VI
THE OTHER WING
1
It used to puzzle him that, after dark, some one _would_ look in roundthe edge of the bedroom door, and withdraw again too rapidly for himto see the face. When the nurse had gone away with the candle thishappened: "Good night, Master Tim," she said usually, shading the lightwith one hand to protect his eyes; "dream of me and I'll dream of you."She went out slowly. The sharp-edged shadow of the door ran across theceiling like a train. There came a whispered colloquy in the corridoroutside, about himself, of course, and--he was alone. He heard hersteps going deeper and deeper into the bosom of the old country house;they were audible for a moment on the stone flooring of the hall; andsometimes the dull thump of the baize door into the servants' quartersjust reached him, too--then silence. But it was only when the lastsound, as well as the last sign of her had vanished, that the faceemerged from its hiding-place and flashed in upon him round the corner.As a rule, too, it came just as he was saying, "Now I'll go to sleep. Iwon't think any longer. Good night, Master Tim, and happy dreams." Heloved to say this to himself; it brought a sense of companionship, asthough there were two persons speaking.
The room was on the top of the old house, a big, high-ceilinged room,and his bed against the wall had an iron railing round it; he felt verysafe and protected in it. The curtains at the other end of the roomwere drawn. He lay watching the firelight dancing on the heavy folds,and their pattern, showing a spaniel chasing a long-tailed bird towardsa bushy tree, interested and amused him. It was repeated over and overagain. He counted the number of dogs, and the number of birds, and thenumber of trees, but could never make them agree. There was a plansomewhere in that pattern; if only he could discover it, the dogs andbirds and trees would "come out right." Hundreds and hundreds of timeshe had played this game, for the plan in the pattern made it possibleto take sides, and the bird and dog were against him. They always won,however; Tim usually fell asleep just when the advantage was on his ownside. The curtains hung steadily enough most of the time, but it seemedto him once or twice that they stirred--hiding a dog or bird on purposeto prevent his winning. For instance, he had eleven birds and eleventrees, and, fixing them in his mind by saying, "that's eleven birdsand eleven trees, but only ten dogs," his eyes darted back to find theeleventh dog, when--the curtain moved and threw all his calculationsinto confusion again. The eleventh dog was hidden. He did not quitelike the movement; it gave him questionable feelings, rather, for thecurtain did not move of itself. Yet, usually, he was too intent uponcounting the dogs to feel positive alarm.
Opposite to him was the fireplace, full of red and yellow coals; and,lying with his head sideways on the pillow, he could see directly inbetween the bars. When the coals settled with a soft and powdery crash,he turned his eyes from the curtains to the grate, trying to discoverexactly which bits had fallen. So long as the glow was there the soundseemed pleasant enough, but sometimes he awoke later in the night, theroom huge with darkness, the fire almost out--and the sound was not sopleasant then. It startled him. The coals did not fall of themselves.It seemed that some one poked them cautiously. The shadows were verythick before the bars. As with the curtains, moreover, the morningaspect of the extinguished fire, the ice-cold cinders that made aclinking sound like tin, caused no emotion whatever in his soul.
And it was usually while he lay waiting for sleep, tired both of thecurtain and the coal games, on the point, indeed, of saying, "I'll goto sleep now," that the puzzling thing took place. He would be staringdrowsily at the dying fire, perhaps counting the stockings and flannelgarments that hung along the high fender-rail when, suddenly, a personlooked in with lightning swiftness through the door and vanished againbefore he could possibly turn his head to see. The appearance anddisappearance were accomplished with amazing rapidity always.
It was a head and shoulders that looked in, and the movement combinedthe speed, the lightness and the silence of a shadow. Only it was nota shadow. A hand held the edge of the door. The face shot round, sawhim, and withdrew like lightning. It was utterly beyond him to imagineanything more quick and clever. It darted. He heard no sound. It went.But--it had seen him, looked him all over, examined him, noted whathe was doing with that lightning glance. It wanted to know if he wereawake still, or asleep. And though it went off, it still watched himfrom a distance; it waited somewhere; it knew all about him. _Where_ itwaited no one could ever guess. It came probably, he felt, from beyondthe house, possibly from the roof, but most likely from the garden orthe sky. Yet, though strange, it was not terrible. It was a kindly andprotective figure, he felt. And when it happened he never called forhelp, because the occurrence simply took his voice away.
