CHAPTER VI "THE FIRES OF THE ASAS!"
Midnight was chiming from a distant church-tower as Idris and Godfrey stood on the edge of the upland that overlooked the valley of Ravensdale.
They had left Wave Crest at eleven o'clock, and following a circuitous route, and favoured by the late hour, had succeeded in reaching their destination without attracting notice.
Beatrice had begged hard to accompany them, but this Godfrey would not permit. So she watched them from the garden-gate till they were out of sight, and then returned indoors to alarm herself by reading the adventures of Belzoni in the Great Pyramid, finding some sort of affinity between the expedition of Idris and that of the enterprizing Paduan.
The night was lovely and cloudless, with a full moon shining from a sky of darkest blue.
Shimmering white in the hallowed radiance arose the lofty tomb of the long-buried Viking, and as the two friends made their way towards it the character of the undertaking began to oppress the mind of Godfrey with various strange fancies. What the interior of the hillock would reveal he could not tell; but he had forebodings of something grim and ghostly. Though it was of his own free will that he came, yet now, brought close to the intended task, he shrank from it, and found himself yielding to a spirit of fear.
He could not but admire the unconcern of his companion, who strode gallantly forward, humming the chorus of a hunting-song.
"Confound yon bright moon!" muttered Idris. "If any of the coast-guard should stroll this way, we are certain to be seen."
Arrived at the northernmost point of the tumulus, he flung down the sack that he had carried containing the implements necessary for excavation, and turning his eyes upon the side of the hillock began to look about for the white-flowering mandrake that betokened the point of ingress.
He glanced quickly from right to left, but, to his surprise, the plant was nowhere to be seen.
"Here's a mystery! What has become of the mandrake?—No matter: there's the pile of pebbles I set up on the spot where the shadow of the stone fell. I have but to repeat my former experiment."
Making his way to the little heap Idris faced about, and then began to walk towards the hillock, keeping in a direct line with the stone upon its apex.
On reaching the base of the tumulus he paused and remained stationary, with his back to Godfrey, and his gaze riveted on the side of the mound. There was something so peculiar in the rigidity of his attitude, and in his long-continued silence, that Godfrey's heart quickened with an unknown fear, a fear that deepened, when Idris, with a scared face turned slowly round, and, as if the power of speech had left him, beckoned with his finger for the surgeon to come forward.
"Look there!" he said in a hoarse voice, clutching Godfrey with one hand, and pointing with the other. "Tell me whether I see aright. What's that?"
And there, protruding from the side of the hillock in the place where the mandrake had grown, was—a human hand!
A human hand, rising from the earth, motionless and rigid, the crooked fingers seeming to tell of the agony of a death by suffocation.
Some one, since the morning, had been trying to force a way through the soil at the entrance of the passage, and had lost his life in the attempt.
Such was Idris' first thought. A closer inspection, however, showed that the event had not happened that day. The nails had fallen from the fingers, and there was, besides, a decayed, vegetable look about the hand, differing altogether from the aspect presented by the skin of the newly-dead. How Idris came to overlook it during his morning visit was a mystery, since the hand must have been in its present position for several days, if not for several weeks. Its sudden exposure was perhaps due to the afternoon storm, which had washed away a portion of the soil.
To endeavour to ascertain the identity of the victim by pulling at the withered hand, and thus bringing the decayed form to view, was an act that not only Idris shrank from, but even Godfrey, the surgeon, familiar with the disjecta membra of the dissecting room.
Then Idris, bending forward to examine the hand more closely, gave vent to a peal of laughter.
"Brave heroes we are to be frightened by a plant! It is nothing but the root of the mandrake."
Godfrey drew a breath of relief, as he assured himself by a nearer view that what he had taken for a human hand was indeed the withered root of the mandrake, so apt to assume strange and unaccountable shapes.
Yet, to save his life, he durst not put forth his hand to touch it.
If such were the terrors guarding the exterior of the tomb, what might he not expect to find in the interior?
"Now, Godfrey, our silly fright being over, to work! I will dig while you watch. Take a seat on this boulder here, and if you should see anybody coming, give the word and I will suspend operations for a while. There cannot be more than five or six feet of earth to knock away, and then the passage will be open to our view. The work ought not to take long."
Godfrey did as desired, and Idris flung off ulster, coat, and vest. Rolling his shirt-sleeves above the elbow, he drew the tools from the sack and selected a spade.
"Now to disturb the repose of old Orm the Golden!" he cried, excitement sparkling from his eyes. "Now to evoke the fires of the Asas!"
The sickly, withered mandrake-root, with its resemblance to a human hand, fronted him, and as if in contempt of his former fears, he drove the edge of the spade clean through the stalk. The separated parts seemed to quiver and writhe in a manner extremely suggestive of animal-life.
A thrill of terror shot through his frame, and, spade in hand, he paused, staring at the root; for, simultaneously with its dissection, there came a sound, bearing resemblance to a plaintive human cry.
It was not the creation of his fancy, since Godfrey too had heard it.
"In the name of all that's holy what was that?" he asked, starting up from the stone upon which he had been sitting.
"That is what I should like to know," said Idris, trying to look unconcerned. "It came—or seemed to come—from this plant here. The poet speaks of:—
but I never thought to hear them in my own person."
He toyed idly with the spade, desirous, yet almost afraid, of making a second stroke.
In all his life Godfrey had never been so much alarmed as he was at that moment.
"Idris, let us leave this business—at least, for to-night."
His words acted as a stimulus to the other's courage.
"Leave it? Never! till I have forced my way to the heart of this hillock, and wrested the secret from it. On the very point of discovery must we turn back, frightened by a sound, the cry, probably, of some night-bird? We are not the first to break into a Norse barrow at midnight. Shall we be outdone in enterprise by others? No: though the dead Viking rise up, sword in hand, to repel me, yet will I go on."
And with this Idris lifted the spade, and attacked the side of the hillock, savagely cutting the mandrake root to fragments, half expecting to hear the weird cry again. But the sound, whatever its origin, was not repeated.
Finding the earth to be hard conglomerate, and not easily susceptible to impressions from the spade, Idris laid that tool aside, and, fitting the wooden shaft of a pickaxe into its iron head, proceeded to reduce the conglomerate to a crumble, which he then tossed aside with the spade, labouring alternately with the two implements.
No word escaped him: he was too much interested in the work to waste his breath in words. His efforts soon unearthed two large unhewn blocks of stone standing a little distance apart.
