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Title: Let LooseAuthor: Mary Cholmondeley* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *eBook No.: 0605331h.htmlLanguage: EnglishDate first posted: August 2006Date most recently updated: August 2006This eBook was produced by: Richard ScottProject Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editionswhich are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright noticeis included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particularpaper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing thisfile.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online athttp://gutenberg.net.au/licence.htmlTo contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.au
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The dead abide with us! Though stark and cold
Earth seems to grip them, they are with us still.
Some years ago I took up architecture, and made a tour throughHolland, studying the buildings of that interesting country. I wasnot then aware that it is not enough to take up art. Art must takeyou up, too. I never doubted but that my passing enthusiasm for herwould be returned. When I discovered that she was a stern mistress,who did not immediately respond to my attentions, I naturallytransferred them to another shrine. There are other things in theworld besides art. I am now a landscape gardener.
But at the time of which I write I was engaged in a violentflirtation with architecture. I had one companion on this expedition,who has since become one of the leading architects of the day. He wasa thin, determined-looking man with a screwed-up face and heavy jaw,slow of speech, and absorbed in his work to a degree which I quicklyfound tiresome. He was possessed of a certain quiet power ofovercoming obstacles which I have rarely seen equalled. He has sincebecome my brother-in-law, so I ought to know; for my parents did notlike him much and opposed the marriage, and my sister did not likehim at all, and refused him over and over again; but, nevertheless,he eventually married her.
I have thought since that one of his reasons for choosing me ashis travelling companion on this occasion was because he was gettingup steam for what he subsequently termed 'an alliance with myfamily', but the idea never entered my head at the time. A morecareless man as to dress I have rarely met, and yet, in all the heatof July in Holland, I noticed that he never appeared without a high,starched collar, which had not even fashion to commend it at thattime.
I often chaffed him about his splendid collars, and asked him whyhe wore them, but without eliciting any response. One evening, as wewere walking back to our lodgings in Middeburg, I attacked him forabout the thirtieth time on the subject.
'Why on earth do you wear them?' I said.
'You have, I believe, asked me that question many times,' hereplied, in his slow, precise utterance; 'but always on occasionswhen I was occupied. I am now at leisure, and I will tell you.'
And he did.
I have put down what he said, as nearly in his own words as I canremember them.
Ten years ago, I was asked to read a paper on English Frescoes atthe Institute of British Architects. I was determined to make thepaper as good as I could, down to the slightest details, and Iconsulted many books on the subject, and studied every fresco I couldfind. My father, who had been an architect, had left me, at hisdeath, all his papers and note-books on the subject of architecture.I searched them diligently, and found in one of them a slightunfinished sketch of nearly fifty years ago that specially interestedme. Underneath was noted, in his clear, small hand--Frescoed eastwall of crypt. Parish Church. Wet Waste-on-the-Wolds, Yorkshire (viaPickering).
The sketch had such a fascination for me that I decided to gothere and see the fresco for myself. I had only a very vague idea asto where Wet Waste-on-the-Wolds was, but I was ambitious for thesuccess of my paper; it was hot in London, and I set off on my longjourney not without a certain degree of pleasure, with my dog Brian,a large nondescript brindled creature, as my only companion.
I reached Pickering, in Yorkshire, in the course of the afternoon,and then began a series of experiments on local lines which ended,after several hours, in my finding myself deposited at a littleout-of-the-world station within nine or ten miles of Wet Waste. As noconveyance of any kind was to be had, I shouldered my portmanteau,and set out on a long white road that stretched away into thedistance over the bare, treeless wold. I must have walked for severalhours, over a waste of moorland patched with heather, when a doctorpassed me, and gave me a lift to within a mile of my destination. Themile was a long one, and it was quite dark by the time I saw thefeeble glimmer of lights in front of me, and found that I had reachedWet Waste. I had considerable difficulty in getting any one to takeme in; but at last I persuaded the owner of the public-house to giveme a bed, and, quite tired out, I got into it as soon as possible,for fear he should change his mind, and fell asleep to the sound of alittle stream below my window.