"It comes from the Nightmare Passage," he decided; "but it's _not_ anightmare." It puzzled him.
Sometimes, moreover, it came more than once in a single night. He waspretty sure--not _quite_ positive--that it occupied his room as soonas he was properly asleep. It took possession, sitting perhaps beforethe dying fire, standing upright behind the heavy curtains, or evenlying down in the empty bed his brother used when he was home fromschool. Perhaps it played the curtain game, perhaps it poked the coals;it knew, at any rate, where the eleventh dog had lain concealed. Itcertainly came in and out; certainly, too, it did not wish to be seen.For, more than once, on waking suddenly in the midnight blackness, Timknew it was standing close beside his bed and bending over him. Hefelt, rather than heard, its presence. It glided quietly away. It movedwith marvellous softness, yet he was positive it moved. He felt thedifference, so to speak. It had been near him, now it was gone. It cameback, too--just as he was falling into sleep again. Its midnight comingand going, however, stood out sharply different from its first shy,tentative approach. For in the firelight it came alone; whereas in theblack and silent hours, it had with it--others.
And it was then he made up his mind that its swift and quiet movementswere due to the fact that it had wings. It flew. And the others thatcame with it in the darkness were "its little ones." He also made uphis mind that all were friendly, comforting, protective, and that whilepositively _not_ a Nightmare, it yet came somehow along the NightmarePassage before it reached him. "You see, it's like this," he explainedto the nurse: "The big one comes to visit me alone, but it only bringsits little ones when I'm _quite_ asleep."
"Then the quicker you get to sleep the better, isn't it, Master Tim?"
He replied: "Rather! I always do. Only I wonder where they come_from_!" He spoke, however, as though he had an inkling.
But the nurse was so dull about it that he gave her up and tried hisfather. "Of course," replied this busy but affectionate parent; "it'seither nobody at all, or else it's Sleep coming to carry you away tothe land of dreams." He made the statement kindly but somewhat briskly,for he was worried just then about the extra taxes on his land, andthe effort to fix his mind on Tim's fanciful world was beyond him atthe moment. He lifted the boy on to his knee, kissed and patted him asthough he were a favourite dog, and planted him on the rug again with aflying sweep. "Run and ask your mother," he added; "she knows all thatkind of thing. Then come back and tell me all about it--another time."
Tim found his mother in an arm-chair before the fire of another room;she was knitting and reading at the same time--a wonderful thing theboy could never understand. She raised her head as he came in, pushedher glasses on to her forehead, and held her arms out. He told hereverything, ending up with what his father said.
"You see, it's _not_ Jackman, or Thompson, or any one like that," heexclaimed. "It's some one real."
"But nice," she assured him, "some one who comes to take care of youand see that you're all safe and cosy."
"Oh, yes, I know that. But----"
"I think your father's right," she added quickly. "It's Sleep, I'msure, who pops in round the door like that. Sleep _has_ got wings, I'vealways heard."
"Then the other thing--the little ones?" he asked. "Are they just sortsof dozes, you think?"
Mother did not answer fo
r a moment. She turned down the page of herbook, closed it slowly, put it on the table beside her. More slowlystill she put her knitting away, arranging the wool and needles withsome deliberation.
"Perhaps," she said, drawing the boy closer to her and looking into hisbig eyes of wonder, "they're dreams!"
Tim felt a thrill run through him as she said it. He stepped back afoot or so and clapped his hands softly. "Dreams!" he whispered withenthusiasm and belief; "of course! I never thought of that."
His mother, having proved her sagacity, then made a mistake. She notedher success, but instead of leaving it there, she elaborated andexplained. As Tim expressed it she "went on about it." Therefore he didnot listen. He followed his train of thought alone. And presently, heinterrupted her long sentences with a conclusion of his own:
"Then I know where She hides," he announced with a touch of awe. "WhereShe lives, I mean." And without waiting to be asked, he imparted theinformation: "It's in the Other Wing."
"Ah!" said his mother, taken by surprise. "How clever of you,Tim!"--and thus confirmed it.