Fired to fresh energy by this sight, a proof that he was working in the right direction, he continued his excavations between the two blocks. After the lapse of a few minutes he paused, and thrust his arm up to the shoulder through an aperture appearing in the conglomerate.
"Io triumphe!" he exclaimed. "Empty space behind this. A little more labour, and we shall be able to crawl into the passage beyond."
Declining Godfrey's repeated offers of assistance, Idris resumed his work enthusiastically, dealing stroke after stroke upon the wall of earth that barred his way. Down came the black soil with a rush, as if glad to meet free air after an imprisonment of centuries. Wider and wider grew the aperture, revealing an open space beyond: and, at last, flinging down his tools, Idris declared that the way was now open to the interior.
"Where's the lantern, Godfrey?"
The surgeon was already fumbling about in the sack. With an exclamation of dismay he rose to his feet and gave it a shake, but nothing came forth.
"By heaven! Godfrey, don't say that we have left the lantern behind!"
"That is just what we have done."
"At least, the match-box is there."
"No: that, too, is a minus article."
Idris breathed a malediction. As he himself had attended to the putting up of their paraphernalia, the omission was his own, and no blame attached to Godfrey.
The neglect seemed irremediable. It was out of the question to return to Ormsby for the lantern, and yet, without a light, it would be hazardous to grope their way through darkness to the interior of the hillock. To be so near the point of discovery, and yet so far off, was maddening.
"I shall not return without some attempt at exploration," cried Idris. "We'll have to grope about in the dark and try what we can discover in that way."
Godfrey was almost ready to drop at this weird suggestion.
"Stay a moment!" continued Idris, stooping over his vest, and feeling in the pockets, "surely I have some matches here. Yes," he added, with a cry of delight, drawing forth a metallic box. "Here they are! How many? Three, as I live! Three only! Humph! we shall have to economize our slender resources. We must feel our way along the passage. I'll walk a few steps ahead of you, so that if any hurt should befall me, take warning yourself, and help me if you can. We'll not strike these vestas till we are fairly within the central chamber. We may learn something from their glimmer."
Idris, having resumed his coat and vest, was on the point of leading the way, when he suddenly became impressed with the idea that there might be some hidden danger within the hillock, and for Beatrice's sake it was not right that Godfrey should be drawn into it.
But the surgeon, though indeed reluctant to go forward, was nevertheless unwilling to be considered a coward, and demurred to the suggestion that he should remain at the entrance till Idris had first paid a visit to the interior.
"Seriously speaking," said Idris, "I do not see what danger there can be, but still there is the possibility of it, and I ought to meet it alone. Beatrice would never forgive me if harm should befall you. Stay here till I have made a brief exploration."
While speaking he caught sight of the walking-stick with which Godfrey's grandfather had been accustomed to perform his feats of divination. It was curiously shaped, carved so as to represent a serpent twining round a wand, the head of the reptile being set with two green, glittering stones in imitation of eyes.
"Pass me your ancestral caduceus," he said. "It will serve to guide my steps. I wish these eyes were lamps!"
Then, waving the surgeon back, he stepped within the dark hole, which seemed, in Godfrey's imagination, to gape like the mouth of a great dragon about to swallow its victim.
Idris' sensations on entering the passage were far from agreeable. Though the moonlight without was brilliantly white, not a ray of it found entrance to the passage; the air within was black and terrible, and as solid-looking as if formed of ebony.
His progress was slow and tedious, from the necessity imposed upon him of halting at each step to feel his way. Before lifting his foot he carefully explored the ground in front of him with the stick, and he touched in turn the sides of the passage as well as the roof. The corridor, judged by this test, was about seven feet in height and four in width. Roof, walls, and flooring were composed apparently of solid masonry.
After taking about twenty paces Idris, extending the rod on each side of him, found that it touched nothing. The passage had opened out into something wider.
He judged that he had entered the mortuary chamber, and was now standing in the presence of the dead.
What awesome sight did the black darkness hide?
For all he knew to the contrary, not one, but many Vikings might be entombed here, disposed at different points of the chamber, their bodies preserved from decay by embalming. Like the lost and frozen dead men, seen sometimes by navigators in northern seas, they might be in sitting posture, staring with fixed and glassy eyes as if daring him to advance.
The temptation to obtain a glimpse of the place by striking one of the matches was very great, but he refrained from the action, resolving that Godfrey should share the sight.
Before calling upon him to follow, a sudden desire came upon Idris to grope his way once around the interior.
Exploring the darkness with his stick he soon hit upon the chamber-wall at the point where it shot off at right angles to the side of the passage. Passing his hand over its surface, an action accompanied on his part by a feeling of disgust, the masonry being wet and slimy, he discovered what seemed to be a rusty rod extending in a horizontal line along the wall at the height of about six feet from the ground. Puzzled at first to account for its use he came to the conclusion that it had once served to uphold the tapestry with which the interiors of these old Norse tombs were sometimes decorated. The tapestry itself was gone, crumbled to dust, perhaps, with the lapse of time, but the metallic rod remaining would serve to conduct him round the chamber.
He shot a glance through the passage just traversed by him: the darkness swallowed up its perspective, rendering it impossible for the eye to form any judgment as to its length. The entrance seemed close by, a square patch of white light, in which was framed a dark stooping figure, that of Godfrey, vainly endeavouring to keep an eye on his venturesome friend.
Idris turned from the passage, and holding the rod with his left hand, and grasping the stick in his right, he advanced slowly and cautiously along the side of the chamber-wall, over ground that had, perhaps, been untrodden for ten centuries.
After taking six paces he was brought to a halt by the wall inclining again at right angles. He had evidently reached one corner of the stone chamber.
Turning his face in this new direction, and still submitting to the guidance of the supposed tapestry-rod, he continued his progress, exploring the way before him with the stick.
He paused again as his left hand came in contact with a small triangular shred of cloth hanging to the rod. It was apparently a fragment of tapestry. There might be other and larger portions farther on, which, in view of their antiquity, would be of considerable value. Pleased with the idea that he would not come away from the tomb altogether empty-handed he was about to move forward again, when his attention was suddenly diverted to the stick he was carrying.
Without the exercise of any volition on his part it was slowly inclining itself downwards. There was no mistaking the fact, and the knowledge came upon him as a disagreeable surprise. It was as if the serpent-rod had suddenly become instinct with life.
His first impulse was to cast it from him, but thinking that its downward motion might be due to the relaxed state of his muscles, he raised and extended the stick horizontally: he kept it in that position, but it was evident to his sense of feeling that the rod manifested a tendency to assume an oblique direction, just as if a thread were tied to its extremity, and some one below lightly pulling it.