I was up early next morning, and inquired directly after breakfastthe way to the clergyman's house, which I found was close at hand. AtWet Waste everything was close at hand. The whole village seemedcomposed of a straggling row of one-storeyed grey stone houses, thesame colour as the stone walls that separated the few fields enclosedfrom the surrounding waste, and as the little bridges over the beckthat ran down one side of the grey wide street. Everything wasgrey.
The church, the low tower of which I could see at a littledistance, seemed to have been built of the same stone; so was theparsonage when I came up to it, accompanied on my way by a mob ofrough, uncouth children, who eyed me and Brian with half-defiantcuriosity.
The clergyman was at home, and after a short delay I was admitted.Leaving Brian in charge of my drawing materials, I followed theservant into a low panelled room, in which, at a latticed window, avery old man was sitting. The morning light fell on his white headbent low over a litter of papers and books.
'Mr er--?' he said, looking up slowly, with one finger keeping hisplace in a hook.
'Blake.'
'Blake,' he repeated after me, and was silent.
I told him that I was an architect; that I had come to study afresco in the crypt of his church, and asked for the keys.
'The crypt,' he said, pushing up his spectacles and peering hardat me. 'The crypt has been closed for thirty years. Ever since--' andhe stopped short.
'I should be much obliged for the keys,' I said again.
He shook his head.
'No,' he said. 'No one goes in there now.
'It is a pity,' I remarked, 'for I have come a long way with thatone object'; and I told him about the paper I had been asked to read,and the trouble I was taking with it.
He became interested. 'Ah!' he said, laying down his pen, andremoving his finger from the page before him, 'I can understand that.I also was young once, and fired with ambition. The lines have fallento me in somewhat lonely places, and for forty years I have held thecure of souls in this place, where, truly, I have seen but little ofthe world, though I myself may be not unknown in the paths ofliterature. Possibly you may have read a pamphlet, written by myself,on the Syrian version of the Three Authentic Epistles ofIgnatius?'
'Sir,' I said, 'I am ashamed to confess that I have not time toread even the most celebrated books. My one object in life is my art.Ars longa, vita brevis, you know.'
'You are right, my son,' said the old man, evidently disappointed,but looking at me kindly.
'There are diversities of gifts, and if the Lord has entrusted youwith a talent, look to it. Lay it not up in a napkin.'
I said I would not do so if he would lend me the keys of thecrypt. He seemed startled by my recurrence to the subject and lookedundecided.
'Why not?' he murmured to himself. 'The youth appears a goodyouth. And superstition! What is it but distrust in God!'
He got up slowly, and taking a large bunch of keys out of hispocket, opened with one of them an oak cupboard in the corner of theroom.
'They should be here,' he muttered, peering in; 'but the dust ofmany years deceives the eye.
See, my son, if among these parchments there be two keys; one ofiron and very large, and the other steel, and of a long thinappearance.'
I went eagerly to help him, and presently found in a back drawertwo keys tied together, which he recognised at once.
'Those are they,' he said. 'The long one opens the first door atthe bottom of the steps which go down against the outside wall of thechurch hard by the sword graven in the wall. The second opens (but itis hard of opening and of shutting) the iron door within the passageleading to the crypt itself. My son, is it necessary to your treatisethat you should enter this crypt?'
I replied that it was absolutely necessary.
'Then take them,' he said, 'and in the evening you will bring themto me again.'
I said I might want to go several days running, and asked if hewould not allow me to keep them till I had finished my work; but onthat point he was firm.
'Likewise,' he added, 'be careful that you lock the first door atthe foot of the steps before you unlock the second, and lock thesecond also while you are within. Furthermore, when you come out lockthe iron inner door as well as the wooden one.'
