forward and see the real state of things with their
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own eyes. So they pushed on quicker, as men do
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who are excited by portentous news, and, ruminating on what
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they had heard, spoke little to each other. It was
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now night, and as they came nearer to the city
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they had dismal confirmation of this intelligence in three great fires,
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all close together, which burnt fiercely and were gloomily reflected
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in the sky. Arriving in the immediate suburbs, they found
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that almost every house had chalked upon its door in
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large characters, no potpourri, that the shops were shut, and
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that alarm and anxiety were depicted in every face they passed.
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Noting these things, with a degree of apprehension which neither
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of the three cared to impart in its full extent
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to his companions, they came to a turnpike gate which
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was shut. They were passing through the turnstile on the
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path when a horseman rode up from London at a
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hard gallop and called to the toll-keeper in a voice
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of great agitation to open quickly in the name of God.
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The adjuration was so earnest and vehement that the man,
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with a lantern in his hand, came running out, toll-keeper
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though he was, and was about to throw the gate open, when,
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happening to look behind him, he exclaimed,' Good Heaven, what's that?
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Another fire?' At this the three turned their heads, and
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saw in the distance, straight in the direction whence they
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had come, a broad sheet of flame casting a threatening
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light upon the clouds, which glimmered as though the conflagration
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were behind them, and showed like a wrathful sunset. My
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mind misgives me, said the horseman, or I know from
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what far building those flames come. Don't stand aghast, my
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good fellow. Open the gate. Sir, cried the man, laying
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his hand upon his horse's bridle as he led him through,
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I know you now, sir. Be advised by me. Do
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not go on. I saw them pass, and know what
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kind of men they are. You will be murdered. So
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be it, said the horseman. looking intently towards the fire,
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and nodded him who spoke.' But, sir, sir,' cried the man,
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grasping at his rein more tightly yet,' if you do
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go on, wear the blue riband.' Here, sir,' he added,
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taking one from his own hat,' it' s necessity, not choice,
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that makes me wear it.' It' s love of life and home, sir.'
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Wear it for this one night, sir, only for this
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one night.'' Do,' cried the three friends, pressing round his horse,' Mr. Haredale,
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worthy sir, good gentleman, pray, be persuaded.'' Who' s that?' cried Mr. Hairdale,
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stooping down to look.' Did I hear Daisy's voice?'' You did, sir,'
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cried the little man.' Do be persuaded, sir. This gentleman
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says very true. Your life may hang upon it.'' Are you,'
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said Mr. Hairdale abruptly,' afraid to come with me?'' Aye, sir. No.''
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Put that ribbon in your hat. If we meet the rioters,
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swear that I took you prisoner for wearing it. I
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will tell them so with my own lips, for as
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I hope for mercy when I die—' I will take
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no quarter from them, nor shall they have quarter from
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me if we come hand to hand to-night. Up here,
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behind me, quick! Clasp me tight round the body, and
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fear nothing. In an instant they were riding away at
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full gallop in a dense cloud of dust, and speeding
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on like hunters in a dream. It was well the
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good horse knew the road he traversed, for never once, no,
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never once in all the journey did Mr. Hairdale cast
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his eyes upon the ground or turn them for an
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instant from the light towards which they sped so madly.
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Once he said in a low voice, It is my house.
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But that was the only time he spoke. When they
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came to dark and doubtful places, he never forgot to
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put his hand upon the little man to hold him
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more securely in his seat. But he kept his head
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erect and his eyes fixed on the fire, then and always.
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The road was dangerous enough, for they went the nearest way, headlong,
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far from the highway, by lonely lanes and paths, where
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wagon wheels had worn deep ruts, where hedge and ditch
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hemmed in the narrow strip of ground, and tall trees
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arching overhead made it profoundly dark. But on, on, on,
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with neither stop nor stumble, till they reached the may-pole door,
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and could plainly see that the fire began to fade
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as if for want of fuel. Down, for one moment,
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for but one moment, said Mr. Hairdale, helping Daisy to
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the ground and following himself. Will it? Will it? Where
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are my niece and servants? Will it? Crying to him distractedly,
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he rushed into the bar. The landlord bound and fastened
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to his chair, the place dismantled, stripped, and pulled about
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his ears. Nobody could have taken shelter here. He was
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a strong man, accustomed to restrain himself and suppress his
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strong emotions. But this preparation for what was to follow,
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though he had seen that fire burning and knew that
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his house must be razed to the ground, was more
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than he could bear. He covered his face with his
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hands for a moment and turned away his head.' Johnny! Johnny!'