What was the cause of this? Must he dismiss his former scepticism, and believe in the powers of the divining rod? Had this staff of witch-hazel, electrified by the nervous force of his own body, become transformed for the moment into a sort of magnet, capable of being attracted by metals? Was he standing on the site of the Viking's buried treasure? Was the very treasure itself lying upon the clay flooring at his feet? If he struck a match would his eye be caught by the sparkle of silver and gold? No: he would reserve the light, and make what discoveries he could without it.
Relinquishing his hold of the metallic rod he dropped upon his knees, and with his face bent low, put forth his hands.
* * * * * *
Hark! What was that?
The silent watcher at the entrance started.
A faint cry from the interior of the hillock as of one calling for help, and then stillness.
For some time Godfrey had kept his ear close to the flooring of the passage, a position which enabled him to follow the footsteps of Idris. But now these footsteps had ceased, their cessation being followed shortly afterwards by the cry.
Godfrey continued to listen, but though straining his ear to the utmost he could not detect the faintest sound. A suspiciously horrible stillness prevailed within.
"Idris! Idris!" he called out, sending the full volume of his voice along the passage: and "Idris! Idris!" was echoed from the roof in tones that seemed like a mockery of his own. If the dead in the sepulchral chamber were gibing at him the effect could not have been more weird.
Again he called aloud, and again there was no answer, save the echoes of his own voice.
"My God! what has happened?" he cried.
There fell upon him a terror like that which has turned men's hair grey in a single night. He did not doubt, he could not doubt, that some disaster had happened: he must hasten to the rescue: duty, humanity, friendship, honour—all these blending together in a voice of thunder urged him forward. Every moment was precious; and yet to venture into the dark chamber without a light seemed a piece of folly, for what was there to prevent him from meeting with the same fate as Idris?
He rose to his feet and turned his eyes towards the cliffs and sea-beach in the hope of seeing a coast-guard whose lantern would at this juncture be of inestimable service. But alas! no coast-guard was visible, and to go off in search of one was out of the question, when a minute might make all the difference between life and death.
No: he must venture in alone, and without a light, and he nerved himself for the task. Casting one glance at the sky, the sea, the land, as objects he might never see again, he snatched up the pickaxe to serve as a weapon of defence, against he knew not whom or what, and plunged into the mouth of the excavation that yawned black and grim before him.
His course through the passage was much quicker than that of Idris had been. There could be no danger here, seeing that Idris had traversed it in safety. Therefore the surgeon groped his way swiftly along the wall of the corridor until it suddenly turned off at right angles, whence he concluded that he was at the entrance of the sepulchral chamber.
"Idris, where are you?" he cried.
There was no vocal reply, but a faint splash greeted his ears like the movement of a hand through water, a sound which Godfrey interpreted as an answer.
For a terrible idea had seized him. The floor of the chamber was of earth only, and not of masonry, he thought: and the rain of centuries, percolating through the roof, had converted this flooring into a quagmire incapable of supporting the lightest weight. Idris had become immersed in it: had just sunk below the surface: his voice was gone: he had just given his last gasp!
How was he to save him? One step forward, and he himself might be in the abyss of mud.
To test his opinion he flung the pickaxe forward, taking care to avoid the spot whence came the splash. As it fell Godfrey drew a breath of relief. The clangour made by the falling implement proved that the quagmire was the creation of his fancy. Still, what had become of Idris that he made no reply? He must be somewhere within this chamber, seeing that there was no egress from it except by the passage. O for a light, if only that of a match! Its momentary gleam would suffice to dispel the mystery.
He listened for Idris' breathing, but failed to detect any sound: Idris, if he were really here, was as still as the dead.
There was no other course for Godfrey than to grope about until he came upon the body of Idris, an unpleasant task, seeing that it might bring him into contact with the bones of Vikings!
He started forward at random. Five paces, and his knee knocked against some obstruction. Putting out his hand he ascertained that directly in front of him was something formed of hewn stone.
With an instinctive feeling that this was a tomb, Godfrey gave it a wide range, and in so doing stumbled and fell over another object.
It was a human body. In a moment Godfrey was upon his knees, and passing his hand quickly over the prostrate figure he discovered that it was Idris in a state of coma.
Quickly he felt for the match-box which Idris had put into his vest pocket, and on finding it, drew it forth. Taking out one of the wax-lights he struck it on the side of the box.
Never within Godfrey's experience had the striking of a match been attended with a result so appalling, for he immediately found himself in an atmosphere of many-coloured flame. The hot breath of a fiery furnace glowed around, dazzling his eyes, scorching his face.
In that moment of bewilderment and terror the words of the runic ring flashed through his mind, and found expression in his gasping articulation:
"The fires of the Asas!"
Simultaneously with the illumination a fierce detonation like a powder-blast rent the air, and Godfrey, flung backwards as by a giant hand, tumbled senseless to the ground.
CHAPTER VII "WITHIN THE LOFTY TOMB"
Godfrey opened his eyes to find himself lying on the grassy slope of Ormfell, staring up at the night-sky, with Idris kneeling beside him. A cool sensation was playing around his neck, and, gradually waking up to the reality of outward things, the surgeon discovered that his vest and collar lay open to the breeze, and that Idris was sprinkling his face with cold water-drops obtained from a pool close by.
"Coming-to a little, I see," Idris observed cheerfully. "How do you feel?"
"Awfully queer and dizzy," replied Godfrey.
He lifted himself to a sitting posture, utterly unable to account for his present dazed condition.
"You'll be all right in a few minutes. Take a pull at this spirit-flask: that'll revive you. I owe my life to you, old fellow."
"In what way?" asked Godfrey, his mind still too confused to recall the recent accident.
"Gaseous vapour would have claimed its victim. Your grandfather was quite right in asserting this to be a carboniferous soil. Some of the coal-gas has issued to the surface. The atmosphere within the hillock was a mixture of carbon dioxide and floating fire-damp. Foolishly creeping about, with mouth held to the ground, I took in such a whiff of the one as to be quite overpowered by it before I had time to rise, while the other exploded as soon as you struck the match."
Godfrey, now quite alive to the past, gave an ejaculation of annoyance.
"I'm a pretty doctor not to have warned you against noxious vapours! It's a marvel we are both alive. But why was I not overpowered?"