Thenceforward this was established in his life--that Sleep and herattendant Dreams hid during the daytime in that unused portion of thegreat Elizabethan mansion called the Other Wing. This other wing wasunoccupied, its corridors untrodden, its windows shuttered and itsrooms all closed. At various places green baize doors led into it, butno one ever opened them. For many years this part had been shut up; andfor the children, properly speaking, it was out of bounds. They nevermentioned it as a possible place, at any rate; in hide-and-seek it wasnot considered, even; there was a hint of the inaccessible about theOther Wing. Shadows, dust, and silence had it to themselves.
But Tim, having ideas of his own about everything, possessed specialinformation about the Other Wing. He believed it _was_ inhabited. Whooccupied the immense series of empty rooms, who trod the spaciouscorridors, who passed to and fro behind the shuttered windows, he hadnot known exactly. He had called these occupants "they," and the mostimportant among them was "The Ruler." The Ruler of the Other Wing was akind of deity, powerful, far away, ever present yet never seen.
And about this Ruler he had a wonderful conception for a little boy;he connected her, somehow, with deep thoughts of his own, the deepestof all. When he made up adventures to the moon, to the stars, or tothe bottom of the sea, adventures that he lived inside himself, as itwere--to reach them he must invariably pass through the chambers ofthe Other Wing. Those corridors and halls, the Nightmare Passage amongthem, lay along the route; they were the first stage of the journey.Once the green baize doors swung to behind him and the long dim passagestretched ahead, he was well on his way into the adventure of themoment; the Nightmare Passage once passed, he was safe from capture;but once the shutters of a window had been flung open, he was free ofthe gigantic world that lay beyond. For then light poured in and hecould see his way.
The conception, for a child, was curious. It established acorrespondence between the mysterious chambers of the Other Wing andthe occupied, but unguessed chambers of his Inner Being. Through thesechambers, through these darkened corridors, along a passage, sometimesdangerous, or at least of questionable repute, he must pass to find alladventures that were _real_. The light--when he pierced far enough totake the shutters down--was discovery. Tim did not actually think, muchless say, all this. He was aware of it, however. He felt it. The OtherWing was inside himself as well as through the green baize doors. Hisinner map of wonder included both of them.
But now, for the first time in his life, he knew who lived there andwho the Ruler was. A shutter had fallen of its own accord; light pouredin; he made a guess, and Mother had confirmed it. Sleep and her LittleOnes, the host of dreams, were the daylight occupants. They stole outwhen the darkness fell. All adventures in life began and ended by adream--discoverable by first passing through the Other Wing.
2
And, having settled this, his one desire now was to travel over the mapupon journeys of exploration and discovery. The map inside himself heknew already, but the map of the Other Wing he had not seen. His mindknew it, he had a clear mental picture of rooms and halls and passages,but his feet had never trod the silent floors where dust and shadowshid the flock of dreams by day. The mighty chambers where Sleep ruledhe longed to stand in, to see the Ruler face to face. He made up hismind to get into the Other Wing.
To accomplish this was difficult; but Tim was a determined youngster,and he meant to try; he meant, also, to succeed. He deliberated. Atnight he could not possibly manage it; in any case, the Ruler and herhost all left it after dark, to fly about the world; the Wing wouldbe empty, and the emptiness would frighten him. Therefore he mustmake a daylight visit; and it was a daylight visit he decided on.He deliberated more. There were rules and risks involved: it meantgoing out of bounds, the danger of being seen, the certainty of beingquestioned by some idle and inquisitive grown-up: "Where in the worldhave you been all this time"--and so forth. These things he thought outcarefully, and though he arrived at no solution, he felt satisfied thatit would be all right. That is, he recognised the risks. To be preparedwas half the battle, for nothing then could take him by surprise.
The notion that he might slip in from the garden was soon abandoned;the red bricks showed no openings; there was no door; from thecourtyard, also, entrance was impracticable; even on tiptoe he couldbarely reach the broad window-sills of stone. When playing alone,or walking with the French governess, he examined every outsidepossibility. None offered. The shutters, supposing he could reach them,were thick and solid.
Meanwhile, when opportunity offered, he stood against the outside wallsand listened, his ear pressed against the tight red bricks; the towersand gables of the Wing rose overhead; he heard the wind go whisperingalong the eaves; he imagined tiptoe movements and a sound of wingsinside. Sleep and her Little Ones were busily preparing for theirjourneys after dark; they hid, but they did not sleep; in this unusedWing, vaster alone than any other country house he had ever seen,Sleep taught and trained her flock of feathered Dreams. It was verywonderful. They probably supplied the entire county. But more wonderfulstill was the thought that the Ruler herself should take the troubleto come to his particular room and personally watch over him allnight long. That was amazing. And it flashed across his imaginative,inquiring mind: "Perhaps they take me with them! The moment I'm asleep!That's why she comes to see me!"
