CHAPTER IV
I RUN A GREAT DANGER IN THE HOUSE OF SHAWS
For a day that was begun so ill, the day passed fairly well. We had theporridge cold again at noon, and hot porridge at night; porridge andsmall beer was my uncle's diet. He spoke but little, and that in thesame way as before, shooting a question at me after a long silence; andwhen I sought to lead him to talk about my future, slipped out of itagain. In a room next door to the kitchen, where he suffered me to go,I found a great number of books, both Latin and English, in which I tookgreat pleasure all the afternoon. Indeed, the time passed so lightly inthis good company, that I began to be almost reconciled to my residenceat Shaws; and nothing but the sight of my uncle, and his eyes playinghide and seek with mine, revived the force of my distrust.
One thing I discovered, which put me in some doubt. This was an entry onthe fly-leaf of a chap-book (one of Patrick Walker's) plainly writtenby my father's hand and thus conceived: "To my brother Ebenezer on hisfifth birthday." Now, what puzzled me was this: That, as my father was ofcourse the younger brother, he must either have made some strange error,or he must have written, before he was yet five, an excellent, clearmanly hand of writing.
I tried to get this out of my head; but though I took down manyinteresting authors, old and new, history, poetry, and story-book, thisnotion of my father's hand of writing stuck to me; and when at length Iwent back into the kitchen, and sat down once more to porridge and smallbeer, the first thing I said to Uncle Ebenezer was to ask him if myfather had not been very quick at his book.
"Alexander? No him!" was the reply. "I was far quicker mysel'; I was aclever chappie when I was young. Why, I could read as soon as he could."
This puzzled me yet more; and a thought coming into my head, I asked ifhe and my father had been twins.
He jumped upon his stool, and the horn spoon fell out of his hand uponthe floor. "What gars ye ask that?" he said, and he caught me by thebreast of the jacket, and looked this time straight into my eyes:his own were little and light, and bright like a bird's, blinking andwinking strangely.
"What do you mean?" I asked, very calmly, for I was far stronger thanhe, and not easily frightened. "Take your hand from my jacket. This isno way to behave."
My uncle seemed to make a great effort upon himself. "Dod man, David,"he said, "ye should-nae speak to me about your father. That's where themistake is." He sat awhile and shook, blinking in his plate: "He was allthe brother that ever I had," he added, but with no heart in his voice;and then he caught up his spoon and fell to supper again, but stillshaking.
Now this last passage, this laying of hands upon my person andsudden profession of love for my dead father, went so clean beyond mycomprehension that it put me into both fear and hope. On the one hand,I began to think my uncle was perhaps insane and might be dangerous;on the other, there came up into my mind (quite unbidden by me and evendiscouraged) a story like some ballad I had heard folk singing, of apoor lad that was a rightful heir and a wicked kinsman that triedto keep him from his own. For why should my uncle play a part with arelative that came, almost a beggar, to his door, unless in his heart hehad some cause to fear him?
With this notion, all unacknowledged, but nevertheless getting firmlysettled in my head, I now began to imitate his covert looks; so thatwe sat at table like a cat and a mouse, each stealthily observing theother. Not another word had he to say to me, black or white, but wasbusy turning something secretly over in his mind; and the longer wesat and the more I looked at him, the more certain I became that thesomething was unfriendly to myself.
When he had cleared the platter, he got out a single pipeful of tobacco,just as in the morning, turned round a stool into the chimney corner,and sat awhile smoking, with his back to me.
"Davie," he said, at length, "I've been thinking;" then he paused, andsaid it again. "There's a wee bit siller that I half promised ye beforeye were born," he continued; "promised it to your father. O, naethinglegal, ye understand; just gentlemen daffing at their wine. Well, Ikeepit that bit money separate--it was a great expense, but a promiseis a promise--and it has grown by now to be a matter of justprecisely--just exactly"--and here he paused and stumbled--"of justexactly forty pounds!" This last he rapped out with a sidelong glanceover his shoulder; and the next moment added, almost with a scream,"Scots!"
The pound Scots being the same thing as an English shilling, thedifference made by this second thought was considerable; I could see,besides, that the whole story was a lie, invented with some end whichit puzzled me to guess; and I made no attempt to conceal the tone ofraillery in which I answered--
"O, think again, sir! Pounds sterling, I believe!"