"Probably because you were not holding your face to the earth where the gas collects, though very likely you, too, would have succumbed in a few moments. However, all's well that ends well. Your striking a light was a fortunate thing, for it appears to have acted like an electric discharge in instantly clearing the air. True, you were stunned, but I recovered; whether instantly by the explosion, or more slowly by the purifying atmosphere, I cannot tell. All I know is I awoke, and realizing what had happened, and feeling you beside me, I lost no time in dragging you out into the open air. And here we are, none the worse for our experience, I trust. No doubt it was occurrences like this that caused the old Norsemen to believe that Odin guarded the tombs of the dead by darting forth flames."
"The fires of the Asas are real enough, after all," muttered Godfrey, still feeling like one in a dream. "Hasn't the sound of the explosion brought any one here?"
"It seems not," said Idris, looking round. "So far we are safe. Old Orm offers a stubborn resistance," he continued. "'He being dead, yet fighteth.' But he is doomed to be defeated, for I will not go until I have examined the interior of the hillock."
"You are not thinking of venturing into that deathtrap again?" said Godfrey, aghast.
"There is no danger now: at least, not from gases. The explosion dissolved them, and the outer air has had time to penetrate within. Besides, forewarned is forearmed. We know our peril: if one of us should be overpowered, the other must drag him out."
"How can you make an investigation without a light?"
"We shall have light enough. Fortunately, you snapped the lid of the box tightly before striking your match—an action that effectually screened the remaining two from the flame of the fire-damp."
"Two matches will not help us much."
"There you're wrong. We will take some of this brushwood inside and light a bonfire: and the sooner we make a beginning the better. It's two o'clock now. In another hour or so day will be dawning."
Inwardly groaning at the perversity of his friend, Godfrey lent a hand in collecting the materials necessary for the fire: and, not without some trepidation, carried them through the dark passage into the mortuary chamber, the atmosphere of which, as his nostrils assured him, had become considerably clarified since his previous visit.
Fearing that the two matches when kindled might expire before he could fire the twigs, which were damp with the afternoon's rain, Idris drew forth a small book, a pocket edition of Hamlet, and proceeded to detach leaf after leaf, twisting them into spirals. These he handed to Godfrey, enjoining him to keep a flame alive by kindling one from another till the twigs should have fairly caught.
"Now to strike the fateful match!" he said. "Pray heaven the Asas do not give us another pyrotechnic display!"
He cautiously struck the match. Godfrey instantly kindled one of his paper-spirals from the flame.
"No fireworks this time, you see," remarked Idris, as all remained quiet. "This is what may be called making light of Shakespeare," he added, as, taking the kindled papers one after another from Godfrey's hand, he applied them to the leaves and twigs, endeavouring to force them into a blaze.
The pale, bluish glare that sprang up made the chamber faintly visible. Idris, intent on his task of ignition saw nothing but the brushwood before him, but Godfrey could not refrain from casting a timid glance around, even at the risk of extinguishing the lighted paper in his hand.
There was, however, nothing very dreadful in the scene before him. He found himself standing in a chamber about twenty feet square, the sides of which were composed of rough-hewn blocks of masonry, glistening with moisture, and dotted with patches of fungous growth. The roof was formed by a layer of tree-trunks, necessarily of great size and strength in order to support the vast weight above. The floor seemed to be of earth, its surface glimmering here and there with tiny black pools, formed by the constant dropping of moisture from the roof.
But the treasures deposited of old by Hilda the Alruna for her son, Magnus of Deira—where were they? Well for Idris that he had not set his heart on finding them, for the chamber was bare, save for one object in the centre. This was the sarcophagus-like structure against which Godfrey had collided when looking for Idris' body. By the flickering light he could see that this receptacle was of oblong shape, the sides consisting of four upright stone slabs let into the earth, with a fifth one resting upon them like a lid.
Idris had now succeeded in his task, and the twigs and branches blazing up cast over the chamber a ruddy glow sufficiently bright for the taking of observations.
"This is better than a lantern. I warrant the place hasn't looked so cheerful for centuries," remarked Idris, as he stood by the blaze and took a survey of the chamber.
"Cheerful at present, perhaps, but in ten minutes we shall be smoked out."
"I think not. This fire will burn bright and clear presently, and will give out little smoke."
Taking up a lighted brand from the fire Idris moved forward and began his investigations with the tomb by making a scrutiny of its lid.
"No inscription here, runic or otherwise.—Humph! shall we supply one, Hic Jacet Ormus.—Now to remove this slab! Let us see if there are bones beneath."
Too eager to wait for Godfrey's assistance he seized the lid with one hand, and, exerting all his strength, swung it off laterally.
A cry of surprise, rather than of alarm, broke from him, as he caught sight of a full-sized human skeleton lying within. A burning fragment from the torch he carried dropped within the teeth of the skeleton, where, still continuing to glow, it lit up the skull with weird effect, the red flicker giving an apparent motion to the grinning jaws and eyeless sockets.
"Are these the remains of your Viking?" asked Godfrey.
"Can there be doubt about it? This is old Orm, or what is left of him," replied Idris, holding the torch low over the skeleton.—"Here reposes one who, I doubt not, made a brave figure in his day. And now? 'None so poor to do him reverence.' The people of Ormsby do not know even his name, and yet he was the founder of their town, its nomenclator, in fact. The old Greeks would have raised a statue and an altar to him in their market-place, and have worshipped him as their hero eponymous. And here he lies neglected and forgotten!
"Is this wasted bone the 'high arm' spoken of on the runic ring? Where be now its feats of strength? And where is the wealth won by his ashen spear? the riches that conferred upon him the epithet of Golden? the treasure placed within the 'lofty tomb' by his wife, Hilda, the Norse prophetess? Vanished! Whither? Removed by whom? and when? Did Magnus of Deira really receive the runic ring despatched to him by his mother? Did he come here in ancient days to remove his heritage, or has the treasure been taken by other, perhaps modern, hands? If so, by whose? By the masked man of Quilaix's? By Captain Rochefort's or by my father's? Have they left behind any trace of their visit?"
His eyes roving around the chamber were attracted by a fabric lying at the foot of one of the walls.
"What have we here?" he said, stepping forward and picking it up. "A piece of cloth! Will this give us a clue to the men who were here last?"
For better inspection he carried the cloth to the light of the fire. When unrolled the fabric proved to be oblong in shape, six feet by four, its edges very much frayed, and its surface so defaced by clay that it was impossible at first to discover its texture, colour, or use.