I promised I would do so, and, after thanking him, hurried away,delighted at my success in obtaining the keys. Finding Brian and mysketching materials waiting for me in the porch, I eluded thevigilance of my escort of children by taking the narrow private pathbetween the parsonage and the church which was close at hand,standing in a quadrangle of ancient yews.
The church itself was interesting, and I noticed that it must havearisen out of the ruins of a previous building, judging from thenumber of fragments of stone caps and arches, bearing traces of veryearly carving, now built into the walls. There were incised crosses,too, in some places, and one especially caught my attention, beingflanked by a large sword. It was in trying to get a nearer look atthis that I stumbled, and, looking down, saw at my feet a flight ofnarrow stone steps green with moss and mildew. Evidently this was theentrance to the crypt. I at once descended the steps, taking care ofmy footing, for they were damp and slippery in the extreme.
Brian accompanied me, as nothing would induce him to remainbehind. By the time I had reached the bottom of the stairs, I foundmyself almost in darkness, and I had to strike a light before I couldfind the keyhole and the proper key to fit into it. The door, whichwas of wood, opened inwards fairly easily, although an accumulationof mould and rubbish on the ground outside showed it had not beenused for many years. Having got through it, which was not altogetheran easy matter, as nothing would induce it to open more than abouteighteen inches, I carefully locked it behind me, although I shouldhave preferred to leave it open, as there is to some minds anunpleasant feeling in being locked in anywhere, in case of a suddenexit seeming advisable.
I kept my candle alight with some difficulty, and after groping myway down a low and of course exceedingly dank passage, came toanother door. A toad was squatting against it, who looked as if hehad been sitting there about a hundred years. As I lowered the candleto the floor, he gazed at the light with unblinking eyes, and thenretreated slowly into a crevice in the wall, leaving against the doora small cavity in the dry mud which had gradually silted up round hisperson. I noticed that this door was of iron, and had a long bolt,which, however, was broken.
Without delay, I fitted the second key into the lock, and pushingthe door open after considerable difficulty, I felt the cold breathof the crypt upon my face. I must own I experienced a momentaryregret at locking the second door again as soon as I was well inside,but I felt it my duty to do so. Then, leaving the key in the lock, Iseized my candle and looked round. I was standing in a low vaultedchamber with groined roof, cut out of the solid rock. It wasdifficult to see where the crypt ended, as further light thrown onany point only showed other rough archways or openings, cut in therock, which had probably served at one time for family vaults.
A peculiarity of the Wet Waste crypt, which I had not noticed inother places of that description, was the tasteful arrangement ofskulls and bones which were packed about four feet high on eitherside. The skulls were symmetrically built up to within a few inchesof the top of the low archway on my left, and the shin bones werearranged in the same manner on my right. But the fresco! I lookedround for it in vain. Perceiving at the further end of the crypt avery low and very massive archway, the entrance to which was notfilled up with bones, I passed under it, and found myself in a secondsmaller chamber. Holding my candle above my head, the first objectits light fell upon was--the fresco, and at a glance I saw that itwas unique. Setting down some of my things with a trembling hand on arough stone shelf hard by, which had evidently been a credence table,I examined the work more closely. It was a reredos over what hadprobably been the altar at the time the priests were proscribed. Thefresco belonged to the earliest part of the fifteenth century, andwas so perfectly preserved that I could almost trace the limits ofeach day's work in the plaster, as the artist had dashed it on andsmoothed it out with his trowel. The subject was the Ascension,gloriously treated. I can hardly describe my elation as I stood andlooked at it, and reflected that this magnificent specimen of Englishfresco painting would be made known to the world by myself.Recollecting myself at last, I opened my sketching bag, and, lightingall the candles I had brought with me, set to work.
Brian walked about near me, and though I was not otherwise thanglad of his company in my rather lonely position, I wished severaltimes I had left him behind. He seemed restless, and even the sightof so many bones appeared to exercise no soothing effect upon him. Atlast, however, after repeated commands, he lay down, watchful butmotionless, on the stone floor.
