The Doomsman

  XV

  A MAN AND A MAID

  In spite of that brave "to-morrow," it was several days before Constansfound opportunity to revisit Arcadia House. A misstep upon an icyflag-stone had resulted in a sprained ankle, and for that there was noremedy but patience.

  Yet the time was not wasted. Here was a fascinating problem to besolved, and, yielding to importunity, Prosper was finally induced totalk freely of the sacred mysteries of the Shining One. He was evenpersuaded to put the machinery in operation, outside the canonicalhours, in order that Constans might test the theories derived from hisbooks. One experiment interested them greatly.

  Constans took a "live" wire and allowed its free end to hang in closeproximity to a leaden water-pipe. Then he placed a piece of oily ragnear by and saw it answer his expectation by bursting into flame. Helooked triumphantly around at Prosper, to whom he had previouslyexplained the nature of the experiment.

  "Would the fire descend wherever the wire led?" demanded the priest.

  "Yes," answered Constans, confidently. "Under the same conditions, ofcourse--a broken circuit and inflammable material close at hand."

  The old man frowned. "It is wonderful," he said, grudgingly, "but itproves nothing. Is your viewless, formless electricity anything more oranything less than my god? What am I to believe? Is it the spirit of thelightning-cloud that thrills in this little wire, or have you learnedhow to bottle fire and thunder, even as a House-dweller who fills hisgoat-skins with apple-wine? Is the Shining One at once so great and sosmall that we can be both his servants and his lords?"

  Constans would not be drawn into an argument, being as little versed intheological subtleties as was the old priest in scientific terminology.But he noticed that Prosper was studying the subject after his ownfashion. Nearly every night now he would start up the machinery andspend hours in watching the revolutions of the giant dynamo. It was notunusual for Constans to fall to sleep, lulled by the monotonous hummingof the vibratory motor and awake to find the machinery still in motion.

  It was within this week that the _Black Swan_ returned to port. On thefourth day after the accident to his ankle Constans managed to hobble toone of his posts of observation, and he discovered immediately that thegalley was lying at her accustomed pier. It was vexatious! to haveQuinton Edge return at this precise time. Annoying! that this fair fieldshould be closed before he had had a chance to explore it. Well, it wasfortune, and he must accept it; he was all the more eager now to make asecond call at Arcadia House.

  It was a dull, thawy afternoon when Constans found himself standingagain before the closed door that bore the name of the inhospitable Mr.Richard van Duyne. He had brought with him a rope ladder, provided withgrappling-hooks, and the mere scaling of the barrier should not presentany great difficulty. It would be well, however, to reconnoitre a littlefurther before he attempted it.

  Following the wall down to the river, he saw that it was continued tothe very edge of the water, where it joined a solidly constructedsea-wall. There were the remains of a wooden pier running out from theend of the street proper, and Constans adventured upon its worm-eatentimbers, intent on obtaining a more extended view of this singulardomain of Arcadia House.

  A large and somewhat imposing structure it was, albeit of a curiouslycomposite order of architecture.

  Originally, it must have been a villa of the true Dutch type built ofstuccoed brick, with many-gabled roof and small-paned, deeply embrasuredwindows. A subsequent proprietor had enlarged its ground-plan, added anupper story, and changed the roof to one of flat pitch crowned by ahideous cupola. Still a third meddler had tried to make it over into acolonial homestead by painting the stucco white and joining on anenormous columned porch. The final result could hardly have beenotherwise than an artistic monstrosity, yet the old house had acquiredthat certain unanalyzable dignity which time confers, and the gentlefingers of the years had softened down insistent angles and smoothed outunlovely curves. It was a house with a soul, for men had lived and died,rejoiced and suffered within its walls.

  A house--and such a house!--set in its own garden amid the incongruoussurroundings of tenement buildings and malodorous gas-works. How toaccount for it, what theory could be invented to reconcile facts sodiscordant? In reality, the explanation was simple enough; as betweenthe house and its environment, the former had all the rights of priorpossession. In the early days of the settlement of the city the banks ofthe Lesser river had been a favorite place of residence for well-to-doburghers and merchants. But foot by foot the muddy tide of trade andutilitarianism had risen about these green water-side Edens; one by onetheir quiet-loving owners had been forced farther afield.

  Yet now and then the standard of rebellion had been raised; here andthere might be found a Dutchman as stiff-necked as the fate that hedefied. His father and his father's father had lived here upon theLesser river, and nothing short of a cataclysm of nature should avail tobudge him. The commissioners might cut up his cabbage-patch intobuilding sites and reduce his garden to the limits of a city block, butthey could not touch his beloved Arcadia House, with its white-porticoedpiazza that gave upon the swirl and toss of the river--a delectable spoton a hot June morning. Let them lower their accursed streets to theirthrice-accursed grade; it would but leave him high and dry in hisgreen-embowered island, secure of contamination to his fruit trees fromunspeakable gas and sewer pipes. A ten-foot brick wall, with its top setwith broken bottles, would defend his quinces and apricots from theincursion of the street Arabs, and wind and sky were as free as ever.Yes, he would hold his own against these vandals of commercialism,while one brick of Arcadia House remained upon another. So, let usfancy, quoth Mynheer van Duyne away back in _anno Domini_ 1803, and whenhe died in 1850 or thereabouts, the estate, having but a moderate valueas city property goes, was allowed to remain in _statu quo_; the heirshad ground-rents enough and to spare without it, and Arcadia House mightbe considered a proper memorial of the ancient state and dignity of theVan Duynes. But this is getting to be pure conjecture; let us return toConstans and the facts as he saw them.