"I see what it is," he remarked at last. "Look at that triangular shred of cloth hanging from the metallic rod: its shape tallies with the triangular rent in this fabric. This has been torn from that rail: it is a part of the tapestry that once decked the walls of this chamber. I am disappointed again; I thought to find a modern vesture, and am put off with ancient tapestry."
He began to scrape the fabric with his penknife.
"I can detect some coloured threads," he went on. "It is figured arras: but it is impossible at present to make out what the figures are. Here are some letters, too. I can detect N. and T. We must keep this. When cleaned it may prove to be an interesting 'find'—of a more ancient date, unless my chronology be at fault, than the famous Bayeux Tapestry. What puzzles me is, why the man who carried off the rest of the tapestry should leave this behind him."
"Probably because it is a torn remnant."
"But it would be a very simple matter to sew it to the main piece again. Do you notice how the rail is bent where the three cornered bit is?"
Godfrey looked and saw that the rod was bent downwards.
"What inference do you draw from that?" Idris asked.
"That somebody must have been tugging heavily at the tapestry to cause such a curvature."
"Exactly. But why should any one wrench so violently at the tapestry, tapestry that was evidently regarded as valuable, otherwise it would not have been carried off?"
Godfrey shrugged his shoulders at the apparent irrelevancy of Idris' remarks.
"Your question is not susceptible of an answer."
"True—at present. But an investigator should take note of every circumstance, however trifling, although at the time he may fail to discern its true significance."
"But seeing that the tapestry may have been carried off centuries ago, it is difficult to discover the present application of your remark."
"On the other hand it may have been carried off only recently: it is these recent traces that I wish to find. Somehow, this bent rod attracts me. Ah!"
Whilst speaking thus he suddenly recalled an incident that had occurred during his previous exploration in the dark.
"Godfrey, your divining rod. I am half-a-believer in its powers. At any rate I am going to try an experiment."
Taking the hazel stick he walked to that part of the wall where the shred of tapestry hung.
"Either I am dreaming," he said, "or a singular experience befell me at this spot."
Standing in the same position as before he extended the stick horizontally, explaining to Godfrey the reason for his act.
But Solomon's saying, "The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be," was not verified on the present occasion. Though Idris waited patiently for several minutes the rod manifested none of the downward tendency that it had previously shown.
Godfrey himself took the stick and tried the experiment, but with no better result. He expressed his opinion that Idris must have been the victim of an illusion: but to this Idris would not assent.
"The rod does not turn now, that's clear. But that it did turn I am confident. It was no fancy of mine."
"Let us dig," said Godfrey, "and see whether there is anything beneath the soil that could have caused it."
With these words he took up the spade and began digging. Idris followed his example, wielding the pickaxe, but found, after a few strokes, that some hard substance prevented the point of the implement from penetrating to a greater depth than three or four inches.
"This earth is mere superficial deposit, percolations from the roof," said Idris. "There is a stone flooring beneath."
In a few moments they had cleared away the terrene deposit, discovering nothing however, except a block of smooth masonry, at which Idris dealt a few strokes by way of experiment.
"Humph! seems solid enough. The dull sound given forth is hardly suggestive of a cavity. What made the rod curve, I wonder?"
Finding no answer to this question, he turned reluctantly away, and began to explore other parts of the chamber. He made a careful examination of its flooring, allowing no part of it to escape him. With the spade he swept aside the black water from the tiny hollows, and with the pickaxe he probed the ground at various points, discovering everywhere stone pavement beneath the superficial covering of earth.
The object that he was hoping to find—a match-box, or a button bearing the maker's name; the dated sheet of a newspaper; a scrap of handwriting: a handkerchief, marked with the owner's initials: or some article of like character—existed only in his fancy. A thorough search on the part of the two friends failed to bring anything to light, either on the surface of the floor, or embedded within the clay.
There was nothing to indicate the date at which the tumulus had been last entered: whether ten, twenty, or a hundred years before. For all they could tell to the contrary, many centuries might have passed since its interior had been trodden by human footsteps.
Relinquishing at last his fruitless labours Idris seated himself on the edge of the Viking's tomb with disappointment written on his features.
"I have so long clung to the hope that this place would afford a clue to the finding of my father, that I cannot give up the notion even now, when its futility seems most apparent. You may think me fanciful, Godfrey, but something seems to whisper that there are traces of him here, if I did but know where to look for them. And yet, I suppose, we have done all that it is possible to do?"
He rose again from his seat and scrutinized the four walls of the chamber, sounding them with the pickaxe.
"There does not appear to be any cell or passage behind these," he muttered.
He turned his eyes upwards, and took a survey of the black tree trunks forming the roof of the chamber: and finished his investigations by probing the dust of the Viking's tomb with the end of the walking-stick, but made no further discovery.
"So end my hopes of finding my father," he muttered sadly. "My labour has been expended on a vain quest. Years of search throughout Europe: years of study over runic letters, end in—a dead man's bones!—How this old fellow grins! One would think he enjoys my discomfiture. I shall take his skull back with me."
"Why, in heaven's name?"
"A whim of mine, nothing more. I have taken a fancy for the skull, and the skull I will have. So old Orm," he continued, stooping down and detaching the grisly head-piece from the vertebral column, "prepare to face the light of day after a sleep of centuries in darkness."
"Put it back again," said Godfrey. "What good can it do you? You can't possibly put it to any use."
"The skull of a brave Viking is a trophy well worth preserving, a noble ornament for my sideboard. And if you talk of use, there are several uses to which I can put it. I may set it with silver, and convert it into a drinking-cup, like that used by Byron. Or I may turn it into a pretty lamp to write tragedy by, after the fashion of the poet Young. Or, imitating the old Egyptians, I may use it as a table-decoration to remind me of death, and of the vanity of all things human. The skull will be a souvenir of our expedition, a memento of an experience unique, at least, in my life.—So hurrah!" he cried, holding the trophy aloft, "Hurrah for the Viking's Skull!"
* * * * * *
Day was dawning when Idris and Godfrey reached home, after concealing, so far as lay in their power, the traces of their night's work. Beatrice, who had been sitting up anxiously awaiting their return, gave a little scream when she beheld their blackened faces.
"Heavens! what has happened?" she cried.
Over the repast that she had kept in readiness for them Idris gave an account of the expedition, finishing his story by producing the relics he had brought away with him, namely, the Viking's skull and the fragment of tapestry.
"Let us have some warm water, Trixie," said Godfrey. "We will try to clean this tapestry."
A bowl of warm water was soon procured, Godfrey diluting it with a powder brought by him from his surgery.