I must have worked for several hours, and I was pausing to rest myeyes and hands, when I noticed for the first time the intensestillness that surrounded me. No sound from me reached the outerworld. The church clock which had clanged out so loud and ponderouslyas I went down the steps, had not since sent the faintest whisper ofits iron tongue down to me below. All was silent as the grave. Thiswas the grave. Those who had come here had indeed gone down intosilence. I repeated the words to myself, or rather they repeatedthemselves to me.
Gone down into silence.
I was awakened from my reverie by a faint sound. I sat still andlistened. Bats occasionally frequent vaults and undergroundplaces.
The sound continued, a faint, stealthy, rather unpleasant sound. Ido not know what kinds of sounds bats make, whether pleasant orotherwise. Suddenly there was a noise as of something falling, amomentary pause--and then--an almost imperceptible but distant jangleas of a key.
I had left the key in the lock after I had turned it, and I nowregretted having done so. I got up, took one of the candles, and wentback into the larger crypt--for though I trust I am not so effeminateas to be rendered nervous by hearing a noise for which I cannotinstantly account; still, on occasions of this kind, I must honestlysay I should prefer that they did not occur. As I came towards theiron door, there was another distinct (I had almost said hurried)sound. The impression on my mind was one of great haste. When Ireached the door, and held the candle near the lock to take out thekey, I perceived that the other one, which hung by a short string toits fellow, was vibrating slightly. I should have preferred not tofind it vibrating, as there seemed no occasion for such a course; butI put them both into my pocket, and turned to go back to my work. AsI turned, I saw on the ground what had occasioned the louder noise Ihad heard, namely, a skull which had evidently just slipped from itsplace on the top of one of the walls of bones, and had rolled almostto my feet. There, disclosing a few more inches of the top of anarchway behind, was the place from which it had been dislodged. Istooped to pick it up, but fearing to displace any more skulls bymeddling with the pile, and not liking to gather up its scatteredteeth, I let it lie, and went back to my work, in which I was soon socompletely absorbed that I was only roused at last by my candlesbeginning to burn low and go out one after another.
Then, with a sigh of regret, for I had not nearly finished, Iturned to go. Poor Brian, who had never quite reconciled himself tothe place, was beside himself with delight. As I opened the iron doorhe pushed past me, and a moment later I heard him whining andscratching, and I had almost added, beating, against the wooden one.I locked the iron door, and hurried down the passage as quickly as Icould, and almost before I had got the other one ajar there seemed tobe a rush past me into the open air, and Brian was bounding up thesteps and out of sight. As I stopped to take out the key, I feltquite deserted and left behind. When I came out once more into thesunlight, there was a vague sensation all about me in the air ofexultant freedom.
It was already late in the afternoon, and after I had saunteredback to the parsonage to give up the keys, I persuaded the people ofthe public-house to let me join in the family meal, which was spreadout in the kitchen. The inhabitants of Wet Waste were primitivepeople, with the frank, unabashed manner that flourishes still inlonely places, especially in the wilds of Yorkshire; but I had noidea that in these days of penny posts and cheap newspapers suchentire ignorance of the outer world could have existed in any corner,however remote, of Great Britain.
When I took one of the neighbour's children on my knee--a prettylittle girl with the palest aureole of flaxen hair I had everseen--and began to draw pictures for her of the birds and beasts ofother countries, I was instantly surrounded by a crowd of children,and even grown-up people, while others came to their doorways andlooked on from a distance, calling to each other in the stridentunknown tongue which I have since discovered goes by the name of'Broad Yorkshire'.
The following morning, as I came out of my room, I perceived thatsomething was amiss in the village. A buzz of voices reached me as Ipassed the bar, and in the next house I could hear through the openwindow a high-pitched wail of lamentation.
The woman who brought me my breakfast was in tears, and in answerto my questions, told me that the neighbour's child, the little girlwhom I had taken on my knee the evening before, had died in thenight.