Yet his chief preoccupation was, how Sleep got out. Through the greenbaize doors, of course! By a process of elimination he arrived at aconclusion: he, too, must enter through a green baize door and riskdetection.
Of late, the lightning visits had ceased. The silent, darting figurehad not peeped in and vanished as it used to do. He fell asleep tooquickly now, almost before Jackman reached the hall, and long beforethe fire began to die. Also, the dogs and birds upon the curtainsalways matched the trees exactly, and he won the curtain game quiteeasily; there was never a dog or bird too many; the curtain neverstirred. It had been thus ever since his talk with Mother and Father.And so he came to make a second discovery: His parents did not reallybelieve in his Figure. She kept away on that account. They doubtedher; she hid. Here was still another incentive to go and find herout. He ached for her, she was so kind, she gave herself so muchtrouble--just for his little self in the big and lonely bedroom. Yethis parents spoke of her as though she were of no account. He longedto see her, face to face, and tell her that _he_ believed in her andloved her. For he was positive she would like to hear it. She cared.Though he had fallen asleep of late too quickly for him to see herflash in at the door, he had known nicer dreams than ever in his lifebefore--travelling dreams. And it was she who sent them. More--he wassure she took him out with her.
One evening, in the dusk of a March day, his opportunity came; and onlyjust in time, for his brother Jack was expected home from school on themorrow, and with Jack in the other bed, no Figure would ever care toshow itself. Also it was Easter, and after Easter, though Tim was notaware of it at the tim
e, he was to say good-bye finally to governessesand become a day-boarder at a preparatory school for Wellington. Theopportunity offered itself so naturally, moreover, that Tim took itwithout hesitation. It never occurred to him to question, much less torefuse it. The thing was obviously meant to be. For he found himselfunexpectedly in front of a green baize door; and the green baize doorwas--swinging! Somebody, therefore, had just passed through it.
It had come about in this wise. Father, away in Scotland, atInglemuir, the shooting place, was expected back next morning; Motherhad driven over to the church upon some Easter business or other; andthe governess had been allowed her holiday at home in France. Tim,therefore, had the run of the house, and in the hour between tea andbed-time he made good use of it. Fully able to defy such second-rateobstacles as nurses and butlers, he explored all manner of forbiddenplaces with ardent thoroughness, arriving finally in the sacredprecincts of his father's study. This wonderful room was the veryheart and centre of the whole big house; he had been birched here longago; here, too, his father had told him with a grave yet smiling face:"You've got a new companion, Tim, a little sister; you must be verykind to her." Also, it was the place where all the money was kept. Whathe called "father's jolly smell" was strong in it--papers, tobacco,books, flavoured by hunting crops and gunpowder.
At first he felt awed, standing motionless just inside the door;but presently, recovering equilibrium, he moved cautiously on tiptoetowards the gigantic desk where important papers were piled in untidypatches. These he did not touch; but beside them his quick eye notedthe jagged piece of iron shell his father brought home from his Crimeancampaign and now used as a letter-weight. It was difficult to lift,however. He climbed into the comfortable chair and swung round andround. It was a swivel-chair, and he sank down among the cushionsin it, staring at the strange things on the great desk before him,as if fascinated. Next he turned away and saw the stick-rack in thecorner--this, he knew, he was allowed to touch. He had played withthese sticks before. There were twenty, perhaps, all told, with curiouscarved handles, brought from every corner of the world; many of themcut by his father's own hand in queer and distant places. And, amongthem, Tim fixed his eye upon a cane with an ivory handle, a slender,polished cane that he had always coveted tremendously. It was the kindhe meant to use when he was a man. It bent, it quivered, and when heswished it through the air it trembled like a riding-whip, and madea whistling noise. Yet it was very strong in spite of its elasticqualities. A family treasure, it was also an old-fashioned relic; ithad been his grandfather's walking stick. Something of another centuryclung visibly about it still. It had dignity and grace and leisure inits very aspect. And it suddenly occurred to him: "How grandpapa mustmiss it! Wouldn't he just love to have it back again!"
