TALES & SKETCHES.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 764, 22 October 1886, Page 7

TALES & SKETCHES.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.] THE WISE WOMETST

INVERNESS.

A Tale BY WILLIAM BLACK,

Author of ‘Macleod of Dare,’ ‘Judith Shakespeare,’ White Wings,’ ‘ Princess of Thule,’ &c., &c. ;

CHAPTER IV. The Working of the Charm,

At nine o’clock that night the moon was not yet over the chimney-tops ; and this little thoroughfare that he sought with stealthy step and anxious look was dark and solitary enough. And well he wished himself out of Inverness, and back home ; at Fasslie he could take safe and leisurely precautions to avoid observation ; here he knew pot what silent foot might be following him, what unseen eye might be upon him ; nor yet what fell enchantment might not be hovering around this very house that he was about to visit. He was a little before the appointed hour ; he walked round by the quay and back again ; and ever his attention was fixed on that particular window, where a dull red light shone What was it that made that light look baleful and sinister ? He wished this business was over, and himself back at Fasslie .Farm.

So far as he could perceive he was quite unobserved as lie finally went up to the house, tapped lightly, and was admitted. Not a word was spoken by the taller of the two women, who received him as on the previous occasion ; she merely opened the door of the back room, and shut it behind him when he had entered. And the next moment his startled glance fell upon something that was lying there on the table—something that made him shiver, though he had never seen the like before; for the waxen image that lay amongst some cotton fitted into a small box, however rudely it may have been fashioned, seemed to him like a corpse, and to have the cold, clammy, clayey look of a corpse. He turned to the old woman, dreading to find her eyes fixed on him and reading alike his desires and his fears ; but her face was away from him ; she was staring blankly into the fire. >‘ Ay, and what now, good wife ?’ said he, pretending not to have seen that ghastly object lying there. ‘ It’s ready for ye,’ said she, and she turned and glanced at the table. ‘ There is that that will make a sick man of him, and syne a dead man. Ay, that’s the sure way, surer than the talisman that Willox the Warlock cut frae the Kelpie’s mouth.’ ‘And when will it begin to work, good wife ?’ said he anxiously. ‘ Maybe he’s in Inverness at this minute ; maybe he’ll no wait for the young lass to come from the farm ; maybe he’ll go to the lawyers and make mischief ere he can be stopped. WTien will it begin to work, tell me ; when will he fall ill ?’

‘ As soon as ever that wax is put to the fire and begins to melt,’ said she, ‘ then the sickness will strike into him. It’s a dreadful thing to think of—a young man in the prime and health o’ life— ’ ‘ Ay, hut such a scoundrel as ye ne’er heard of,’ he said, eagerly, for he did not wish her to repent of her connivance : perhaps she might recall the charm at the last moment. * I tell ye, ye do well to work harm on such % woj-thless, mischievous fellow—ay, a rascal that would rob an old man, and steal away a lass from her proper home, and seek to get hold of her money to spend it on riotous living. Na, na, dinna fash your head about that, good wife; he deserves all he’ll get and mair. It’s a good job ye’ve done.’ And then he turned to the table, and regarded the rudely-shaped little effigy. ‘ And, maun I keep it at the fire melting aud melting to the end?’ said he, for now that the means were within his reach, he seemed impatient to begin. ‘ No, no,’ she answered him. ‘ Three days must go by ; and if at the end o' the third day it s no melted away, then into the tire with it—poor young fellow, that will be his death-hour.’

‘ But when I take away the wax frae the fire, will the illness stop ?’ he asked. ‘ No, no ; when ye take the wax frae the fire it will harden ; but when once a man is struck with a pining, that holds him—ay, until it’s time for the tramp o’ the coffin men to be heard on the stair.’ ‘ And no matter where he is, will this reach him V he said. i - , .

