The bargain was effected. When Adam was coming away with the box under his arm, he said to Ross:
‘I don’t know anything of the snakes here. I wouldn’t have believed there are any at all, only I saw some to-day. I shall try this mongoose, and if he is any good I shall be glad to keep him. But don’t part with the other yet. I shall send you word if I want him.’
When Adam got back to the carriage, carefully carrying the box with the mongoose, Sir Nathaniel said:
‘Hullo! what have you got there?’
‘A mongoose.’
‘What for?’
‘To kill snakes!’
Sir Nathaniel laughed. ‘Well, even as yet, it seems you have come to the right place.’
‘How do you mean? Why “as yet”?’
‘Remember the snakes yesterday. But that is only a beginning.’
‘A beginning! How so?’
‘That, my boy, belongs to the second section of our inquiry. It will have a direct bearing on it.’
‘You mean about the legends?’
‘We shall begin on them.’
‘And then?’
‘I heard Lady Arabella’s invitation to you to come to Diana’s Grove in the twilight.’
‘Well, what on earth has that got to do with it?’
‘Nothing directly that I know of. But we shall see.’
Adam waited, and the old man went on:
‘Have you by any chance heard the other name which was given long ago to that place?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It was called – Look here, this subject wants a lot of talking over and listening. Suppose we wait till after dinner to-night, when we shall be alone and shall have lots of time before us.’
‘All right, sir. Let us wait!’ Adam was filled with curiosity, but he thought it better not to hurry matters. All would come in good time.
His attention was then claimed by the events of the day. Shortly the Lesser Hill party set out for Castra Regis, and for the time he thought no more of Diana’s Grove or of what mysteries it had contained – or might still contain.
The guests were crowding in and special places were marked for important guests. Some little time was occupied in finding their seats. Adam, seeing so many persons of varied degree, looked round for Lady Arabella, but could not locate her. It was only when he saw the old-fashioned travelling carriage approach and heard the sound of cheering which went with it, that he realised that Edgar Caswall had arrived. Then, on looking more closely, he saw that Lady Arabella, dressed as he had seen her last, was seated beside him. When the carriage drew up at the great flight of steps, the host jumped down and gave her his hand and led her up to the great daïs table, and placed her in the seat to the right of that kept for himself.
It was evident to all that she was the chief guest at the festivities. It was not long before the seats on the daïs were filled and the tenants and guests of lesser importance had occupied all the coigns of vantage
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not reserved. The order of the day had been carefully arranged by the committee. There were some speeches, happily neither many nor long; and then festivities were suspended till the time for feasting had arrived. In the interval Caswall walked among his guests, speaking to all in a friendly manner and expressing a general welcome. The other guests came down from the daïs and followed his example, so there was unceremonious meeting and greeting between gentle and simple. Adam Salton naturally followed with his eyes all that went on within their scope, taking note of all who seemed to afford any interest. He was young and a man and a stranger from a far distance; so on all these accounts he naturally took stock rather of the women than of the men, and of these, those who were young and attractive. There were lots of pretty girls among the crowd who had seemingly no dislike to be looked at; and Adam, who was a handsome young man and well set up, got his full share of admiring glances. These did not concern him much, and he remained unmoved until there came along a group of three, by their dress and bearing, of the farmer class.
One was a sturdy old man; the other two were good-looking girls, one of a little over twenty, the other not quite grown – seventeen at most. So soon as Adam’s eyes met those of the younger girl, who stood nearest to him, some sort of electricity flashed – that divine spark which begins by recognition and ends in obedience. Men call it ‘Love.’
Both the elders of the party noticed how much Adam was taken by the pretty girl, and both spoke of her to him in a way which made his heart warm to them.
‘Did you notice that party that passed? The old man is Michael Watford, one of the tenants of Mr Caswall. He occupies Mercy Farm, which Sir Nathaniel tells me he pointed out to you to-day. The girls are his grand-daughters, the elder, Lilla, being the only child of his eldest son, who died when she was less than a year old. His wife died on the same day – in fact at the same time. She is a good girl – as good as she is pretty. The other is her first cousin, the daughter of Watford’s second son. He went for a soldier when he was just over twenty, and was drafted abroad. He was not a good correspondent, though he was a good enough son. A few letters came, and then his father heard from the colonel of his regiment that he had been killed by dacoits in Burmah.
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He heard from the same source that his boy had been married to a Burmese, and that there was a daughter only a year old. Watford had the child brought home, and she grew up beside Lilla. The only thing that they heard of her birth was that her name was Mimi. The two children adored each other, and do to this day. Strange how different they are! Lilla all fair, like the old Saxon stock she is sprung from; Mimi almost as dark as the darkest of her mother’s race.