How it happened exactly, Tim did not know, but a few minutes later hefound himself walking about the deserted halls and passages of thehouse with the air of an elderly gentleman of a hundred years ago,proud as a courtier, flourishing the stick like an Eighteenth Centurydandy in the Mall. That the cane reached to his shoulder made nodifference; he held it accordingly, swaggering on his way. He was offupon an adventure. He dived down through the byways of the Other Wing,inside himself, as though the stick transported him to the days of theold gentleman who had used it in another century.
It may seem strange to those who dwell in smaller houses, but in thisrambling Elizabethan mansion there were whole sections that, even toTim, were strange and unfamiliar. In his mind the map of the OtherWing was clearer by far than the geography of the part he travelleddaily. He came to passages and dim-lit halls, long corridors of stonebeyond the Picture Gallery; narrow, wainscoted connecting-channels withfour steps down and a little later two steps up; deserted chamberswith arches guarding them--all hung with the soft March twilight andall bewilderingly unrecognised. With a sense of adventure born ofnaughtiness he went carelessly along, farther and farther into theheart of this unfamiliar country, swinging the cane, one thumb stuckinto the arm-pit of his blue serge suit, whistling softly to himself,excited yet keenly on the alert--and suddenly found himself opposite adoor that checked all further advance. It was a green baize door. Andit was swinging.
He stopped abruptly, facing it. He stared, he gripped his cane moretightly, he held his breath. "The Other Wing!" he gasped in a swallowedwhisper. It was an entrance, but an entrance he had never seen before.He thought he knew every door by heart; but this one was new. He stoodmotionless for several minutes, watching it; the door had two halves,but one half only was swinging, each swing shorter than the one before;he heard the little puffs of air it made; it settled finally, the lastmovements very short and rapid; it stopped. And the boy's heart, aftersimilar rapid strokes, stopped also--for a moment.
"Some one's just gone through," he gulped. And even as he said it heknew who the some one was. The conviction just dropped into him. "It'sGrandfather; he knows I've got his stick. He wants it!" On the heels ofthis flashed instantly another amazing certainty. "He sleeps in there.He's having dreams. That's what being dead means."
His first impulse, then, took the form of, "I must let Father know;it'll make him burst for joy"; but his second was for himself--tofinish his adventure. And it was this, naturally enough, that gainedthe day. He could tell his father later. His first duty was plainly togo through the door into the Other Wing. He must give the stick back toits owner. He must _hand_ it back.
The test of will and character came now. Tim had imagination, and soknew the meaning of fear; but there was nothing craven in him. Hecould howl and scream and stamp like any other person of his age whenthe occasion called for such behaviour, but such occasions were dueto temper roused by a thwarted will, and the histrionics were half"pretended" to produce a calculated effect. There was no one to thwarthis will at present. He also knew how to be afraid of Nothing, to beafraid without ostensible cause, that is--which was merely "nerves." Hecould have "the shudders" with the best of them.
But, when a real thing faced him, Tim's character emerged to meet it.He would clench his hands, brace his muscles, set his teeth--and wishto heaven he was bigger. But he would not flinch. Being imaginative,he lived the worst a dozen times before it happened, yet in the finalcrash he stood up like a man. He had that highest pluck--the courageof a sensitive temperament. And at this particular juncture, somewhatticklish for a boy of eight or nine, it did not fail him. He lifted thecane and pushed the swinging door wide open. Then he walked throughit--into the Other Wing.
3
The green baize door swung to behind him; he was even sufficientlymaster of himself to turn and close it with a steady hand, because hedid not care to hear the series of muffled thuds its lessening swingswould cause. But he realised clearly his position, knew he was doing atremendous thing.
Holding the cane between fingers very tightly clenched, he advancedbravely along the corridor that stretched before him. And all fear lefthim from that moment, replaced, it seemed, by a mild and exquisitesurprise. His footsteps made no sound, he walked on air; instead ofdarkness, or the twilight he expected, a diffused and gentle light thatseemed like the silver on the lawn when a half-moon sails a cloudlesssky, lay everywhere. He knew his way, moreover, knew exactly where hewas and whither he was going. The corridor was as familiar to him asthe floor of his own bedroom; he recognised the shape and length ofit; it agreed exactly with the map he had constructed long ago. Thoughhe had never, to the best of his knowledge, entered it before, he knewwith intimacy its every detail.
