SHORT STORY.

Bruce Herald, Volume XLIX, Issue 50, 23 June 1913, Page 4

SHORT STORY.

"WHO SHALL SAY?"

"I'm sorry, but really I can find no latural physical cause for your present ;ondition of health." Sir lirnest VVa/tts :ose, and, standing with his back to ihe fireplace, swung his glasses, diejonding from a black silk cord, mediwitively to and frc. The patioM rose, and as ho did bo >aught at a table as though for support. "You give! me no hope of recovery P" Sir Ernest cleared his tiliroat. "You bell me that there has never been any tiervoua difieaso in your family, that all your life you have been a strong, liealthy man, and now suddenly, and apparently unaccountably, for the last six months you have suffered from an I insomnia so persistent that no drug has been able to overcome it. Really, Mr Ohetwood, your case is the most baffling and mysterious I have ever dealt with." Ohetwood reeled across the room like a drunken man, and confronted the physician with wild eyes in a thin face oeroxt oi any on coior. He spoKe oiuoKi.y. "Uoud heavens, man! do you underhand wjut this is driving mo mad—umiit. wiwmi a tew weeks i shall bo put mto an asylum, and strangers will be urougnt to seo um tus an interesting uaaer:'' ... . . lie laughed, broke oil into a sob, ana burnetii away, coveraiig aiis nice with his lianas. "xor on-u nour'e sleep," ne oriwl. "Ohi Godl" involuntarily the physician sliuddered. "Compose yourself, my poor fellow, no said; "try .these throe remedies 1 iiave given you, and in which i have c.nu greatest laith, and come back to iiio iu a iew days' time a better maai — a bettor man, I'm convinced." Cnetwood made his way unsteadily to the door and out into tne street. Just us ijir Ernest sat down at his desK, t<he front door bell rang, and, pushing past the servant, Uhetwood ran into the room and dropped, gasping and shuddering, into a cnair. His breaith was coming in long gaeps. ihe doctor rose, mixed something m a glass, and forced him to swallow it; when he had done so his breathing became quieter, and ail the strained muscles seemed to relax. •Ho began to speak. "Listen,'' he said; "I oain't bear i. any longer, i swore to myself that no one should ever know; that no one should over have the chance of thinking me a lunatic suheriug from illusions; but, my bod I 1 cant bear it any longer. 1 ' "Toll me," the doctor said, quietly. "Very well. A month ago i was holding a commission in the Guards. I was popular m ,my regiment, cheerful, mentally energetic, and physically indefatigable. Then my father died, leaving me a fortune; my mother, too, was dead—died in some accident about the time of my birth, and having no brothers or sisters i was practically alone in the world. "Shortly after my father s death a curious change oame over me, the cause oi which I will tell you later. Try as ! i would, 1 could not hid© a certain gloominess of spirit that settled on me, and soon life, among men who only saw in my melancholy a source of jest, 'became entirely impossible. I sent in my papers and left the regiment. ••Then I travelled, but it was of no avail, my nerves grew worse, and insomnia gained on ine. Now, Ico not expect you to believe what 1 am going to coll you, but to me it is a diaymare and a nightmare—a reality. "This night I woke up suddenly, for an apparent reason, and the event was strange enough to cause ma to turn on the light and ilook at the time. It was exactly 2.45. 'llhen in the distance i heard faintly the sharp sound of a horse's hoofs and the light rumble o» wheels; it oaine nearer, and with it there was a peculiar thud, as though a spring had given way. I don't know why this very common incident should have arrested my attention, but it did] sufficiently to cause me to go to tht window and look out; the noise was very distinct and close at hand. lh< horse was evidently coming on at a good pace and tapping the road smartly. X looked out—l could see each way for nearly half a mile; the road lay white -in the moonlight, absolutely de-sea-ted. "Yet it seemed as though the sounds I heard were actually passing by, anc I stood there until they hiad fadec awiay into the distance. I wont bacli to bod, but not to sleep. "There was absolutely nothing to account for my aural illusion, no side turnings to the long r<sad —nothing The next night the same thing exaotlj bapepned. i woke up at 2.45, I hoarc a norae and what sounded like a lifc. 1 vehicle, such as a trap, coming alt the .road. I went to the window; grew nearer, passed, faded <away, . o 1 could see nothing, and I spent rest of the night turning and tosomg on my bed. "The next when I woke up at the same time, I rushed to Cyril fivorard's room —he was my pal. I roused him and dragged him into my room, much to his -astonishent. " 'Listen," I asked him anxiously, 'listen, do you hear anything?' "He was silent while I heard the clattering and bumping go past. 'Not a thing,' he assured me; 'what's the matter, nightmare?' 'Yes, nightmare,' I answered; 'forgive me for waking you up,' and he went black to his room. "I won't go into (the inaredible monotonous horror of the subsequent months; suffice it when I tell you that all my days were, and are, an anticipated torture for the nights to come. "There is only one slight thread of coincidence in my ghastly story, but that has not the slightest connecting link with it. I remember my father telling me that I was born at 2.45 in the morning. Thank you for letting me talk to you; I am feeling calmer. But in God's name, what aim I to do?"