  The main house stood close to the river, there being but a strip of lawnbetween the piazza and the top of the sea-wall. On the left, as Constansfaced, an enclosed vestibule led to a secondary structure, whichprobably contained the domestic offices and servants' quarters. Stillfarther on, and under the same continuous albeit slightly lowerroof-line, were the stables and cattle barns, the wood and otherstorehouses forming the extreme left wing. In its day, Arcadia House hadbeen an eminently respectable and comfortable dwelling, and even now itpresented a tolerably good appearance; certainly it might be calledhabitable. Constans, straining his eyes, for the afternoon wasadvancing, thought he saw smoke ascending from one of the chimneys, andthis incited him to an actual invasion of the premises.

  He chose the southwestern corner of the block as being farthest removedfrom the range of the house windows. A lucky throw made the grapplesfast, and it took but an instant to run up the rungs. There was no onein sight, so Constans, shifting the ladder to the inner side, made thedescent quite at his ease, and found himself in a little plantation ofspruce-trees.

  The evergreens grew so thickly together that he had some difficulty inforcing his way through them. Breaking free at last, he stepped out intothe open, and stood vis-a-vis with a girl who had been advancing, as itwere, to meet him. Constans knew instantly that this could be none otherthan Mad Scarlett's daughter, and there, indeed, were the proofs--thered-gold hair and the tawny eyes, just as Elena had described them inher message and Ulick in his endless lover's rhapsodies.

  She stood mute and wide-eyed before him, the color in her cheeks comingand going like a flickering candle. Constans naturally concluded thathis appearance had frightened her. He retreated a step or two; he triedto think of something to say that would reassure her. Perhaps he mightuse Ulick's name by way of introduction. He ended by blurting out:

  "Don't be afraid; I will go whenever you say."

  Her lips formed r
ather than uttered the warning, "Sh!" She listenedintently for a moment or two, but there was only the distant dripping ofwater to be heard, the air being extraordinarily still and windless.

  "Come!" she panted, and, clutching at her skirts, led the way to athatched pavilion some eighty yards distant, a storehouse, perhaps, or abuilding once used as a farm office. Constans tried to question, toprotest, but for the moment his will was as flax in the flame of herresolution; he yielded and ran obediently at her side.

  Arrived at the little house, the girl pushed him bodily through thedoorway and entered herself, turning quickly to slip into place theoaken bar that secured the door from the inside. Constans swelled withindignation at this singular treatment. He was a man grown, not a truantchild to be led away by the ear for punishment. Yet she would not abateone jot of her first advantage, and his anger melted under the quietserenity of her gaze; in spite of himself he let her have the firstword.

  "Did you think I was afraid for myself?" she asked, with a slow smilethat made Constans's cheeks burn. "You see, I remembered that Fangs andBlazer are generally out by this time, a full hour before dark."

  "Fangs and Blazer?"

  "The dogs, I mean. They will track a man even over this half-meltedsnow, and old Kurt has trained them to short work with trespassers. Youdid not know that?"

  "No," answered Constans, simply. "But then it would not have made anydifference."

  "You mean that you are not afraid?"

  He had to be honest. "I'm not sure about that, but still I should havecome."

  The girl's eyes swept him approvingly.

  "Of course," she said, well pleased, for a woman delights in placing herown valuation upon the courage of which a man speaks diffidently.

  "I am Esmay," she announced, and paused a little doubtfully.

  "I know," assented Constans.

  "Then you do remember? Even the bracelet with the carbuncles, and howyou would not make up because I was a girl and knew no better?"

  "It was a very foolish affair from beginning to end," said Constans,loftily, intent upon disguising his embarrassment.

  SHE STOOD MUTE AND WIDE-EYED BEFORE HIM]

  "Of course I knew you at once," she went on, meditatively. "You were soawkward in your ridiculous priest robes that morning in the temple ofthe Shining One. How Nanna and I did laugh!"

  Constans winced a trifle at this, but he could not think of anything tosay. She laughed again at the remembrance--provokingly. Then she turnedon him suddenly. "Why have you come to Arcadia House?" she asked.

  Constans hesitated, tried to avoid the real issue, and of course puthimself in the wrong.

  "It was on Ulick's account. I had promised him----"

  "Oh!" The look was doubly eloquent of the disappointment inherent in theexclamation, and Constans thrilled under it. What delicious flattery inthis unexpected frankness! He made a step forward, but Esmay in her turndrew back, her eyes hardened, and he stopped, abashed.