And thus the surprise he felt was mild and far from disconcerting."I'm here again!" was the kind of thought he had. It was _how_ hegot here that caused the faint surprise, apparently. He no longerswaggered, however, but walked carefully, and half on tiptoe, holdingthe ivory handle of the cane with a kind of affectionate respect. Andas he advanced, the light closed softly up behind him, obliterating theway by which he had come. But this he did not know, because he did notlook behind him. He only looked in front, where the corridor stretchedits silvery length towards
the great chamber where he knew the canemust be surrendered. The person who had preceded him down this ancientcorridor, passing through the green baize door just before he reachedit, this person, his father's father, now stood in that great chamber,waiting to receive his own. Tim knew it as surely as he knew hebreathed. At the far end he even made out the larger patch of silverylight which marked its gaping doorway.
There was another thing he knew as well--that this corridor he movedalong between rooms with fast-closed doors, was the Nightmare Corridor;often and often he had traversed it; each room was occupied. "Thisis the Nightmare Passage," he whispered to himself, "but I know theRuler--it doesn't matter. None of them can get out or do anything."He heard them, none the less, inside, as he passed by; he heard themscratching to get out. The feeling of security made him reckless; hetook unnecessary risks; he brushed the panels as he passed. And thelove of keen sensation for its own sake, the desire to feel "an awfulthrill," tempted him once so sharply that he raised his stick and pokeda fast-shut door with it!
He was not prepared for the result, but he gained the sensation andthe thrill. For the door opened with instant swiftness half an inch, ahand emerged, caught the stick and tried to draw it in. Tim sprang backas if he had been struck. He pulled at the ivory handle with all hisstrength, but his strength was less than nothing. He tried to shout,but his voice had gone. A terror of the moon came over him, for he wasunable to loosen his hold of the handle; his fingers had become a partof it. An appalling weakness turned him helpless. He was dragged inchby inch towards the fearful door. The end of the stick was alreadythrough the narrow, crack. He could not see the hand that pulled, buthe knew it was terrific. He understood now why the world was strange,why horses galloped furiously, and why trains whistled as they racedthrough stations. All the comedy and terror of nightmare gripped hisheart with pincers made of ice. The disproportion was abominable. Thefinal collapse rushed over him when, without a sign of warning, thedoor slammed silently, and between the jamb and the wall the cane wascrushed as flat as if it were a bulrush. So irresistible was the forcebehind the door that the solid stick just went flat as a stalk of abulrush.
He looked at it. It _was_ a bulrush.
He did not laugh; the absurdity was so distressingly unnatural. Thehorror of finding a bulrush where he had expected a polished cane--thishideous and appalling detail held the nameless horror of the nightmare.It betrayed him utterly. Why had he not always known really that thestick was not a stick, but a thin and hollow reed...?
Then the cane was safely in his hand, unbroken. He stood looking at it.The Nightmare was in full swing. He heard another door opening behindhis back, a door he had not touched. There was just time to see a handthrusting and waving dreadfully, familiarly, at him through the narrowcrack--just time to realise that this was another Nightmare actingin atrocious concert with the first, when he saw closely beside him,towering to the ceiling, the protective, kindly Figure that visited hisbedroom. In the turning movement he made to meet the attack, he becameaware of her. And his terror passed. It was a nightmare terror merely.The infinite horror vanished. Only the comedy remained. He smiled.
He saw her dimly only, she was so vast, but he saw her, the Ruler ofthe Other Wing at last, and knew that he was safe again. He gazed witha tremendous love and wonder, trying to see her clearly; but the facewas hidden far aloft and seemed to melt into the sky beyond the roof.He discerned that she was larger than the Night, only far, far softer,with wings that folded above him more tenderly even than his mother'sarms; that there were points of light like stars among the feathers,and that she was vast enough to cover millions and millions of peopleall at once. Moreover, she did not fade or go, so far as he could see,but spread herself in such a way that he lost sight of her. She spreadover the entire Wing....