‘ Ay, whether he is on sea or land, far or near, in a rich man’s house or in a poor, when the wax is put to the fire, then the pining and wasting begins, and every time ye put a needle into the wax, that is a pain going through his heart. Bethink ye, sir, what ye are doing, and spare him if 3'ou can, My sister and me are poor folk, and it’s ill to get a living in such hard times as these ; and I’m sure we would rather keep to the sewing if my eyes were no so bad. It’s no my own will that I would meddle wi’ such things as that. I wouldna harm a living soul.’ He seemed to pay no heed to these pleadings, except in so far as they tended to confirm his belief in the deadly power of this instrument she had made for him ; and now —but with rather uncertain fingers—he had taken the box in his hand.

‘ But what’s this, good wife ?’ he said, suddenly. ‘What color is this box? Green, surely ? Ay, that will never do at all ; ye’ll have to get me another box ; there’ll be no good luck to me or mine if I take aught of that color into the house. Bless me, it’s a wonder I noticed it in candle light.’ ‘ There’s not another box of the kind, but or hen,’ said she. * Well, well,’ said he, ‘ I’ll take it with me as it is, and get another ere I set out for home in the morning ’ —and with that he put the lid on, and tied a bit of string round it, aud 'Was ready to go.

, ‘ But ye’re no leaving us that way,’ said j she with a kind of feeble, whining remonstrance, * after all our trouble. We’re poor, poor folk, my sister and me ; and what with the police, and the fiscal, and the neighbors spying on us, and glad to say an ill word when they can, it’s a hard struggle to. live. And this practising on a man s life, that we risk the gallows by, is that not to be paid for ?’

‘But I’ve given ye four pounds, woman !’ he said, angrily. And then he quickly bethought him that this was not the tone in which to address one who might turn these very powers against himself. 0

‘ But dinna let’s quarrel,’ said he. ‘No, no; see here's another; that’s five, and a good day’s wage. But it’s not five, but twice five ye’ll have from me when this work’s done. Ten pounds will I give ye on that day ; just mind that now, and ye’ll be looking forrit to the end.as eager as lam myself. And so good night to ye, good wife ; and just keep a quiet tongue in your head about this affair until I see ye again.’ Aud so he got him out of the house, and stole quietly away back to the inn where he was lodging. There he succeeded in getting a box something of the same size as the green one ; and when he had transferred to it the deadly instrument that was to work woe on his enemy he felt more at ease. And late into the night he sat up in bis solitary little room, wondering at what hour of the following evening he would begin to melt the wax figure, and woudering where Alec Jameson would be when first he should find himself smitten with that strange sickness. Compunction, remorse, hesitation, he had none. He was all too anxious to strike. Not only revenge for the past, but regard for his own safety in the future goaded him on. And how could anyone call it murder, when he but melted a doll at a fire, as any child might do ; if there were maleficent beings who would make that the occasion for working a man's bane, he knew them not. But if these invisible powers befriended him now, as they had befriended him in times past, surely he would he grateful to them, though he might never know how call them by their name ? The old woman too, he would establish friendly relations with her ; it was better to be safe with every one all round.

He reached home the following afternoon ; and he was unusually civil to his niece—but in a suspicious, watchful way—-whan that he chanced to meet her about the house. Again, as they sat down to supper in the evening he said, with an appearance of good humor— ’

* VYell, now, if you have an y sense, lass, ye will change, your mind about leaving Fasslie.’