"That's what I said," returned my uncle: "pounds sterling! And if you'llstep out-by to the door a minute, just to see what kind of a night itis, I'll get it out to ye and call ye in again."
I did his will, smiling to myself in my contempt that he should think Iwas so easily to be deceived. It was a dark night, with a few stars lowdown; and as I stood just outside the door, I heard a hollow moaningof wind far off among the hills. I said to myself there was somethingthundery and changeful in the weather, and little knew of what a vastimportance that should prove to me before the evening passed.
When I was called in again, my uncle counted out into my hand seven andthirty golden guinea pieces; the rest was in his hand, in small gold andsilver; but his heart failed him there, and he crammed the change intohis pocket.
"There," said he, "that'll show you! I'm a queer man, and strange wi'strangers; but my word is my bond, and there's the proof of it."
Now, my uncle seemed so miserly that I was struck dumb by this suddengenerosity, and could find no words in which to thank him.
"No a word!" said he. "Nae thanks; I want nae thanks. I do my duty. I'mno saying that everybody would have done it; but for my part (thoughI'm a careful body, too) it's a pleasure to me to do the right by mybrother's son; and it's a pleasure to me to think that now we'll agreeas such near friends should."
I spoke him in return as handsomely as I was able; but all the whileI was wondering what would come next, and why he had parted with hisprecious guineas; for as to the reason he had given, a baby would haverefused it.
Presently he looked towards me sideways.
"And see here," says he, "tit for tat."
I told him I was ready to prove my gratitude in any reasonable degree,and then waited, looking for some monstrous demand. And yet, whenat last he plucked up courage to speak, it was only to tell me (veryproperly, as I thought) that he was growing old and a little broken, andthat he would expect me to help him with the house and the bit garden.
I answered, and expressed my readiness to serve.
"Well," he said, "let's begin." He pulled out of his pocket a rusty key."There," says he, "there's the key of the stair-tower at the far end ofthe house. Ye can only win into it from the outside, for that part ofthe house is no finished. Gang ye in there, and up the stairs, and bringme down the chest that's at the top. There's papers in't," he added.
"Can I have a light, sir?" said I.
"Na," said he, very cunningly. "Nae lights in my house."
"Very well, sir," said I. "Are the stairs good?"
"They're grand," said he; and then, as I was going, "Keep to the wall,"he added; "there's nae bannisters. But the stairs are grand underfoot."
Out I went into the night. The wind was still moaning in the distance,though never a breath of it came near the house of Shaws. It had fallenblacker than ever; and I was glad to feel along the wall, till I camethe length of the stairtower door at the far end of the unfinished wing.I had got the key into the keyhole and had just turned it, when all upona sudden, without sound of wind or thunder, the whole sky lighted upwith wild fire and went black again. I had to put my hand over my eyesto get back to the colour of the darkness; and indeed I was already halfblinded when I stepped into the tower.
It was so dark inside, it seemed a body could scarce breathe; but Ipushed out wi
th foot and hand, and presently struck the wall with theone, and the lowermost round of the stair with the other. The wall, bythe touch, was of fine hewn stone; the steps too, though somewhat steepand narrow, were of polished masonwork, and regular and solid underfoot.Minding my uncle's word about the bannisters, I kept close to the towerside, and felt my way in the pitch darkness with a beating heart.
The house of Shaws stood some five full storeys high, not countinglofts. Well, as I advanced, it seemed to me the stair grew airier and athought more lightsome; and I was wondering what might be the cause ofthis change, when a second blink of the summer lightning came and went.If I did not cry out, it was because fear had me by the throat; and if Idid not fall, it was more by Heaven's mercy than my own strength. It wasnot only that the flash shone in on every side through breaches in thewall, so that I seemed to be clambering aloft upon an open scaffold, butthe same passing brightness showed me the steps were of unequal length,and that one of my feet rested that moment within two inches of thewell.
This was the grand stair! I thought; and with the thought, a gust ofa kind of angry courage came into my heart. My uncle had sent me here,certainly to run great risks, perhaps to die. I swore I would settlethat "perhaps," if I should break my neck for it; got me down upon myhands and knees; and as slowly as a snail, feeling before me everyinch, and testing the solidity of every stone, I continued to ascendthe stair. The darkness, by contrast with the flash, appeared to haveredoubled; nor was that all, for my ears were now troubled and my mindconfounded by a great stir of bats in the top part of the tower, and thefoul beasts, flying downwards, sometimes beat about my face and body.