And Tim remembered that this was all quite natural really. He had oftenand often been down this corridor before; the Nightmare Corridor wasno new experience; it had to be faced as usual. Once knowing what hidinside the rooms, he was bound to tempt them out. They drew, enticed,attracted him; this was their power. It was their special strength thatthey could suck him helplessly towards them, and that he was obliged togo. He understood exactly why he was tempted to tap with the cane upontheir awful doors, but, having done so, he had accepted the challengeand could now continue his journey quietly and safely. The Ruler of theOther Wing had taken him in charge.
A delicious sense of carelessness came on him. There was softness as ofwater in the solid things about him, nothing that could hurt or bruise.Holding the cane firmly by its ivory handle, he went forward along thecorridor, walking as on air.
The end was quickly reached: He stood upon the threshold of themighty chamber where he knew the owner of the cane was waiting; thelong corridor lay behind him, in front he saw the spacious dimensionsof a lofty hall that gave him the feeling of being in the CrystalPalace, Euston Station, or St. Paul's. High, narrow windows, cut deeplyinto the wall, stood in a row upon the other side; an enormous openfireplace of burning logs was on his right; thick tapestries hung fromthe ceiling to the floor of stone; and in the centre of the chamberwas a massive table of dark, shining wood, great chairs with carvedstiff backs set here and there beside it. And in the biggest of thesethrone-like chairs there sat a figure looking at him gravely--thefigure of an old, old man.
Yet there was no surprise in the boy's fast-beating heart; there wasa thrill of pleasure and excitement only, a feeling of satisfaction.He had known quite well the figure would be there, known also it wouldlook like this exactly. He stepped forward on to the floor of stonewithout a trace of fear or trembling, holding the precious cane in twohands now before him, as though to present it to its owner. He feltproud and pleased. He had run risks for this.
And the figure rose quietly to meet him, advancing in a statelymanner over the hard stone floor. The eyes looked gravely, sweetlydown at him, the aquiline nose stood out. Tim knew him perfectly: theknee-breeches of shining satin, the gleaming buckles on the shoes, theneat dark stockings, the lace and ruffles about neck and wrists, thecoloured waistcoat opening so widely--all the details of the pictureover father's mantelpiece, where it hung between two Crimean bayonets,were reproduced in life before his eyes at last. Only the polished canewith the ivory handle was not there.
Tim went three steps nearer to the advancing figure and held out bothhis hands with the cane laid crosswise on them.
"I've brought it, Grandfather," he said, in a faint but clear andsteady tone; "here it is."
And the other stooped a little, put out three fingers half concealedby falling lace, and took it by the ivory handle. He made a courtly bowto Tim. He smiled, but though there was pleasure, it was a grave, sadsmile. He spoke then: the voice was slow and very deep. There was adelicate softness in it, the suave politeness of an older day.
"Thank you," he said; "I value it. It was given to me by mygrandfather. I forgot it when I----" His voice grew indistinct a little.
"Yes?" said Tim.
"When I--left," the old gentleman repeated.
"Oh," said Tim, thinking how beautiful and kind the gracious figure was.
The old man ran his slender fingers carefully along the cane, feelingthe polished surface with satisfaction. He lingered specially over thesmoothness of the ivory handle. He was evidently very pleased.
"I was not quite myself--er--at the moment," he went on gently; "mymemory failed me somewhat." He sighed, as though an immense relief wasin him.
"_I_ forget things, too--sometimes," Tim mentioned sympathetically.He simply loved his grandfather. He hoped--for a moment--he wouldbe lifted up and kissed. "I'm _awfully_ glad I brought it," hefaltered--"that you've got it again."
The other turned his kind grey eyes upon him; the smile on his face wasfull of gratitude as he looked down.
"Thank you, my boy. I am truly and deeply indebted to you. You courteddanger for my sake. Others have tried before, but the NightmarePassage--er----" He broke off. He tapped the stick firmly on the ston
eflooring, as though to test it. Bending a trifle, he put his weightupon it. "Ah!" he exclaimed with a short sigh of relief, "I can now----"
His voice again grew indistinct; Tim did not catch the words.
"Yes?" he asked again, aware for the first time that a touch of awe wasin his heart.
"--get about again," the other continued very low. "Without my cane,"he added, the voice failing with each word the old lips uttered, "Icould not ... possibly ... allow myself ... to be seen. It was indeed... deplorable ... unpardonable of me ... to forget in such a way.Zounds, sir...! I--I ..."