‘And indeed, Uncle,’ she 3aid. ‘it’s no wish of mine that I should leave Fasslie—at least not now ; and if I have to go it will be with no great gladness.’ ‘ But who can make ye go if ye dinna want to go?’ he said, eagerly. ‘Think o’t, lass. Think o’ the chances of life, and you going out to face them by yourself ; yes, by yourself ; for what better is a sailor's wife than a left widow woman when he’s away at sea ? Ay, and the chances of storms and shipwrecks, think o’ that ; and you living by yourself and waiting and waiting. That’s a terrible life for a young lass to lead. Here ye've a comfortable home, where your father’s name is well kenned in the country side. And there’s friends for ye in time of trouble; and ye can see that everything that’s done to better the house, or the buildings, or the farm, that’s a’ being done for what is your own—or what will be your own when lam taken. It’s a sad thing to see a young las 3 beguiled and led away from her own folk, where she has everything and no trouble ; and to see her going out to face the world by herself, among strangers, that ken nothing about her or hers, and will swindle her, or miscall her, or cheat her, whenever they get the chance. It’s a sad, sad thing to see ; and I never thought it would be you, Allie, lass.’ He had never spoken like this to her before. Ordinarily he was querulous, dissatisfied, complaining in his manner toward her; and oftentimes downright ill-tempered, dictatorial and brutal. And for a second or two this plausible reasoning, and this apparent friendliness of his tone rather bewildered her; but presently she said—- ‘ It’s tocWlate to think o’ that, uncle. I have given my word to Alec Jameson, and I am not going to take it back.’ * It’s never too late to mend an error,’ said he—and he was watching her with some eagerness, as il he expected to see some sign of yielding in her face. * As for being a sailor's wife,’ she continued, ‘I suppose everyone ha 3 some trouble. Besides, it will not be so bad when Alec is made captain, and then I can go a voyage with.him from time to time.’

* And who is going to make him captain V he said, scornfully. ‘They would make him that now,’ she answered, simply, ‘ if only he had money to buy a fifth share in the Princess Mary.’ Instantly his face changed, and there was a savage gleam from under the bushy eyebrows.

‘ Ay, ay, there again; it’s money he’s after, as well I kenned.’ he said between his teeth. * Money to buy’ a fifth share in the Princess Mary ! Well, well, what s going to be will be.’

Apparently he was trying to conceal his anger. He remained silent for some little while, busying himself with his supper. Then he said in quite a conciliatory way—- ‘ Allie, lass, do you think they could light a fire for me in the safe room?’—for so he had chosen to designate the room in which he had'placed the iron chest. ‘ Oh, yes,’ said she, it is many a day since there was a fire in that room, but I dare say the chimney will draw well enough.’ ‘ As soon as ye’ve finished, then just bid the lasses light a fire there,’ said he ; ay, and a good h azing fire, for I have papers and things to burn.’ ‘ Very well, uncle,’ she said, and, as she had just then finished supper, she went away to do as she was bid. It did not occur to him as unnecessarily and wantonly cruel to ask a young girl to go and get ready a fire for the slow burning of her lover's effigy ; his thoughts were elsewhere ; he was trying to guess where Alec Jameson might be at this moment, now that

this fell disease was about to strike at his vitals. Iu a public-house, making merry ? Or was he on board the Princess Mary, wondering when he was to become captain ? Or perhaps deciding a 3 to which of the lawyers he would go to on the following day ? Anyhow, for him and his mischief-making, and his insolent designs, there had come an end. It was Alison herself who came to announce that the fire was lit and burning well. He went away and got a pair,of iron pincers; then he sought out the little chamber, and shut himself in, locking the door behind him. Outside the world was growing white with the moonlight—the sea was distinctly visible, and the far and dusky line of coast under the clear, still heavens ; and so, for some reason or another, he went to the window and closed the shutters, and barred them. Then he lit the solitary candle that was standing on the mantel-shelf; after a hard struggle, he managed to open the big iron chest ; he took therefrom the little box he had deposited there for safety in the afternoon ; and presently the wax effigy was in the firm grip of the pincers. He went to the fire. The flames were burning merrily now. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he thrust the wax in the red hot glow. All this he had done as in a dream. It was not of these mechanical appliances he was thinking ; it was of the effect of this incantation, as it would now be happening many a mile away. Had the pain begun ? , Or was it only a feverish heat he felt as yet, and a sickness ? And were the maleficent spirits at work—hovering over the house where Jameson was, and chuckling, maybe, and laughing over their devilish trade ? Did the old woman know what was going on ? Perhaps she could help ? He had left her in a friendly mood she had everything to hope for ; thwarting him would not serve her turn ; aiding him would be to her own advantage. And Alison would still remain at b'asslie ; and the money, and bonds, and railway shares would be untouched -and his own ; and no longer would the night be full of fear 3 as to what’the lawyers in might do. But this wax image seemed hard and cold and impenetrable. It did not seem to melt. And was the fire not yet beginning to pierce him ? Perhaps the favoring unseen powers and influences were waiting—were impatient —might go away ? And so he held the effigy closer and closer to the bars, until it almost touched the coals. A drop fell—and another —and another—and he began to tremble and his head to swim, for that they looked so like blood. And then, in a halfdazed way, he rather withdrew the wax from the heat. The melting was to be done thrice; too fierce and sudden a sickness, billing a man at once, might provoke suspicion. And so he withdrew the image samewhat, suffering.it to harden again, and yet gradually. No matter if it were hardened quite, and cold ; the pain had struck ; the disease would work now ;. his enemy was disposed of. And yet he was not altogether satisfied. Why should a few minutes’ torture imperil a man’s life ? Perhaps he had been too hasty in withdrawing the image from the fire? And then again, although the wise woman had instructed him to pierce the wax with needles on the second day of the melt ing, what harm could there be in putting one in now, just to make assurance doubly sure? So he held the effigy to the flames again, but not too near, until the wax grew soft; and then, under his breath, and with malignant emphasis which showed how profoundly he believed in the baleful efficacy of the charm, he repeated the words—- ‘ Fire burn, fire stew, This first knife I stick in you.’