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said Solomon, and the simple-hearted fellow cried outright and wrung
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his hands.' Oh, dear old Johnny, here's a change! The
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Maypole Bar should come to this, and we should live
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to see it! The old Warren, too, Johnny! Mr. Haredale! Oh, Johnny,
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what a piteous sight this is!' Pointing to Mr. Haredale
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as he said these words, little Solomon Daisy put his
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elbows on the back of Mr. Willett's chair and fairly
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blubbered on his shoulder. While Solomon was speaking— Old John sat,
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mute as a stockfish, staring at him with an unearthly glare,
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and displaying, by every possible symptom, entire and complete unconsciousness.
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But when Solomon was silent again, John followed with his
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great round eyes the direction of his looks, and did
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appear to have some dawning distant notion that somebody had
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come to see him.' You know us, don't you, Johnny?'
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said the little clerk, wrapping himself on the breast.' Daisy,
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you know? Chigwell Church? Bellringer?' Little desk on Sundays, eh, Johnny? Mr.
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Willett reflected for a few moments and then muttered, as
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it were mechanically, Let us sing to the praise and
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glory of— Yes, to be sure, cried the little man hastily.
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That's it. That's me, Johnny. You're all right now, ain't you?
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Say you're all right, Johnny. All right, pondered Mr. Willett,
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as if that were a matter entirely between himself and
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his conscience. All right. Ah!' They haven't been misusing you
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with sticks or pokers or any other blunt instruments, have they, Johnny?'
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asked Solomon, with a very anxious glance at Mr. Willett's head.'
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They didn't beat you, did they?' John knitted his brow,
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looked downwards, as if he were mentally engaged in some
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arithmetical calculation, then upwards, as if the total would not
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come at his call, then at Solomon Daisy, from his
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eyebrow to his shoe-buckle, then very slowly round the bar.'
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and then a great, round, leaden-looking, and not at all
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transparent tear came rolling out of each eye, and he said,
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as he shook his head, If they'd only had the
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goodness to murder me, I'd have thanked them kindly. No, no, no,
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don't say that, Johnny, whimpered his little friend. It's very,
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very bad, but not quite so bad as that. No, no.
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Looky here, sir, cried John, turning his rueful eyes on Mr. Hairdale,
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who had dropped on one knee and was hastily beginning
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to untie his bonds. Lookie here, sir, the very maypole,
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the old dumb maypole, stares in at the winder, as
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if it said, John Willett, John Willett, let's go and
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pitch ourselves in the nighest pool of water as is
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deep enough to hold us, for our day is over. Don't, Johnny, don't,
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cried his friend, no less affected with this mournful effort
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of Mr. Willett's imagination than by the sepulchral tone in
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which he had spoken of the maypole. Please don't, Johnny.
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Your loss is great, and your misfortune a heavy one,
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said Mr. Hairedale, looking restlessly towards the door and this
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is not a time to comfort you if it were
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i am in no condition to do so before i
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leave you tell me one thing and try to tell
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me plainly i implore you have you seen or heard
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of emma no said mr Willett. Nor anyone but these bloodhounds? No.
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They rode away, I trust, in heaven, before these dreadful
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scenes began, said Mr. Hairdale, who, between his agitation, his
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eagerness to mount his horse again, and the dexterity with
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which the cords were tied, had scarcely yet undone one knot.
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A knife, Daisy. You didn't. said John, looking about as
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though he had lost his pocket-handkerchief or some such slight article.'
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Either of you gentlemen see a coffin anywheres, did you?''
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Will it!' cried Mr. Hairedale. Solomon dropped the knife, and
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instantly becoming limp from head to foot, exclaimed,' Good gracious!'' Because,'
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said John, not at all regarding them,' a dead man
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called a little time ago on his way yonder.' I
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could have told you what name was on the plate'
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if he had brought his coffin with him and left
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it behind.' If he didn't, it don't signify. His landlord,
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who had listened to these words with breathless attention, started
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that moment to his feet, and without a word drew
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Solomon Daisy to the door, mounted his horse, took him
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up behind again, and flew, rather than gallop, towards the
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pile of ruins, which that day's sun had shone upon,
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a stately house. Mr. Willett stared after them, listened, looked
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down upon himself to make quite sure that he was
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still unbound, and without any manifestation of impatience, disappointment, or surprise,
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gently relapsed into the condition from which he had so
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imperfectly recovered. Mr. Hairdale tied his horse to the trunk
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of a tree, and, grasping his companion's arm, stole softly
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along the footpath and into what had been the garden
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of his house. He stopped for an instant to look
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upon its smoking walls and at the stars that shone
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through roof and floor upon the heap of crumbling ashes.