"A chemical preparation of my own," he explained, "warranted to take out stains without injuring the cloth."
Under Beatrice's manipulation the relic gradually disclosed itself as a piece of brownish-coloured linen, divided by a vertical line of black thread into two sections of unequal length. Each section consisted of a picture woven in woollen threads on the linen background, and each was fragmentary in character, the beginning of the one and the end of the other being torn away.
The left section represented a battle-field: spears were hurtling in air: two warriors were lying prostrate, and a third, a yellow-haired hero, his bare arms flung aloft, was in the act of falling backwards, his breast pierced by an arrow. These figures, drawn to a scale of about half the human size, were in a good state of preservation. The colours of the garments had scarcely faded: the golden filaments composing the shields still retained their brightness: and the swords, woven from silver threads, glinted in the rising sunlight, as Beatrice moved the fabric to and fro. To this section was attached the subscription:—"Hic Ormum Aureum Occidunt."
"What do these words mean?" Beatrice asked.
"'Here they kill Orm the Golden,'" Idris replied.
"Orm the Golden," Godfrey repeated. "You are right, then, Idris, in your theory as to that tumulus being the tomb of the warrior spoken of on the runic ring. I confess that till this moment I have had my doubts on the point, but this piece of tapestry is decisive."
In the other section of the cloth the same warrior, still pierced by the arrow, was represented as lying prone upon the earth: two figures, those of a woman and of a boy, were bending over him. That it was night-time was shown by the torches they carried. The woman had evidently come to bear off the body of the dead chief. The words, "Hilda Invenit"—were clearly discernible; the rest of the inscription was wanting.
"'Hilda finds'—Orm, I suppose the next word would be, if we had the inscription in full," said Idris. "Hilda—the lady of the runic ring, you will remember. This other figure is perhaps intended for her son Magnus: if so, it is clear that he was a lad at the time of his father's death, which may account for his mother's act in hiding the treasure in Ormfell. There it was to remain till her son should be of age to defend his heritage. The roll of tapestry suspended round the tomb was evidently, when entire, a complete record in needlework of the life of Orm the Viking. It must have formed an interesting relic of Norse times. A pity we haven't the whole of it."
"And so this is Hilda the Alruna!" mused Beatrice, contemplating the figure on the tapestry. "How curiously we are linked with the past! To think that the expedition in which you nearly lost your lives is the result of a sentence engraved on a Norse altar-ring a thousand years ago by the lady portrayed on this piece of needlework! She had dark hair, if this be her 'counterfeit presentment.' And to think, too, that we possess the very skull of the yellow-haired Viking pictured here! It sounds too romantic to be true. Where are you going to put your grisly trophy, Mr. Breakspear?"
"The head of the staircase is the orthodox place."
"The orthodox place?" repeated Beatrice, puzzled by the expression.
"Some ancient houses keep a skull as part of the furnishings," Idris explained. "It is supposed to bring good luck, and the head of the staircase is its usual place, any removal of it being fraught with danger to the house. Of course this is foolery, but——"
"But still we may as well be in the fashion," smiled Beatrice, "and so I'll put it where you say."
The Viking's skull was therefore taken by her to the embrasure of the window that looked down the staircase, after which act Beatrice went off for a brief spell of sleep, this being the first time she had ever gone to bed at sun-rising.
Godfrey, preparing to follow her example, lingered for a moment, attracted by the appearance of the water in which the tapestry had been cleansed.
"How red this water is!" he murmured. "To what is the colour due?"
"Probably to the reddish coloured clay with which the cloth was stained," replied Idris.
"It may be so," said the physician, slowly and thoughtfully, "but if I remember rightly, the clay in that part of the chamber where the tapestry lay was not red at all. The appearance of this water is certainly curious. One might almost take it for blood!"
CHAPTER VIII LORELIE RIVIÈRE
The expedition to Ormfell had been a failure from Idris' point of view. Deaf to the voice of reason he had clung to the idea that the Viking's tomb held a clue that would aid him in finding his father. Having now received clear proof of the fallacy of that hope Idris, after a few hours' sleep, wandered forth by the seashore to consider what his next step should be.
It was an afternoon of brilliant sunshine. The tide was out, but without making any inquiries as to the time of its return, he strolled leisurely onward, wrapped in meditation.
Casually raising his eyes from the ribbed sea-sand he caught sight of a structure, locally known as "The Stairs of David." This was an arrangement of three ladders, suspended one above another on the face of the cliff, which at this point rose vertically to a height of more than a hundred feet. Iron hooks kept these ladders in position. The structure, a very frail one, had been put up originally to enable crab-fishers to reach this part of the beach with more expedition.
Still deep in thought Idris passed on, and had left the ladder about a mile in his rear, when he suddenly paused and looked in the direction of the murmuring sound—the sound he had heard for some time, but to which he had given no heed.
The tide was coming in, and coming in so quickly, that unless he hastened back at once he ran the risk of being drowned: for steep cliffs rose above him, and the open beach was at least five miles away.
Just on the point of setting off at a run he was checked by the recollection of "The Stairs of David." It would be easy to scale the cliff by means of this structure.
He moved onward at a leisurely pace, and then stopped abruptly. What was that object rising and falling on the surface of the water a few yards in rear of the advancing line of foam? Let "The Stairs of David" be far off or close by, he must satisfy his curiosity before mounting them.
He ran to the edge of the breakers, and, with a thrill of surprise, discovered that the undulating object was a woman's hat.
How came it there? He had not, so far as he could remember, encountered anybody in his walk along the shore. He looked over the dancing waves, but neither boat nor vessel was visible: he looked up and down the beach: he looked along the craggy summit of the cliffs that rose in frowning grandeur above him, but could see neither man nor woman. He stood, a solitary figure, on a shore that stretched away north and south for many miles.
Regardless of the advancing tide he remained motionless, fascinated by the sight of the hat, his uneasiness deepening each moment. There was something familiar in the grey felt with its once graceful feather bedrenched with the salt spray.
He advanced into the shallow water and lifted the hat for a closer survey. It was rarely that Idris took note of a woman's attire, but he could recall every detail of the dress worn by Mademoiselle Rivière on the day he saw her in the Ravengar Chantry, and he knew that this hat was hers.
His heart, weighted by a terrible idea, sank within him like lead. Half expecting to see a dead form come floating past he glanced again over the surface of the rippling tide.