and drove the point of the needle into the upper part of the image, about where the heart of a man would be. A further drop or two of the wax fell on the hearthstone—more like blood than ever, as it appeared to him. Bat he was satisfied, "now. The mischief was begun. His unknown friends could not complain of any want of thoroughness on his part. When he had replaced the now shrunken image in the box, and placed that again in the iron chest, and locked the same, he blew out the candle, and made his way back to the parlor. Here he found Alison and the servant lasses assembled for family worship, that being the custom of the house ; and there was the big. chair drawn in to the table, and the famify Bible lying open. His first duty was to read a chapter, and he began to do so at once, but in a mechanical fashion, for he could not keep his thoughts from going back to the little chamber and the red fire, and the needle, and the drops falling like blood on the hearthstone. This was the 23rd chapter of the Book of Numbers he was reading; and he had come upon it quite fortuitously, for the practice of the house was to go steadily through the Bible, from end to end, one chapter a night. And yet as he read of Balak, the King of Moab, who would have a curse fall upon Israel, and how Balaam wa3 constrained to bless his people, his mind was haunted with misgivings ; and then came the verse : * Surely there is no enchantment against Jacob, neither is there any divination against Israel : according to this time it shall be said of Jacob and of Israel, What hath God wrought ?’ But the mechanical reading came to an end ; then he gave out 3 the Psalm

* They in the Lord that firmly trust Shall be like Sion hill, Which at no time can be removed, But standeth ever still. As round about Jerusalem The mountains stand away, The Lord His folk doth compass so. From henceforth and for aye ’ ;

and they sang that to the plaintive tune of ‘Martyrdom,’ Alison leading; and then Alison and the girls went, and he was left alone.

There was something disquieting in that chapter, however perfunctorily he had read out the verses ; aud now, as he sat in the big arm chair, plunged in a profound reverie, he tried to recall them. And what was it that had caused the curse of Balaam to fail ? What had changed into a blessing ? Surely the fact that the children of Israel were under the special protection of the Almighty who had interfered with the ordinary course of nature on their behalf.

‘ And it was long ago,’ he continued to

reason with himself, in these half-dis-connected musings, ‘ and it was in another part of the world altogether. But long ago as it was, long before that there were the other powers, iu the glens and among the hills and by the lochs, and who has put them away ? • Before ever the children of Israel were brought out of Egypt the kelpies were iu every water in Scotland ; and the underground people in every lonely mound and hillock ; and spirits in every wood and glen and oil every wide untenanted moor : who could think that they had all been destroyed ? Balaam’s curse was turned into a blessing—but that was in another land ; and the Lord was working miracles from day to day on behalf of a particular people. But that was all over now ; and here in Scotland the mysterious powers that dwelt in earth, and air, and water, were allowed to work their will, as thousands upon thousands of> stories testified. And who was Alec Jameson that any interference should be made on his behalf ? A common sailer, that .might lose his life to-morrow, or next day, be stumbling over the edge of a quay, or falling down a stair, and the world pay no heed at all. No, no ; there could be no interference in his case. There were reasons for miracles in former days, when there was a whole nation to save ; but this was merely a sailor lad in Inverness. Who was to interfere to save him ? And already the fire was kindled the consuming fire that wa9 to eat through him, and wither him, and destroy him for ever.