I felt sorry for the general grief that the little creature'sdeath seemed to arouse, and the uncontrolled wailing of the poormother took my appetite away.
I hurried off early to my work, calling on my way for the keys,and with Brian for my companion descended once more into the crypt,and drew and measured with an absorption that gave me no time thatday to listen for sounds real or fancied. Brian, too, on thisoccasion seemed quite content, and slept peacefully beside me on thestone floor. When I had worked as long as I could, I put away mybooks with regret that even then I had not quite finished, as I hadhoped to do. It would be necessary to come again for a short time onthe morrow. When I returned the keys late that afternoon, the oldclergyman met me at the door, and asked me to come in and have teawith him.
'And has the work prospered?' he asked, as we sat down in thelong, low room, into which I had just been ushered, and where heseemed to live entirely.
I told him it had, and showed it to him.
'You have seen the original, of course?' I said.
'Once,' he replied, gazing fixedly at it. He evidently did notcare to be communicative, so I turned the conversation to the age ofthe church.
'All here is old,' he said. 'When I was young, forty years ago,and came here because I had no means of mine own, and was much movedto marry at that time, I felt oppressed that all was so old; and thatthis place was so far removed from the world, for which I had attimes longings grievous to be borne; but I had chosen my lot, andwith it I was forced to be content. My son, marry not in youth, forlove, which truly in that season is a mighty power, turns away theheart from study, and young children break the back of ambition.Neither marry in middle life, when a woman is seen to be but a womanand her talk a weariness, so you will not be burdened with a wife inyour old age.
I had my own views on the subject of marriage, for I am of opinionthat a well-chosen companion of domestic tastes and docile anddevoted temperament may be of material assistance to a professionalman. But, my opinions once formulated, it is not of moment to me todiscuss them with others, so I changed the subject, and asked if theneighbouring villages were as antiquated as Wet Waste 'Yes, all abouthere is old,' he repeated. 'The paved road leading to Dyke Fens is anancient pack road, made even in the time of the Romans. Dyke Fens,which is very near here, a matter of but four or five miles, islikewise old, and forgotten by the world. The Reformation neverreached it. It stopped here. And at Dyke Fens they still have apriest and a bell, and bow down before the saints. It is a damnableheresy, and weekly I expound it as such to my people, showing themtrue doctrines; and I have heard that this same priest has so faryielded himself to the Evil One that he has preached against me aswithholding gospel truths from my flock; but I take no heed of it,neither of his pamphlet touching the Clementine Homilies, in which hevainly contradicts that which I have plainly set forth and provenbeyond doubt, concerning the word Asaph.'
The old man was fairly off on his favourite subject, and it wassome time before I could get away. As it was, he followed me to thedoor, and I only escaped because the old clerk hobbled up at thatmoment, and claimed his attention.
The following morning I went for the keys for the third and lasttime. I had decided to leave early the next day. I was tired of WetWaste, and a certain gloom seemed to my fancy to be gathering overthe place. There was a sensation of trouble in the air, as if,although the day was bright and clear, a storm were coming.
This morning, to my astonishment, the keys were refused to me whenI asked for them. I did not, however, take the refusal as, final--Imake it a rule never to take a refusal as final--and after a shortdelay I was shown into the room where, as usual, the clergyman wassitting, or rather, on this occasion, was walking up and down.
'My son,' he said with vehemence, 'I know wherefore you have come,but it is of no avail. I cannot lend the keys again.'
I replied that, on the contrary, I hoped he would give them to meat once.
'It is impossible,' he repeated. 'I did wrong, exceeding wrong. Iwill never part with them again.'
'Why not?'
He hesitated, and then said slowly:
'The old clerk, Abraham Kelly, died last night.' He paused, andthen went on: 'The doctor has just been here to tell me of that whichis a mystery to him. I do not wish the people of the place to knowit, and only to me he has mentioned it, but he has discovered plainlyon the throat of the old man, and also, but more faintly on thechild's, marks as of strangulation. None but he has observed it, andhe is at a loss how to account for it. I, alas! can account for itbut in one way, but in one way!'
