CHAPTER X.

Hawera & Normanby Star, Volume XLII, Issue 7464, 24 May 1902, Page 1 (Supplement)

CHAPTER X.

FOX FAVERSHAM GOES IN SEARCH OP THE TRUTH.

Faversham ate very little at breakfast the next morning, and there was a dull, heavy expression about his eyes, as if he had not slept diiringth* 'light. We talked about ordinary matters, but I could see that his mind was occupied with other thoughts. He said no more than politeness required, and once or twice apologised for not catching the substance of my remarks. The weather was sufficiently depressing; the air had suddenly become warmer, and a fine drizzling rain had begun to melt the snow. The sky was grey, and heavy black clouds were slowly coming up from the west. It was impossible to do anything with comfort out of doors, so after breakfast we went into the library and resigned ourselves to a day of inaction. I stared disconsolately out of the window, and Faversham sat gloomily in a chair by the fire with an evening paper, sent on to him from Glasgow by post, lying unopened on his knee.

"I mean to get at the truth," he said suddenly. "I have not slept all night. I have turned over a thousand thing.*} in my brain, and have arrived at no conclusion. What do you really think is the truth, Maxwell?"

I turned away from the gloomy landscape and strolled over to the fire. "Let us look at this matter calmly, Faversham," I said. "Can you consider it absolutely dispassionately? I know it will be hard."

"I think so," he replied. "At any rate I can listen to what you have to say."

"Well, let us look at the absolute faefs," I said, sitting down in a chair opposite him. "Here, on the one hand, is Miss Rawlins, the. daughter, or the alleged daughter, of Dr. Rnwlins. She does not know you, and her father does not know you. They came to Balath three years as^o, and as far an I can discover, nothing else is known about them. On the other hand, you say that three years ago

this girl was known by the name of Alice Borrodaile, that you met her in Spain, that she died, and that you saw her after she was dead." "Those are the facts," he replied quietly.

"Well," I continued, "the factswould easily agree if it were not for one point. It is quite possible shewas in Spain three years ago; it is. quite possible that Dr. Rawlins is not her father, and he does not remember you because he has never seen you. It is quite possible— in fact, it is certain — that she herself would not remember you, as she has forgotteneverything that happened beforethree years ago. It is quite possiblethat she has changed her name; all these things occur every day in life. But the one point that is inexplicable is that you saw her dead, and she is. now alive. The whole mystery boils itself down to that."

"Well?" he replied, nervously fingering some embroidery on the chair, "what is the explanation?"

"There are two or three explanations." I said. "The first is that you are mistaken in supposing her to be the same girl. The second is that you/ are mistaken in supposing that she died."

' I am mistaken on neither point,"" he said, rising- from his chair; "it isimpossible for a man to be mistaken* about two facts of that sort unless, he is mad "

"Unless he is temporarily mad, Faversham," I said gently, looking at his agitated face.

"You think I am mad," he said, as he paced up and down the room, "and* I suppose that is the third explanation? But I assure you I am not."

"I am certain you are not," I replied, "but even the sanest of us haveour delusions in moments of grief or passion, or, in fact, on any of thoseoccasions when the human mind isstirred to its lowest depths." "Well, now, I will give yoxt v an explanation," he said, and then he stopped suddenly. "Well?" I said. "It is this. The dead has been< raised to life."

"The age of miracles is over," I replied.

"Is it? he said, with a tinge of sarcasm in his voice. "I thought, Maxwell, you had tried to prove that it was not. I have read articles of yours on the subject. What, then, has been the object of your researches into the mysteries of life and death?"' "The result has been a failure." "Yet this man Dr. Eawlins has succeeded," he continued.

"He says so," I replied; "but at any rate he had not succeeded three yearsago. And you are no scientist Paversham, I am afraid; he does not claim." to have found the means of bringing" the dead to life; the dead body from the scientific point of view is living 1 matter. What he does claim to have done is to have introduced the germs of life into absolutely dead matter,, such as stone or iron — by the bye,, what about that piece of granite hegave me. I think I will have a look at it."

I rose from my chair, and goingover to a small ebony cabinet in the corner took out a glass jar andi brought it over to the window so that I_ could examine its contents in thelight. There was apparently nochange in its appearance. Then somehow or other the jar slipped through my fingers and fell with a crash to the floor. I stooped down> to pick up the broken pieces of glass,, and, to my surprise, I saw that thestone had been shattered into fragments. There was no- piece larger than a grain of wheat, and most of it had crumbled into fine dust. I called Faversham, and he picked up some of the dust in his fingers and looked at it.

"I should not care to build a houseof that stone," he said. "Faugh! What a smell?" There was a faint odour of decayed matter rising from the floor. I took up a few grains of the stone and sniffed it. The stench was horrible; it might almost have been putrid flesh.