  It had been a sudden remembrance of her childish threat--"a woman ...and some day you will know what that means"--that had tempted her to therashness which she had so quickly regretted. For she had forgotten thata proposition is generally provided with a corollary. If she had becomea woman he no less had grown to manhood, and that one forward step hadforced her to recognize the fact. She was silent, feeling a littleafraid and wondering at herself. Constans, in more evident discomfiture,blundered on, obsessed by a vague sense of loyalty to his friend.

  "Ulick is away--on the expedition to the southland. He was anxious thatyou should be found, and I promised to do my best. He will be glad toknow."

  "When is he coming back?" demanded Esmay, with an entire absence ofenthusiasm.

  "This month, certainly; indeed, it may be any day now."

  "You must promise me that you will not tell him where I am or even thatyou have seen me."

  "But--but----"

  "Remember now that you have promised."

  Constans felt himself called upon to speak with some severity to thisunreasonable young person.

  "You are giving a great deal of trouble to your friends," he said,reprovingly.

  "My friends!" she echoed, mockingly.

  "There was your mother and her message to your uncle Hugolin in Croye."

  "Yes, I know," she broke in. "Then it was received--the message----?"She stopped, unable to go on; an indefinable emotion possessed her.

  "My uncle has sent you to fetch me," she whispered. "You are hismessenger."

  Constans had to answer her honestly, and was sorry.

  "No," he said, bluntly. "Messer Hugolin could not see his way toanything."

  Her pride came to her aid. "Oh, it does not matter," she said, and soindifferently that Constans was deceived.

  "But you cannot stay here," he insisted--"here among the Doomsmen."

  "They are my father's people, and you have just told me that my uncleHugolin does not want me."

  "And what does Quinton Edge desire of you?" he asked.

  "I do not know," she answered, returning his gaze fearlessly, whereofConstans was glad, although he could not have told her why.

  "Yet you are a prisoner?"

  "It seems so, and my sister Nanna as well. But we have nothing of whichto complain, and doubtless our master will acquaint us with his pleasurein good time."

  "It is always that way," said Constans, bitterly. "His will against mineat every turn; a rock upon which I beat with naked hands."

  "He is a strong man," answered Esmay, thoughtfully, "but I think I knowwhere his power lies. It is simply that neither his friends nor hisenemies are aware of how they stand with him."

  But Constans did not even notice that she was speaking; the remembranceof his unfulfilled purpose seized and racked him. He had hated this man,Quinton Edge, from that first moment in which their eyes hadclashed--ever and always. At first instinctively; then with reasonenough and to spare; and yet this small world still held them both. Howlong were his hands to be tied? Once and again his enemy had stoodbefore him and had gone his way insolently triumphant. He might be nowin the house yonder, and Constans looked at it eagerly. A masterpassion, primitive and crude, possessed him.

  The girl divined the hostile nature of the power which held him, andinstinctively she put forth her own strength against it.

  "Listen!" she said, and plucked him by the sleeve. Constans looked ather.

  "I am going to trust you," she went on, quickly. "The time may come whenI can no longer remain in safety at Arcadia House. When it does I willlet you know by displaying a white signal in the western window of thecupola. Then you will come?"

  "I will come," he answered, albeit a little slowly and heavily as onewho seeks to find himself.

  Esmay opened the door and looked out. It was almost dark, and afterlistening a moment she seemed satisfied.

  "You have a ladder? Very well, you need not be afraid of the dogs, forwhen you see the signal I will arrange that they are kept in leash. Andnow you had better go; they are surely unchained by this time, and anymoment may bring them ranging about. Good-bye, and remember yourpromise."

  They walked along together until they came to the plantation ofspruce-trees. Constans could see that his ladder was still in place onthe wall; his path of retreat was open. He put out his hand, and herslim, cool palm rested for a moment in his. She nodded, smiled, and lefthim, going directly towards the house.

  Moved by an inexplicable impulse, Constans followed for a shortdistance, keeping under the shelter of the trees. Then suddenly to him,straining his eyes through the dusk, there appeared a second figure,that of a woman, clothed wholly in white, hovering close upon theretreating steps of the girl.

  Constans felt his knees loosen under him, the ancient superstitionsbeing still strong in his blood for all of his studies and new-foundphilosophy.

  "It is her sister Nanna," he muttered to himself, and knew that he liedin saying it. The old wives' tales, at which he had shuddered inboyhood, came crowding back upon h
im--grisly legends of vampire shapesand of the phantoms, invariably feminine in form, who were said toinhabit ruined places. A panic terror seized him as he watched theapparition gliding so swiftly and noiselessly upon the unconscious girl.Yet he continued to run forward, stumbling and slipping on thetreacherous foothold of melting snow.

  Esmay had reached a side door of the main building; quite naturally sheentered and closed the door behind her, while the white-robed figure,after hesitating a moment, walked to a far corner of the house anddisappeared. Out of the indefinite distance came the deep-throated bayof a hound. Constans turned and fled for his life.

  Safely astride the wall coping he looked back. All was quiet in thegarden, and at that instant a light shone out at an upper window of thehouse.

  "She is safe," he told himself, and that was enough to know.

  As he walked slowly westward, the thought of Ulick came again to him.Had he really promised the girl that he would tell Ulick nothing?Ridiculous as it may appear, he could not remember.