I did not see what all this had to do with the crypt, but tohumour the old man, I asked what that way was.
'It is a long story, and, haply, to a stranger it may appear butfoolishness, but I will even tell it; for I perceive that unless Ifurnish a reason for withholding the keys, you will not cease toentreat mc for them.
'I told you at first when you inquired of me concerning the crypt,that it had been closed these thirty years, and so it was. Thirtyyears ago a certain Sir Roger Despard departed this life, even theLord of the manor of Wet Waste and Dyke Fens, the last of his family,which is now, thank the Lord, extinct. He was a man of a vile life,neither fearing God nor regarding man, nor having compassion oninnocence, and the Lord appeared to have given him over to thetormentors even in this world, for he suffered many things of hisvices, more especially from drunkenness, in which seasons, and theywere many, he was as one possessed by seven devils, being anabomination to his household and a root of bitterness to all, bothhigh and low.
'And, at last, the cup of his iniquity being full to the brim, hecame to die, and I went to exhort him on his death-bed; for I heardthat terror had come upon him, and that evil imaginations encompassedhim so thick on every side, that few of them that were with him couldabide in his presence. But when I saw him I perceived that there wasno place of repentance left for him, and he scoffed at me and mysuperstition, even as he lay dying, and swore there was no God and noangel, and all were damned even as he was. And the next day, towardsevening, the pains of death came upon him, and he raved the moreexceedingly, inasmuch as he said he was being strangled by the EvilOne. Now on his table was his hunting knife, and with his laststrength he crept and laid hold upon it, no man withstanding him, andswore a great oath that if he went down to burn in hell, he wouldleave one of his hands behind on earth, and that it would never restuntil it had drawn blood from the throat of another and strangledhim, even as he himself was being strangled. And he cut off his ownright hand at the wrist, and no man dared go near him to stop him,and the blood went through the floor, even down to the ceiling of theroom below, and thereupon he died.
'And they called me in the night, and told me of his oath, and Ifor I thought it better he should take it with him, so that he mighthave it, I counselled that no man should speak of it, and I took thedead hand, which none had ventured to touch, and I laid it beside himin his coffin; if haply some day after much tribulation he shouldperchance be moved to stretch forth his hands towards God. But thestory got spread about, and the people were affrighted, so, when hecame to be buried in the place of his fathers, he being the last ofhis family, and the crypt likewise full, I had it closed, and keptthe keys myself, and suffered no man to enter therein any more; fortruly he was a man of an evil life, and the devil is not yet whollyovercome, nor cast chained into the lake of fire. So in time thestory died out, for in thirty years much is forgotten. And when youcame and asked me for the keys, I was at the first minded to withholdthem; but I thought it was a vain superstition, and I perceived thatyou do but ask a second time for what is first refused; so I let youhave them, seeing it was not an idle curiosity, but a desire toimprove the talent committed to you, that led you to requirethem.'
The old man stopped, and I remained silent, wondering what wouldbe the best way to get them just once more.
'Surely, sir,' I said at last, 'one so cultivated and deeply readas yourself cannot be biased by an idle superstition.'
'I trust not,' he replied, 'and yet--it is a strange thing thatsince the crypt was opened two people have died, and the mark isplain upon the throat of the old man and visible on the young child.No blood was drawn, but the second time the grip was stronger thanthe first. The third time, perchance--'
'Superstition such as that,' I said with authority, 'is an entirewant of faith in God. You once said so yourself.'
I took a high moral tone which is often efficacious withconscientious, humble-minded people.
He agreed, and accused himself of not having faith as a grain ofmustard seed; but even when I had got him so far as that, I had asevere struggle for the keys. It was only when I finally explained tohim that if any malign influence had been let loose the first day, atany rate, it was out now for good or evil, and no further going orcoming of mine could make any difference, that I finally gained mypoint. I was young, and he was old; and, being much shaken by whathad occurred, he gave way at last, and I wrested the keys fromhim.