The tower, I should have said, was square; and in every corner the stepwas made of a great stone of a different shape to join the flights.Well, I had come close to one of these turns, when, feeling forwardas usual, my hand slipped upon an edge and found nothing but emptinessbeyond it. The stair had been carried no higher; to set a strangermounting it in the darkness was to send him straight to his death; and(although, thanks to the lightning and my own precautions, I was safeenough) the mere thought of the peril in which I might have stood, andthe dreadful height I might have fallen from, brought out the sweat uponmy body and relaxed my joints.
But I knew what I wanted now, and turned and groped my way down again,with a wonderful anger in my heart. About half-way down, the wind sprangup in a clap and shook the tower, and died again; the rain followed; andbefore I had reached the ground level it fell in buckets. I put out myhead into the storm, and looked along towards the kitchen. The door,which I had shut behind me when I left, now stood open, and shed alittle glimmer of light; and I thought I could see a figure standingin the rain, quite still, like a man hearkening. And then there camea blinding flash, which showed me my uncle plainly, just where I hadfancied him to stand; and hard upon the heels of it, a great tow-row ofthunder.
Now, whether my uncle thought the crash to be the sound of my fall, orwhether he heard in it God's voice denouncing murder, I will leave youto guess. Certain it is, at least, that he was seized on by a kind ofpanic fear, and that he ran into the house and left the door open behindhim. I followed as softly as I could, and, coming unheard into thekitchen, stood and watched him.
He had found time to open the corner cupboard and bring out a great casebottle of aqua vitae, and now sat with his back towards me at the table.Ever and again he would be seized with a fit of deadly shuddering andgroan aloud, and carrying the bottle to his lips, drink down the rawspirits by the mouthful.
I stepped forward, came close behind him where he sat, and suddenlyclapping my two hands down upon his shoulders--"Ah!" cried I.
My uncle gave a kind of broken cry like a sheep's bleat, flung up hisarms, and tumbled to the floor like a dead man. I was somewhat shockedat this; but I had myself to look to first of all, and did not hesitateto let him lie as he had fallen. The keys were hanging in the cupboard;and it was my design to furnish myself with arms before my uncle shouldcome again to his senses and the power of devising evil. In the cupboardwere a few bottles, some apparently of medicine; a great many bills andother papers, which I should willingly enough have rummaged, had I hadthe time; and a few necessaries that were nothing to my purpose. ThenceI turned to the chests. The first was full of meal; the second ofmoneybags and papers tied into sheaves; in the third, with manyother things (and these for the most part clothes) I found a rusty,ugly-looking Highland dirk without the scabbard. This, then, I concealedinside my waistcoat, and turned to my uncle.
He lay as he had fallen, all huddled, with one knee up and one armsprawling abroad; his face had a strange colour of blue, and he seemedto have ceased breathing. Fear came on me that he was dead; then Igot water and dashed it in his face; and with that he seemed to come alittle to himself, working his mouth and fluttering his eyelids. At lasthe looked up and saw me, and there came into his eyes a terror that wasnot of this world.
"Come, come," said I; "sit up."
"Are ye alive?" he sobbed. "O man, are ye alive?"
"That am I," said I. "Small thanks to you!"
He had begun to seek for his breath with deep sighs. "The blue phial,"said he--"in the aumry--the blue phial." His breath came slower still.
I ran to the cupboard, and, sure enough, found there a blue phialof medicine, with the dose written on it on a paper, and this Iadministered to him with what speed I might.
"It's the trouble," said he, reviving a little; "I have a trouble,Davie. It's the heart."
I set him on a chair and looked at him. It is true I felt some pity fora man that looked so sick, but I was full besides of righteous anger;and I numbered over before him the points on which I wanted explanation:why he lied to me at every word; why he feared that I should leave him;why he disliked it to be hinted that he and my father were twins--"Isthat because it is true?" I asked; why he had given me money to which Iwas convinced I had no claim; and, last of all, why he had tried to killme. He heard me all through in silence; and then, in a broken voice,begged me to let him go to bed.
"I'll tell ye the morn," he said; "as sure as death I will."
And so weak was he that I could do nothing but consent. I locked himinto his room, however, and pocketed the key, and then returning tothe kitchen, made up such a blaze as had not shone there for many a longyear, and wrapping myself in my plaid, lay down upon the chests and fellasleep.