He now recollected, what he had hitherto forgotten, that there were dangerous quicksands along this part of the coast. Must he believe that Mademoiselle Rivière had become engulfed, and that the tide was now foaming jubilantly over her head?
Once more he looked along the shore, and, as he looked, his pulses thrilled with a sudden and delicious relief; for at the sandy base of a distant cliff he caught sight of a figure lying prone.
Dropping the hat he hurried over the intervening space, and in a moment more was kneeling beside the form of Lorelie Rivière. Beneath her lay the third and lowest of the three ladders that formed the so-called "Stairs of David." She had been either ascending or descending the frail structure, and it had given way. The ladder, worm-eaten with age, had snapped into three portions on touching the sands, and the shock of its fall had deprived her of consciousness.
Her eyelids were closed. Silent and motionless she lay, her breathing so faint as scarce to seem breathing at all, her delicate fingers still clinging to a rung of the fallen ladder.
"Thank heaven, she is alive!" murmured Idris, a great dread rolling from his heart.
He gently detached her fingers from the rung of the ladder, and, tenderly raising her, rested her head upon his knee, turning her face towards the breeze. As he did so, the murmuring sound, that had never once ceased, seemed to swell louder, and his heart almost leaped into his mouth when he noticed how rapidly the tide was advancing.
That terrible tide!
Were it not for the rush of waters swirling forward he might have thought that some good fairy was favouring his heart's dearest wish. The loveliest maiden whom he had ever seen was resting within his arms, dependent upon him for safety. But what safety could he give? Their position seemed hopeless. The last rung of the middle ladder hung forty feet or more above his head. The lowest ladder lay on the sands in three portions, and he realized at a glance the impossibility of refixing them in their original position.
"No boat in sight! Impossible to scale the cliffs! Too far to swim with her to Ormsby! What is to be our fate?" he muttered.
Idris had often looked death in the face, but never in circumstances so hard as these. Was he to die holding this fair maiden in his arms, helplessly witnessing her death-gasps? And the voice of the sea, swelling ever higher and higher, seemed to give an answering cry of "Yes, yes!"
The breeze blowing full upon her face had a reviving effect upon her. Slowly she opened her eyes, and a look of innocent wonder came over her face when she met Idris' earnest gaze bent upon her.
"You fell from the ladder, you remember," he said, answering the question in her eyes. "Are you hurt? Have you broken any bones?"
"I—I think not," was the reply.
"Shall I help you to stand?"
She assented. But no sooner was she raised to her feet than throbs of pain began to shoot through her left ankle, and she leaned for support against the cliff, resting her right foot only upon the sand.
"My ankle pains me. I don't think I can walk."
While thus speaking she chanced to look upward at the ladder hanging far above her head, and then, lowering her eyes to the flowing sea, she suddenly took in the full peril of their position.
"The tide! the tide!" she murmured, clasping her hands. "We are lost."
"We certainly mustn't remain here. And if you cannot walk I must carry you."
Idris' cheerful and brisk air did not deceive her. Glancing from left to right she saw the futility of his proposal as well as he saw it himself.
The contour of the shore formed a semicircular bay many miles in length, and its sands were lined by a wall of lofty perpendicular cliffs without a single gap to break their continuity. Idris and his companion were standing somewhere near the centre of this curve. The tide, extending in a straight line across the bay, had now closed in upon the extreme points of the arc-like sweep, and was still advancing, covering the sand and reducing at each moment the extent of their standing room. Before Idris could have carried her half-a-mile the sea would be breaking many feet deep upon the base of the cliffs.
"You cannot save me," said Mademoiselle Rivière, a sudden calmness coming over her. "It is impossible. You must leave me and try to save yourself."
The gentle maiden, whom a harsh word melts to tears, will often face death with fortitude, the great crisis evoking all the latent heroism of her nature. So it was now, and Idris, looking into the depth of Mademoiselle Rivière's steadfast eyes, caught a glimpse of how those Christian women may have looked who faced martyrdom in the pagan days of old. Strange that a maiden, seemingly so good and brave, should have excited the aversion of Beatrice!
"If you die, I die with you," said Idris. "But I have no intention of letting either you or myself die. There is a way of escape open to us."
For, with a sudden thrill of joy, he remembered that, at a point a few hundred yards to the north of their present position, he had passed a great pile of rocks, fallen crags detached from the sides of the overhanging precipice. The spot was invisible from where he now stood, being hidden behind a projecting buttress of the cliff, but he judged that the summit of this rocky mass was certainly above high-water mark. There he and Mademoiselle Rivière must remain till the ebb of the tide, unless they should be so fortunate as to attract the notice of some passing boat.
Making known his intention, Idris added, "Pardon me; this is no time for ceremony."
He lifted her in his arms, and she, with a sudden and natural revulsion in favour of life, submitted to his will, placing her arms around his neck to steady her person.
The humming sea, as if bent on securing its victims, came foaming with threatening rapidity over the bare stretch of sand, throwing forward long streamlets, that, like eager creatures in a race, seemed striving with each other to be first at the foot of the cliff.
Though Lorelie Rivière was but a light weight Idris' progress was necessarily slow. At each step his foot sank deeper into the rapidly-moistening sand, and ere long the water itself was swirling round his ankles, and flinging its sparkling spray against the base of the precipice. And yet in all his life he had never experienced the pure joy that filled him at that moment. The woman whom he most loved was reclining within his arms, and clasped so closely to him, that he could feel her breast swelling against his own, and her hair touching his cheek. There was a subtle charm in the situation: what wonder, then, that he desired to prolong it, and that he moved at a slower pace as he drew near the pile of fallen crags?
The desired haven was gained at last, and Mademoiselle Rivière, partly by her own efforts and partly with the help of Idris, clambered up the face of the slippery and weed-grown rocks, the top of which formed an irregular, hummocky platform, a few yards in extent.
"Saved!" she murmured, sinking down and scarcely able to repress a tendency to cry. "But will not the tide cover this ledge?"
"No. See here!" replied Idris, plucking a weed beside her. "Samphire! It never grows below salt water. We are quite safe."
Mademoiselle Rivière clasped her hands: her lips moved, and Idris knew that she was breathing a silent prayer.
"You have saved my life," she said, looking up at him with gratitude shining from her eyes. "How can I thank you?"
Though he had seen Mademoiselle Rivière but once, and then for a moment only: though this was his first time of conversing with her, Idris intuitively felt that she was the one woman in the world for him: and that though happiness might be possible apart from her, such happiness would be but the shadow of that derivable from her undivided love.