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Solomon glanced timidly in his face but his lips were
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tightly pressed together. A resolute and stern expression sat upon
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his brow, and not a tear, a look, or gesture
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indicating grief escaped him. He drew his sword, felt for
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a moment in his breast as though he carried other
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arms about him, then, grasping Solomon by the wrist again,
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went with a cautious step all round the house. He
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looked into every doorway and gap in the wall, retraced
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his steps at every rustling of the air among the leaves,
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and searched in every shadowed nook with outstretched hands. Thus
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they made the circuit of the building, but they returned
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to the spot from which they had set out without
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encountering any human being or finding the least trace of
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any concealed straggler. After a short pause, Mr. Hairdale shouted
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twice or thrice, then cried aloud, Is there anyone in
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hiding here who knows my voice? There is nothing to
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fear now. If any of my people are near, I
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entreat them to answer. He called them all by name.
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His voice was echoed in many mournful tones. Then all
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was silent as before. They were standing near the foot
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of the turret where the alarm bell hung. The fire
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had raged there, and the floors had been sawn and
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hewn and beaten down besides. It was open to the night,
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but a part of the staircase still remained, winding upward
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from a great mound of dust and cinders. Fragments of
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the jagged and broken steps offered an insecure and giddy
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footing here and there, and then were lost again behind
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protruding angles of the wall or in the deep shadows
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cast upon it by other portions of the ruin. for
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by this time the moon had risen and shone brightly.
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As they stood here, listening to the echoes as they
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died away, and hoping in vain to hear a voice
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they knew, some of the ashes in this turret slipped
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and rolled down. Startled by the least noise in that
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melancholy place, Solomon looked up in his companion's face and
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saw that he had turned towards the spot and that
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he watched and listened keenly. He covered the little man's
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mouth with his hand and looked again. Instantly, with kindling eyes,
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he bade him on his life keep still, and neither
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speak nor move. Then holding his breath and stooping down,
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he stole into the turret with his drawn sword in
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his hand and disappeared. Terrified to be left there by
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himself under such desolate circumstances, and after all he had
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seen and heard that night, Solomon would have followed. But
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there had been something in Mr. Haerdale's manner and his look,
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the recollection of which held him spellbound. He stood rooted
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to the spot, and, scarcely venturing to breathe, looked up
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with mingled fear and wonder. Again the ashes slipped and rolled, very,
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very softly, again and then again, as though they crumbled
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underneath the tread of a stealthy foot. And now a
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figure was dimly visible, climbing very softly, and often stopping
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to look down. Now it pursued its difficult way, and
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now it was hidden from the view again. It emerged
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once more into the shadowy and uncertain light, Higher now,
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but not much, for the way was steep and toilsome,
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and its progress very slow. What phantom of the brain
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did he pursue? And why did he look down so constantly?
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He knew he was alone. Surely his mind was not
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affected by that night's loss and agony. He was not
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about to throw himself headlong from the summit of the
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tottering wall. Solomon turned sick and clasped his hands. His
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limbs trembled beneath him, and a cold sweat broke out
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upon his pallid face. IF HE COMPLIED WITH MR. HAIRDALE'S
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LAST INJUNCTION NOW, IT WAS BECAUSE HE HAD NOT THE
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POWER TO SPEAK OR MOVE. HE STRAINED HIS GAZE AND
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FIXED IT ON A PATCH OF MOONLIGHT, INTO WHICH, IF
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HE CONTINUED TO ASCEND, HE MUST SOON EMERGE. WHEN HE
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APPEARED THERE, HE WOULD TRY TO CALL TO HIM. AGAIN
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THE ASHES SLIPPED AND CRUMBLED. SOME STONES ROLLED DOWN AND
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FELL WITH A DULL, HEAVY SOUND UPON THE GROUND BELOW.
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HE KEPT HIS EYES UPON THE PIECE OF MOONLIGHT. The
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figure was coming on, for its shadow was already thrown
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upon the wall. Now it appeared, and now looked round
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at him, and now... The horror-stricken clerk uttered a scream
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that pierced the air and cried, The ghost! The ghost!
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Long before the echo of his cry had died away,
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another form rushed out into the light, flung itself upon
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the foremost one, knelt down upon its breast, and clutched
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its throat with both hands. Villain! cried Mr. Hairdale in
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a terrible voice, for it was he, dead and buried,
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as all men supposed, through your infernal arts, but reserved
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by Heaven for this, at last, at last I have you,
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you whose hands are red with my brother's blood and
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that of his faithful servant, shed to conceal your own
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atrocious guilt, you, rudge, double murderer and monster, I arrest
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you in the name of God who has delivered you
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into my hands. No, though you had the strength of
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twenty men, he added, as the murderer writhed and struggled,
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You could not escape me or loosen my grasp to-night.