Sir Ernest Watt's face betrayed an emotion that he was not ashamed to display. "I don't pretend to understand," he said, "but believe me, I d*> noit scoff. I ask you one favor, for I am determined to see this thing through.—let me spend the night with you.'' _ " "No, no, I can't,' Onetwood said, getting up; "I have .never bad anyone with me, I lhave never diared." "Well, make up your mind to -have me, for I aim net going to leave you to-night."

It was well past midnight, and the great Hiarl<jy-street < physician sat with Malcolm Ohetwood in his rooms. They had talked long together on overy subject but the one uppermost in each man's mind.

Sir Ernest was astonished at the intellectual capacity and brilliance of the man whoso body and soul and mind were being utterly degraded by tihie horror of the nameless Fear tibat blaunted him. At 2 o'clock the two men were engaged in » political discussion, and in the ii»at of the argument Ghetwood deemed to regain much, of lids lost vigor and youth v Earlier in the evening Sir Ernest had taken advantage of Ohetwood'e temporary absence from t/he room to advance the clock a quarter of an hour. The discussion came to an end, and it struck the half-hour. ,

"You see," said (Sir Ernest, alluding to the subject for the first time, "it is 2.30 and nothing has happened, has itP"

A gleam of hope flickered in Ohetwood's eyes. "Well,'' he answered, "it is the first time I have heard the clock strike 2.30 without a ghastly hand of terror clutching at ray heart. Sir Ernest, you are a miracle-worker. I drink to you. He crossed the room, mixed himself and the doctor a couple of drinks, 'and began to refill hia pipe. "How still it is I and the words sounded as though he were speaking to Sir Ernest was watching him closely; ho saw a long shudder go through Ohetwood's body, and his face was oontorted into an evil mask of fear. "Godl" he cried, and sat staring in front of Ihim with unseeing eyes. For a few seconds there was silence, while only the ticking of the clock could be heard, and then Ohetwood started from his chair, raving and cursing like a madman. "Listen," he screamed, "don't you hear it, the horse —and the thud of that wheel? If there is a God, where is He? I am going mad." He leapt across tine room to the piano and played loudly, crashing cords on it; then, with his fingers pressed' to his oars, he ran round the room, knocking over a, table with a great china bowl on it that fell, shivering into a thousand pieces. Suddenly he stood stock still. "I know what I will do. Why have I never thought of it before? I will go and meet it; I will stop it; 1 will curse it as it passes by.'' . He ran to the door, but the doctor caught hold of him; his own heart throbbing wildly, and a cold sweat ran down his face. "Don't go," lie shouted to the straggling man.; "you shan't go. Don't go, I tell you." . Chetwood, with the peculiar violence of strength that madmen can assume, wrenched himself 'free and flew down tiie stairs. ' Sir Ernest followed. , For a moment he saw Ohetwood standing in the middle of the road, with arms extended, palms pressed outward as though pushing something from him; the next moment he fell over and lay motionless. ■ < A policeman who happened to come round the corner at that moment helped Sir Ernest to carry him into the house, and together they undressed him and laid him on the bed. Across his heart and above his knees w©r© t/ho marks of whosls in livid li&©s up the flesh., and on the stomtaoh were two imprints of a horse's hoofs. "A terrible case. How old did you say he was?" "Twenty-eight." "And his naimeP" "Malcolm Ohetwood.' "How curious." "What is curious?" . Sir Ernest Watts spoke testily to his medioal confrere; his nerves were not what they had been. 1 * ]\l ©rely tih is>' 1 tho oth 6r answ©red \ "28* years ago, 1 remember it particularly distinctly, I was called to attend a dying woman. Her name was Ohetwood. She was driving home in her own dogcart, when the spring broke and threw the poor lady out. Though her injuries were slight, the shock was too much for her, 'and she died giving birth to a prematurely-born son. Coincidence, isn't it? . . » By the way, Watts, what is the report on that Lister treatment?"—D. 0. F. Harding, in 'The World.'