"This is a matter worth investigation," I said, and going to the cupboard I took out my microscope and set it on the table by the window. Then I placed the powder on the glass slide, and adjusted the lens tothe right focus. As I did so I gave a cry of surprise. The small particles of stone were stirred and shifted by thousands of minute living specks no bigger than a grain of dust. The stone seemed to be almost alive. It had decayed like a piece of vegetable or animal matter.

Faversham came up and looked 1 through the eyepiece, examining the stone attentively for a minute. "And jet you say the age of miracles is over?" he said, when he had finished' his examination.

"A trick." I replied, "or else Dr. Rawlins is a greater man than I thought."

"He is more than that," Faversliam cried, "he is a devil, I tell you that Balath holds some secret; there isr something 1 extraordinary about thi» man. I guessed it when I 'first sawhim, and I am "sure of it now. You: have noticed it yourself. What is the

meaning of this poor girl's loss -of memory? Wltat i^ $ffe meaning of thfe extraordinary appearance of all'thgse monkeys in a part of the world where it is most unlikely that one has ever .been seen before? They could not all hare ~come •'over -with- sailors.** -Why. is,this man Dr. Rawlins sick with terror at the sight of them? Why is he obviously an Oriental under an assumed ■name? You have asked yourself these-questions - and- -cannot answer them. There is something wrong, Maxwell; something very wrong, j There is a secret locked up in that old ■castle; but I will tear it out, if it costs me my life, and if I have to bla/?t the walls with dynamite to get at it. And the secret is bound up with the death, •of the girl I loved, and love still." He flung himself into a chair and buried liis face in his hands.

"Let us go out for a walk, old •chap," I said; "it is better to get wet than miserable. There is no answer to these questions; there is something wrong about the whole business, and I will do my best to help you to find out the truth, though sometimes the truth is better left unknown."

"January the 13th," he said, as if speaking to himself, "January the 13th; why is the statue to be finished by that date?" "I am sure I do not know," I replied. "In any case we need not worry about it now. ,Come out and .get some fresh air." After a good deal of persuasion, 1 induced him to leave the fireside and go for a walk; but he insisted on going up into the hills to look at the wood which had been burnt. I tried to induce him to go in another direction, as I wished to keep his mmd off the matter as much as possible, but it was of no avail. He said he would either do that, or stay indoors. So we climbed the hill in the drenching rain, until we reached the wood, which was one of the most desolate .sights I have ever seen.

The trees were almost completely destroyed. Here and there a small •clump of them had escaped the general destruction, but most of the wood was simply a mass of charred stumps and ashes. Some of these were still smouldering, in spite of the •<lanip weather, and as we picked our way over the blackened ground, wo felt the earth in places still warm l;eneath our feet. But the steady rain, almost as fine as mist, was gradually beating the whole place into a wet mass of black and sodden ashes, and a faint cloud of vapour hung over everything, like a fog rising from The sea. Before we had gone very far Into this scene of desolation. Faversham stooped down, and picking up a piece of wood examined it closely. "I thought so!" he said. "I wondered why the wood burnt so well; a good deal 6f it must have been ■damp."

He handed the charred fragment to me; it was one of the staves of a barrel.

"Petroleum or tar," he said. "I expect we shall find more." He was right; we searched carefully, and found several similar pieces in differ Jiit • arts of the wood.

"Dr. Eawlins?" he said, with an en•quiring glance at me. "He noshed to make a clean job of it," I replied, "and cremate the lot. We ougnt to find some bodies." V'e looked carefully, but only found one little turned lump of skin and oons. However, Jie destruction had hem so general, and had been spread «-ver fo •manj' aces, that • ■ would have ,aken us a week to thoroughly examine and turn over the piles of fallen trunks and tangled debris. "They could hardly have escaped," •said Faversham. "I noticed that the ■fire started in several places. , These points formed a circle, and the animals were probably too terrified to •stir till they were surrounded by a ring of flames." "Let us go back, Faversham," 1 said; "this atmosphere is awful."

Indeed the place was like a Turkish bath. We were both pouring with sweat, and soaked with steam and rain; and our hands, clothes, and faces were as black as soot ; there was nothing to be gained by further •examination. Faversham was much better away from the place, and, personally, I did not much care what we found. So we left the wood, and taking a sharp walk further up the hill, we returned home another way, and .-got back to lunch at two o'clock. The footman said that in our absence Dr. Rawlins and his daughter had called, and had asked to see the statue. The man had thought that there would be no harm in allowing them to do so, as he knew that Dr. Ttawlins had purchased it. They had, he said, spent quite an hour in the studio, but could not wait until •our return.

."I wanted to see Dr. Eawlins." Faversham said. "I wish we had stayed at home, I have a few questions to ask him."