That night old Robert Graham could not sleep ; when he dosed off for a few minutes appalling visions presented themselves to him, and he would awake with a cry of terror, gazing wi dly at the door of his room, as if he expected strange figures to stalk in. At last he got up aud lib a candle, aud tried to read ; and then he would walk up and down the room for another half hour, thinking mostly of Inverness, and of what might be happening there in the dead of night ; and finally, when the first grey light of the dawn appeared, he completed his dressing, and was right glad to get out into the actual world, though it was as j’et all voiceless and uutenanted and spectral. “During that day he was quite anxiously civil' towards his niece ; though he did not notice that she, on her part, was disturbed and restless, and absent from time to time for a considerable period. ‘Ailie, lass,’' he, at their mid-day dinner, ‘l’m thinking of taking a trip to Edinburgh in a week or two's time.’ * Yes, uncle ?’ / , ‘ Would ye like to go wi' me ?’ he said ; but he kept his eyes down, for this was not a natural part for hi in to play. ‘ Me, uncle ?’ she said, in great surprise. ‘ Both of us ha,ve as hard work as most; folk,’ lie said ; ‘ what wi’ the farm and the ' house ; and we’re no so ill off, though it’s a lot o’ money to spend on the railway. But ye’ve often said ye would like to see Edinburgh ; and a lass come to your time o’ life shouldna have it to say that ye ne'er saw a town bigaer than Inverness ; and I’m thinking we’ll just have a bit holiday together, if ye're willing. Your mind has been set on other things, as weel I ken; but a young lass’s fancies alter and alter as the days pass ; and I dare say ye’ll be as well pleased to see Edinburgh as anybody. And we 11 no spend so much money after a’, for we’ll go to some quiet, clean, comfortable bit inn or lodginghouse about the Cowgate : and for the sightseeing—for ye maun see the Castle and the ■ Calton-hill and Holyrood, and a mony things like that—weel, we II just do it on foot, as heaps o’ better folk have to do. Ay, ay, lass, your mind will liae plenty to think o’ when ye climb up Arthur’s Seat and see the big town lyiug below ye. It’s a fine sight, that I’ve heard folk say there's not a finer in the three kingdoms.’ Alison Graham could not at all understand this unwonted complaisance on the part of her uncle ; but she said little; she seemed pre-occupied. And had he, also, not been so busy with his own affairs, he might have complained of her repeated absences from the house in the afternoon. But he did not notice. He was looking forward to the evening, and the renewal of the torture. What was happening in Inverness? The pining and wasting had lasted now nearly twenty-four hours ; soon there would come the occasion for the driving in of those vengeful knives. y Just before supper he thought he would steal into the safe-room for a minute, and see how the corpse like image looked after the melting of the previous night. He had not ordered the fire to be lit as yet ; and as he had left the window barred, he took a match with him in order to light the candle. He approached the ! door silently and stealthily, as if there were a coffin in the room.

His fingers trembled as they groped for the handle of the door, though he could scarce have told why ; what was there to harm in a piece of moulded wax ? Inside, the little chamber was quite dark. He felt for the head of the match. And thenover there at the window recess—he saw something white. His eyes were fascinated ; ho went forward ; it was something wavering, blue-white, and spectral in the darkness : was it on the lid of the iron chest ? A kind of wave of shadow passed over it, and it partly disappeared : the next moment it shone out with an appalling distinctness—the likeness of a gallows in gleaming white fire. Terror-stricken, speechless, with palsied hands and frenzied eye-balls, he stood and glared at this awful thing ; and then three shrieks—three thrill, sharp shrieks, uttered in rapid succession—rang through the silent house, and the old man fell helpless and senseless to the floor. (To be concluded next week.)