I will not deny that I went down the steps that day with a vague,indefinable repugnance, which was only accentuated by the closing ofthe two doors behind me. I remembered then, for the first time, thefaint jangling of the key and other sounds which I had noticed thefirst day, and how one of the skulls had fallen. I went to the placewhere it still lay. I have already said these walls of skulls werebuilt up so high as to be within a few inches of the top of the lowarchways that led into more distant portions of the vault. Thedisplacement of the skull in question had left a small hole justlarge enough for me to put my hand through. I noticed for the firsttime, over the archway above it, a carved coat-of-arms, and the name,now almost obliterated, of Despard. This, no doubt, was the Despardvault. I could not resist moving a few more skulls and looking in,holding my candle as near the aperture as I could. The vault wasfull. Piled high, one upon another, were old coffins, and remnants ofcoffins, and strewn bones. I attribute my present determination to becremated to the painful impression produced on me by this spectacle.The coffin nearest the archway alone was intact, save for a largecrack across the lid. I could not get a ray from my candle to fall onthe brass plates, but I felt no doubt this was the coffin of thewicked Sir Roger. I put back the skulls, including the one which hadrolled down, and carefully finished my work. I was not there muchmore than an hour, but I was glad to get away.
If I could have left Wet Waste at once I should have done so, forI had a totally unreasonable longing to leave the place; but I foundthat only one train stopped during the day at the station from whichI had come, and that it would not be possible to be in time for itthat day.
Accordingly I submitted to the inevitable, and wandered about withBrian for the remainder of the afternoon and until late in theevening, sketching and smoking. The day was oppressively hot, andeven after the sun had set across the burnt stretches of the wolds,it seemed to grow very little cooler. Not a breath stirred. In theevening, when I was tired of loitering in the lanes, I went up to myown room, and after contemplating afresh my finished study of thefresco, I suddenly set to work to write the part of my paper bearingupon it. As a rule, I write with difficulty, but that evening wordscame to me with winged speed, and with them a hovering impressionthat I must make haste, that I was much pressed for time. I wrote andwrote, until my candles guttered out and left me trying to finish bythe moonlight, which, until I endeavoured to write by it, seemed asclear as day.
I had to put away my MS., and, feeling it was too early to go tobed, for the church clock was just counting out ten, I sat down bythe open window and leaned out to try and catch a breath of air. Itwas a night of exceptional beauty; and as I looked out my nervoushaste and hurry of mind were allayed. The moon, a perfect circle,was--if so poetic an expression be permissible--as it were, sailingacross a calm sky. Every detail of the little village was as clearlyilluminated by its beams as if it were broad day; so, also, was theadjacent church with its primeval yews, while even the wolds beyondwere dimly indicated, as if through tracing paper.
I sat a long time leaning against the window-sill. The heat wasstill intense. I am not, as a rule, easily elated or readily castdown; but as I sat that light in the lonely village on the moors,with Brian's head against my knee, how, or why, I know not, a greatdepression gradually came upon me.
My mind went back to the crypt and the countless dead who had beenlaid there. The sight of the goal to which all human life, andstrength, and beauty, travel in the end, had not affected me at thetime, but now the very air about me seemed heavy with death.
What was the good, I asked myself, of working and toiling, andgrinding down my heart and youth in the mill of long and strenuouseffort, seeing that in the grave folly and talent, idleness andlabour lie together, and are alike forgotten? Labour seemed tostretch before me till my heart ached to think of it, to stretchbefore me even to the end of life, and then came, as the recompenseof my labour--the grave. Even if I succeeded, if, after wearing mylife threadbare with toil, I succeeded, what remained to me in theend? The grave. A little sooner, while the hands and eyes were stillstrong to labour, or a little later, when all power and vision hadbeen taken from them; sooner or later only--the grave.