Fortune was certainly favouring him. He would have given half his wealth to any one who could have brought about such a situation as the present, and lo! the event had happened naturally, of itself, and without any premeditation on his part. It was wonderful! Many hours might pass ere he and Mademoiselle Rivière could quit the spot where they now were. He determined to make good use of this golden opportunity. He would exert all his powers to gain a place, if not in her affection, at least in her friendship, so that her feeling on parting from him should contain something of regret.
"How can I thank you?" she repeated.
"By not thanking me. How did the accident happen?"
"My hat was the cause of it all. I was standing on the edge of the cliff when the wind carried it off to the sands below. Not wishing to return home bare-headed, I clambered down 'The Stairs of David' after it. The ladder gave way, and I fell. A sudden stop, and I remember no more."
"It was well the ground at the foot of the cliff was soft sand," said Idris.
"It was well, as you say," replied Mademoiselle Rivière with a shiver. "I shall never forget the sensation of falling through the air."
"Does your ankle still pain you?" Idris asked, observing that she shrank from placing her left foot on the ground.
"A little," she smiled.
"You are sure it is not dislocated—broken?"
"O no; it is merely a sprain. How long shall we have to remain here?" she added.
This was a question that Idris himself had been considering. It appeared that Mademoiselle Rivière, on setting out for her walk, had not told any one of the direction she had intended to take: Idris had been similarly negligent. Hence it was very unlikely that men from Ormsby would come cruising along the shore in boats to search for them. To scale the precipice was out of the question. To shout for aid would be of little avail, for as the cliff above them was lofty, and the highroad ran a considerable distance from its edge, there was little probability that their voices would be heard. Their position rendered it impossible to make any signals that would be visible at Ormsby, that town being situated just behind the cliff that formed one extremity of the bay.
"I fear," said Idris, after considering all these things, "that our captivity is dependent upon the good graces of the tide."
"And the tide will be several hours in turning," said Mademoiselle Rivière. "Well, I suppose I must play the philosopher, and accept the situation. It is certainly better to be here than under the waves."
If her beauty charmed Idris, her manner, pleasant and without affectation, charmed him still more.
So interested had he been in her companionship that he had hitherto failed to notice that the face of the overhanging cliff was pierced by a deep cavern, the mouth of which was on a level with the top of their rocky platform.
"What is this?" he said, stepping forward to take a closer view. "A cave, as I live. A coast-guard's place for watching smugglers, I suppose."
"That must be the 'Hermit's Cave,'" said Mademoiselle Rivière, turning her eyes upon it, "so named from an ancient recluse who is said to have made it his home. I am told that the chair in which he sat is still to be seen, cut out of the solid rock."
"Excellent! You must occupy that seat, mademoiselle. It will be more pleasant there than sitting out here upon this slippery windy rock."
She rose, glad of the proposed change, for the wind was playing confusion with her hair. Observing her wince, as her left foot touched the ground, Idris said, with a smile:—
"You had better let me carry you."
Lorelie coloured, neither assenting nor opposing. Since Idris had carried her once it would be prudery to resist now, and so, knowing that she must either accept his aid or else crawl to the spot upon her hands and knees, she entrusted herself to his arms, and in this way gained the entrance of the cave, which was of considerable extent, and strewn with logs, planks, and odd pieces of timber.
"Where does all this wood come from?" she asked.
"Wreckage-timber, probably; doubtless placed here by the coast-guard to be used as firing in cold weather. See! here is the hermit's seat you spoke of," said Idris, indicating a piece of rock jutting from the wall of the cave near its entrance. It had been hollowed out by art into the rude resemblance of an armchair, and within this recess Idris placed his companion.
"I hope you dined well before setting out," he said, "for our grotto offers nothing in the shape of commissariat."
"I am somewhat thirsty," replied Lorelie, as she turned her eyes upon a tiny spring of water, which, issuing from a fissure in the wall of the cave, flowed silently down into a depression hollowed out in the floor, just beside the hermit's seat; then, overflowing from the basin into a groove of its own making, the water became lost in an orifice a few feet distant.
"Here is a remedy for thirst," said Idris. "The daily drink of our hermit. 'The waters of Siloah that go softly,' was perhaps his name for it. The eremite's crockeryware having perished, how do you propose to drink?"
"With Nature's cup," smiled Lorelie, curving her hands into the shape of a bowl.
Mindful of her ankle she slid cautiously upon her knees and bent, a charming picture, over the pool.
"How clear and still," she murmured. "Its surface is like a mirror."
"Then do not gaze too long upon it, lest you meet the fate of Narcissus."
"Narcissus?" she repeated, looking up at him with inquiring eyes.
"He died from the reflection of his own loveliness."
Idris regretted his words almost in the very moment of their utterance, for he could tell by the sudden clouding of her face that she was averse to the language of gallantry. Clearly she was not a woman to be won by empty compliment, and he resolved to steer clear of such a quicksand. He was glad to observe that when she had resumed her seat the pleasant smile was again on her lip.
Attentive to every variation in her countenance he began to discern two moods in Lorelie Rivière: the one vivacious and sprightly, and this seemed to be her original disposition: the other, pensive and sad, the result, so he judged, of some secret sorrow.
He longed to know more of this fair lady, slighted by Beatrice; the lady who had once lived at Nantes in the very house that fronted the scene of the murder of Duchesne, that murder for which his father had been condemned: the lady who was erecting in St. Oswald's Churchyard a marble cross inscribed with an epitaph that seemed almost applicable to his father's case: the lady whose playing upon the organ had wrought so weird an effect upon his mind.
All these things contributed to invest Lorelie Rivière with a charming air of mystery, but Idris recognized that the time was not yet ripe to press for confidences.
Dragging a few logs forward he disposed them so as to form a seat for himself near the entrance of the cavern, remarking as he did so:—
"We must not forget to look out for passing boats."
The afternoon sun was filling the air with a dusky golden glow. The waves dancing and sparkling below the mouth of the cave flashed emerald and sapphire hues upon its roof, irradiating the place with an ever-changing light.
To Idris the situation was a charming tableau, a living idyll, and one that was rendered all the more pleasant by contrast with their recent perilous position. Mademoiselle Rivière trembled as she reflected on what might have happened but for the chance passing of this stranger. Strange that until this moment it had not occurred to her to ask his name!
"You know my name," she said, "but I have yet to learn yours."
"My name is Breakspear," he replied, withholding his true patronymic; and feeling as he spoke a sense of shame of having to deceive her even in so small a matter; "Idris Breakspear."