'It is perhaps better you were out, then," I replied, "for he might not have given you very pleasant answers."

"I could at any rate have seen her," he said roughly.

"If you take my advice, Faversham, you will not see her again. It will only give you pain." "It may be possible to revive the past," he answered; "who knows that it is impossible? Perhaps some voice may break through the silence, and perhaps some ray of light may pierce that awful veil. Who knows ? At •any rate one can start afresh. I may win her love again."

After dinner that evening we sat •comfortably lay the fire in the library; the house was perfectly silent,'

except *for an occasional sound of. laughtef: when a door opened into the servants' quarters. For some reason or ' otn'er % was unaccountably depressed/ Outisde the rain was pattering gently on the windows, but within, the -fire- and lamps were-.burn-ing brightly, and both Faversham and the dog were in the room with me. There was absolutely nothing in my surroundings to account for the -strange feeling- of -nervousness which ihad come over me. But I had a vague sense of something being wrong. It is not unusual, I believe, in one's experience. A man sometimes wakes \ip in the middle of the night, and a sudden idea seizes him that a burglar or some other unauthorised person is in the room. He hears no noise, but he cannot get rid of the idea, and it is not until he has lit a candle and discovered that it was only fancy, that he can get to sleep again. A similar idea haci seized me to-night. I was sure there was something in the house which ought not to be there, and I felt so restless .that only the fear of Faversham's ridicule kept me from going all over it to see what was the matter.

However, I struggled against the feeling, and turned my thoughts to the work I had just completed. Faversham was gloomy and silent, and my meditations were not interrupted. I began to recall every line and curve of the statue, and to wonder why I was so dissatisfied with it. I knew that the conception had been good, but I felt that the execution of it fell far short of what I had dreamed of. In truth, I do not suppose that any work, whether of author, artist, sculptor, or musician, has ever realised the dreams of its creator. But in this case the difference between the design and its accomplishment seemed to be almost immeasurable.

"Let us go and look at your statue," Faversham said, abruptly. He had not spoken for ten minutes, and it was curious that he should have broken in upon my thoughts with a remark that almost seemed to be suggested by them. I wondered if his mind had been travelling along the same line of thought.

"Why?" I asked sharply, as if the idea were ridiculous.

"I want to see it," he said, simply.

"Well, you can go if you like; what on earth do you want to see it for?"

He was silent, and I guessed he merely wanted to look at the face of the girl he loved. I had a suspicion thathe visited the studio every clay. I questioned him no further, but, rising- from my seat, lighted a candle, and we made our way upstairs to the studio. But, as I opened the door, a sudden draught extinguished the light, and I felt a current of air sweeping through the room. I was unable to relight the wick until I had closed the door.

Then I saw that one of the windows was wide open, and that there was a pool of water on the floor beneath it. I put the candle down, and went over to close it.

"What fool has done this?" I exclaimed, sharply. "Servants have strange ideas of ventilation," and closing the window with a crash, 1 fastened it, and looked through the glass into the garden.

"Come here!" said Faversham, suddenly. The cloth was, for some reason or other, off the statue, and was lying in a white heap on the floor; he was looking earnestly at the sculptured figure of Elaine Eawlins. I came over to his side, and he pointed to some small brown marks on the white stone. They were footprints of some small animal, and it required only a momentary glance to see that they were similar to the one I found on my book in the library. I noticed, with a feeling- of horror, that one of them was right across the beautiful mouth.

"What does this mean, Faversham?" I asked.

"It means that Dr. Eawlins was here this morning," he cried, "and no doubt this thing has followed him."

We looked at each other for a few moments in silence; then Faversham walked over to the window and stared out into the darkness; but 1 stepped back a pace or two from the statue and stood gazing fixedly at it, in the hope that some sudden flash oi' inspiration might come upon me, and that I might discover some way to remedy its faults. For quite five minutes I watched it with a glance that might have almost read the soul of any living thing. I exerted the whole power of my mind to draw the secret of my failure from its stone, and I concentrated all my will and thought on that block of marble.

Then, as I gazed, a curious thing happened. The statue gradually grew misty and faint in outline, and I felt as if I were looking into the eyes vi a mesmerist. Then it seemed to quiver and grow clear again, and as it grew more distinct I could have sworn that I saw a flicker of life pass over the face of the girl. It was probably only a delusion, for my brain was dizzy with looking so long and intently at a single object. But it seemed very real to me then, and stepping quickly back, I put up my hands to my face for a moment, and closed my eyes. When I opened them again I saw Faversham watching me.

(To be continued.)

Little Tommy Whacken was taken by his mother to choose a pair of knickerbockers, and his choice fell on a pair to which a card was attached, stating, "These can't be beaten."