I do not apologise for the excessively morbid tenor of thesereflections, as I hold that they were caused by the lunar effectswhich I have endeavoured to transcribe. The moon in its variousquarterings has always exerted a marked influence on what I may callthe sub-dominant, namely, the poetic side of my nature.
I roused myself at last, when the moon came to look ill upon mewhere I sat, and, leaving the window open, I pulled myself togetherand went to bed.
I fell asleep almost immediately, but I do not fancy I could havebeen asleep very long when I was wakened by Brian. He was growling ina low, muffled tone, as he sometimes did in his sleep, when his nosewas buried in his rug. I called out to him to shut up; and as he didnot do so, turned in bed to find my match box or something to throwat him. The moonlight was still in the room, and as I looked at him Isaw him raise his head and evidently wake up. I admonished him, andwas just on the point of falling asleep when he began to growl againin a low, savage manner that waked me most effectually. Presently heshook himself and got up, and began prowling about the room. I sat upin bed and called to him, but he paid no attention. Suddenly I sawhim stop short in the moonlight; he showed his teeth, and croucheddown, his eyes following something in the air. I looked at him inhorror. Was he going mad? His eyes were glaring, and his head movedslightly as if he were following the rapid movements of an enemy.Then, with a furious snarl, he suddenly sprang from the ground, andrushed in great leaps across the room towards me, dashing himselfagainst the furniture, his eyes rolling, snatching and tearing wildlyin the air with his teeth. I saw he had gone mad. I leaped out ofbed, and rushing at him, caught him by the throat. The moon had gonebehind a cloud; but in the darkness I felt him turn upon me, felt himrise up, and his teeth close in my throat. I was being strangled.With all the strength of despair, I kept my grip of his neck, and,dragging him across the room, tried to crush in his head against theiron rail of my bedstead. It was my only chance. I felt the bloodrunning down my neck. I was suffocating. After one moment offrightful struggle, I beat his head against the bar and heard hisskull give way. I felt him give one strong shudder, a groan, and thenI fainted away.
When I came to myself I was lying on the floor, surrounded by thepeople of the house, my reddened hands still clutching Brian'sthroat. Someone was holding a candle towards me, and the draught fromthe window made it flare and waver. I looked at Brian. He was stonedead. The blood from his battered head was trickling slowly over myhands. His great jaw was fixed in something that--in the uncertainlight--I could not see.
They turned the light a little.
'Oh, God!' I shrieked. 'There! Look! Look!'
'He's off his head,' said some one, and I fainted again.
I was ill for about a fortnight without regaining consciousness, awaste of time of which even now I cannot think without poignantregret. When I did recover consciousness, I found I was beingcarefully nursed by the old clergyman and the people of the house. Ihave often heard the unkindness of the world in general inveighedagainst, but for my part I can honestly say that I have received manymore kindnesses than I have time to repay. Country people especiallyare remarkably attentive to strangers in illness.
I could not rest until I had seen the doctor who attended me, andhad received his assurance that I should be equal to reading my paperon the appointed day. This pressing anxiety removed, I told him ofwhat I had seen before I fainted the second time. He listenedattentively, and then assured me, in a manner that was intended to besoothing, that I was suffering from an hallucination, due, no doubt,to the shock of my dog's sudden madness.
'Did you see the dog after it was dead?' I asked.
He said he did. The whole jaw was covered with blood and foam; theteeth certainly seemed convulsively fixed, but the case beingevidently one of extraordinarily virulent hydrophobia, owing to theintense heat, he had had the body buried immediately.
My companion stopped speaking as we reached our lodgings, and wentupstairs. Then, lighting a candle, he slowly turned down hiscollar.
'You see I have the marks still,' he said, 'but I have no fear ofdying of hydrophobia. I am told such peculiar scars could not havebeen made by the teeth of a dog. If you look closely you see thepressure of the five fingers. That is the reason why I wear highcollars.'
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