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Lilla is as gentle as a dove, but Mimi’s black eyes can glow whenever she is upset. The only thing that upsets her is when anything happens to injure or threaten or annoy Lilla. Then her eyes glow as do the eyes of a bird when her young are threatened.’
Mr Salton introduced Adam to Mr Watford and his granddaughters, and they all moved on together. Of course people, neighbours, in the position of the Watfords knew all about Adam Salton, his relationship, circumstances, and prospects. So it would have been strange indeed if both girls did not see or dream of possibilities of the future. In agricultural England, eligible men of any class were rare. This particular man was specially eligible, for he did not belong to a class in which barriers of caste were strong. So when it began to be noticed that he walked beside Mimi Watford and seemed to desire her society, all their friends seemed to give the promising affair a helping hand. When the gongs sounded for the banquet, he went with her into the tent where her father had seats. Mr Salton and Sir Nathaniel noticed that the young man did not come to claim his appointed place at the daïs table; but they understood and made no remark, or indeed did not seem to notice his absence. Lady Arabella sat as before at Edgar Caswall’s right hand. She was certainly a very beautiful woman, and to all it seemed fitting from her rank and personal qualities that she should be the chosen partner of the heir on his first appearance. Of course nothing was said openly by those of her own class who were present; but words were not necessary when so much could be expressed by nods and smiles. It seemed to be an accepted thing that at last there was to be a mistress of Castra Regis, and that she was present amongst them. There were not lacking some who, whilst admitting all her charm and beauty, placed her in only the second rank of beauty, Lilla Watford being marked as first. There was sufficient divergence
of type as well as of individual beauty to allow of fair commenting; Lady Arabella represented the aristocratic type, and Lilla that of the commonalty.
When the dusk began to thicken, Mr Salton and Sir Nathaniel walked home – the trap had been sent away early in the day, leaving Adam to follow in his own time. He came in earlier than was expected, and seemed upset about something. Neither of the elders made any comment. They all lit cigarettes, and, as dinner-time was close at hand, went to their rooms to get ready. Adam had evidently been thinking in the interval. He joined the others in the drawing-room, looking ruffled and impatient – a condition of things seen for the first time. The others, with the patience – or the experience – of age trusted to time to unfold and explain things. They had not long to wait. After sitting down and standing up several times, Adam suddenly burst out:
‘That fellow seems to think he owns the earth. Can’t he let people alone! He seems to think that he has only to throw his handkerchief to any woman, and be her master.’
This outburst was in itself enlightening. Only thwarted affection in some guise could produce this feeling in an amiable young man. Sir Nathaniel, as an old diplomatist, had a way of understanding, as if by foreknowledge, the true inwardness of things, and asked suddenly, but in a matter-of-fact, indifferent voice:
‘Was he after Lilla?’
‘Yes. And he didn’t lose any time either. Almost as soon as they met he began to butter her up, and to tell her how beautiful she is. Why, before he left her side he had asked himself to tea to-morrow at Mercy Farm. Stupid ass! He might see that the girl isn’t his sort! I never saw anything like it. It was just like a hawk and a pigeon.’
As he spoke, Sir Nathaniel turned and looked at Mr Salton – a keen look which implied a full understanding. Then the latter said quietly:
‘Tell us all about it, Adam. There are still ten minutes before dinner, and we shall all have better appetites when we have come to some conclusion on this matter.’
Adam spoke with an unwonted diffidence:
‘There is nothing to tell, sir; that is the worst of it. I am bound to say that there was not a word said that a human being could object to. He was very civil, and all that was proper – just what a landlord might be to a tenant’s daughter… And yet – and yet – well, I don’t know how it was, but it made my blood simply boil.’
‘How did the hawk and the pigeon come in?’ Sir Nathaniel’s voice was soft and soothing, nothing of contradiction or overdone curiosity in it – a tone eminently suited to win confidence.
‘I can hardly explain it. I can only say that he looked like a hawk and she like a dove – and, now that I think of it, that is what they each did look like; and do look like in their normal condition.’
‘That is so!’ came the soft voice of Sir Nathaniel.
Adam went on:
‘Perhaps that early Roman look of his set me off. But I wanted to protect her; she seemed in danger.’
‘She seems in danger, in a way, from all you young men. I couldn’t help noticing the way that even you looked, as if you wished to absorb her.’
Here the kindly, temperate voice of Mr Salton came in:
‘I hope both you young men will keep your heads cool. You know, Adam, it won’t do to have any quarrel between you, especially so soon after his home-coming and your arrival here. We must think of the feelings and happiness of our neighbours; mustn’t we?’
‘I hope so, sir. And I assure you that, whatever may happen, or even threaten, I shall obey your wishes in this as in all things.’