His voice sank away suddenly into a sound of wind. He straightened up,tapping the iron ferrule of his cane on the stones in a series of loudknocks. Tim felt a strange sensation creep into his legs. The queerwords frightened him a little.
The old man took a step towards him. He still smiled, but there wasa new meaning in the smile. A sudden earnestness had replaced thecourtly, leisurely manner. The next words seemed to blow down upon theboy from above, as though a cold wind brought them from the sky outside.
Yet the words, he knew, were kindly meant, and very sensible. It wasonly the abrupt change that startled him. Grandfather, after all, wasbut a man! The distant sound recalled something in him to that outsideworld from which the cold wind blew.
"My eternal thanks to you," he heard, while the voice and face andfigure seemed to withdraw deeper and deeper into the heart of themighty chamber. "I shall not forget your kindness and your courage. Itis a debt I can, fortunately, one day repay.... But now you had bestreturn and with dispatch. For your head and arm lie heavily on thetable, the documents are scattered, there is a cushion fallen ... andmy son is in the house.... Farewell! You had best leave me quickly.See! _She_ stands behind you, waiting. Go with her! Go now...!"
The entire scene had vanished even before the final words were uttered.Tim felt empty space about him. A vast, shadowy Figure bore him throughit as with mighty wings. He flew, he rushed, he remembered nothingmore--until he heard another voice and felt a heavy hand upon hisshoulder.
"Tim, you rascal! What are you doing in my study? And in the dark,like this!"
He looked up into his father's face without a word. He felt dazed. Thenext minute his father had caught him up and kissed him.
"Ragamuffin! How did you guess I was coming back to-night?" He shookhim playfully and kissed his tumbling hair. "And you've been asleep,too, into the bargain. Well--how's everything at home--eh? Jack'scoming back from school to-morrow, you know, and ..."
4
Jack came home, indeed, the following day, and when the Easter holidayswere over, the governess stayed abroad and Tim went off to adventuresof another kind in the preparatory school for Wellington. Life slippedrapidly along with him; he grew into a man; his mother and his fatherdied; Jack followed them within a little space; Tim inherited, married,settled down into his great possessions--and opened up the OtherWing. The dreams of imaginative boyhood all had faded; perhaps he hadmerely put them away, or perhaps he had forgotten them. At any rate,he never spoke of such things now, and when his Irish wife mentionedher belief that the old country house possessed a family ghost, evendeclaring that she had met an Eighteenth Century figure of a man inthe corridors, "an old, old man who bends down upon a stick"--Tim onlylaughed and said:
"That's as it ought to be! And if these awful land-taxes force us tosell some day, a respectable ghost will increase the market value."
But one night he woke and heard a tapping on the floor. He sat up inbed and listened. There was a chilly feeling down his back. Beliefhad long since gone out of him; he felt uncannily afraid. The soundcame nearer and nearer; there were light footsteps with it. The dooropened--it opened a little wider, that is, for it already stoodajar--and there upon the threshold stood a figure that it seemed heknew. He saw the face as with all the vivid sharpness of reality.There was a smile upon it, but a smile of warning and alarm. The armwas raised. Tim saw the slender hand, lace falling down upon the long,thin fingers, and in them, tightly gripped, a polished cane. Shakingthe cane twice to and fro in the air, the face thrust forward, spokecertain words, and--vanished. But the words were inaudible; for, thoughthe lips distinctly moved, no sound, apparently, came from them.
And Tim sprang out of bed. The room was full of darkness. He turned thelight on. The door, he saw, was shut as usual. He had, of course, beendreaming. But he noticed a curious odour in the air. He sniffed it onceor twice--then grasped the truth. It was a smell of burning!
Fortunately, he awoke just in time....
He was acclaimed a hero for his promptitude. After many days, whenthe damage was repaired, and nerves had settled down once more intothe calm routine of country life, he told the story to his wife--theentire story. He told the adventure of his imaginative boyhood withit. She asked to see the old family cane. And it was this request ofhers that brought back to memory a detail Tim had entirely forgottenall these years. He remembered it suddenly again--the loss of the cane,the hubbub his father kicked up about it, the endless, futile search.For the stick had never been found, and Tim, who was questioned veryclosely concerning it, swore with all his might that he had not thesmallest notion where it was. Which was, of course, the truth.