‘Silence!’ whispered Sir Nathaniel, who heard the servants in the passage bringing dinner.
After dinner, over the walnuts and the wine, Sir Nathaniel returned to the subject of the local legends, saying: ‘It will perhaps be a less dangerous topic for us to discuss than more recent ones.’
‘All right, sir, ’ said Adam heartily. ‘I think you may depend on me now with regard to any topic. I can even discuss with Mr Caswall. Indeed, I may meet him to-morrow. He is going,
as I said, to call at Mercy Farm at three o’clock – but I have an appointment at two.’
‘I notice, ’ said Mr Salton, ‘that you do not lose any time.’
‘No, sir. Perhaps that is the reason why the part I came from has for its motto – “Advance, Australia!” ’
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‘All right, my boy. Advance is good – so long as you take care where you are going and how. There is a line in one of Shakespeare’s plays, “They stumble that run fast.”
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It is worth bearing in mind.’
‘All right again, sir; but I don’t think you need fear me now I have had my kick.’
The two old men once more looked at each other steadily. It was as much as to say, ‘Good! The boy has had his lesson. He will be all right!’ Then, lest the mood of his listener should change with delay, Sir Nathaniel began at once:
‘I don’t propose to tell you all the legends of Mercia, or even to make a selection of them. It will be better, I think, for our purpose if we consider a few facts – recorded or unrecorded – about this neighbourhood. I shall try to remember, and you, Adam, shall ask me questions as we go along. We all want stimulation to memory. When we have nothing amongst us to remember it will be time enough to invent. I propose to go on where we left off yesterday morning, about the few places round here that we spoke of. I think we might begin with Diana’s Grove. It has roots in the different epochs of our history, and each has, be sure, its special crop of legend. The Druid and the Roman are too far off for matters of detail; but it seems to me the Saxon and the Angles are near enough to yield material for legendary lore. If there were anything well remembered of an earlier period, we may take it that it had some beginning in what was accepted as fact. We find that this particular place had another name or sobriquet besides Diana’s Grove. This was manifestly of Roman origin, or of Grecian accepted as Roman. The former is more pregnant of adventure and romance than the Roman name. In Mercian tongue it was “The Lair of the White Worm.” This needs a word of explanation at the beginning.
‘In the dawn of the language, the word “worm” had a somewhat
different meaning from that in use to-day. It was an adaptation of the Anglo-Saxon “wyrm, ” meaning primarily a dragon or snake; or from the Gothic “waurms, ” a serpent; or the Icelandic “ormur, ” or the German “wurm.” We gather that it conveyed originally an idea of size and power, not as now in the diminutive of both these meanings. Here legendary history helps us. We have the well-known legend of the “Worm Well” of Lambton Castle, and that of the “Laidly Worm of Spindleston Heugh” near Bamborough.
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In both these legends the “worm” was a monster of vast size and power – a veritable dragon or serpent, such as legend attributes to vast fens or quags where there was illimitable room for expansion. A glance at a geological map will show that whatever truth there may have been of the actuality of such monsters in the early geologic periods, at least there was plenty of possibility. In the eastern section of England there were originally vast plains where the naturally plentiful supply of water could gather. There the streams were deep and slow, and there were holes of abysmal depth, where any kind and size of antediluvian monster could find a habitat. In places, which now we can see from our windows, were mud-holes a hundred or more feet deep. Who can tell us when the age of the monsters which flourished in slime came to an end? If such a time there was indeed, its limits could only apply to the vast number of such dangers. There must have been times and places and conditions which made for greater longevity, greater size, greater strength than was usual. Such overlappings may have come down even to our earlier centuries. Nay, are there not now creatures of a vastness of bulk regarded by the generality of men as impossible? Even in our own day there are here and there seen the traces of animals, if not the animals themselves, of stupendous size – veritable survivals from earlier ages, preserved by some special qualities in their habitats. I remember meeting a distinguished man in India, who had the reputation of being a great shikaree,
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who told me that the greatest temptation he had ever had in his life was to shoot a giant snake which he had literally come across in the Terai of Upper India. He was on a tiger-shooting expedition, and as his elephant was crossing a nullah it
squealed. He looked down from his howdah and saw that the elephant had stepped across the body of a snake which was dragging itself through the jungle. “So far as I could see, ” he said, “it must have been eighty or one hundred feet in length. Fully forty or fifty feet was on each side of the track, and though the weight which it dragged had thinned it to its least, it was as thick round as a man’s body. I suppose you know that when you are after tiger, it is a point of honour not to shoot at anything else, as life may depend on it. I could easily and with safety have spined this monster, but I felt that I must not – and so with regret I had to let it go.”