He laughed a mirthless laugh that was all from the brain and had no heart at all, and went on:
‘You must remember that this female has had thousands of years’ experience in waiting. As she stands, she will beat us at that game.’
For answer Adam began preparing his revolver, which was at half-cock:
‘There is always a quick way of settling differences of that kind!’ was all he said; but Sir Nathaniel understood and again uttered a warning:
‘How are differences to be settled with a creature of that kind? We might as well fight with a barbette; she is invulnerable so far as physical harm at our hands is concerned.’
‘Even barbettes get occasionally blown up!’ said Adam.
‘Ah! barbettes aren’t alive all over and, so far as we know, self-recuperative. No! we must think out some plan to have ready if all else should fail. We had better sleep on it. She is a thing of the night; and the night may give us some ideas.’
So they both turned in.
Adam knocked at Sir Nathaniel’s door in the gray of the morning, and, on being bidden, came into the room. He had several letters unclosed in his hand. Sir Nathaniel sat up in bed.
‘Well!’
‘I should like to read you a few letters, but, of course, shall not send them unless you approve. In fact’ – this with a smile and a blush – ‘there are several things which I want to do; but I hold my hand and my tongue till I have your approval.’
‘Go on!’ said the other kindly. ‘Tell me all, and count at any rate on my sympathy and on my approval and help if I can see my way.’
Accordingly Adam proceeded:
‘When I told you the conclusions I had arrived at, I put in the foreground that Mimi Watford should for the sake of her own safety be removed – to West Australia, I suggested, – and that the monster which had wrought all the harm should be destroyed.’
‘Yes, I remember.’
‘To carry this into practice, sir, one preliminary is required – unless harm of another kind is to be faced.’
Sir Nathaniel looked as if he had on his reflecting cap. Then he proceeded, taking up the other’s argument:
‘Before she goes to West Australia, or indeed to anywhere else, Mimi should have some protector which all the world would recognise. The only form of this safety recognised by convention is marriage!’
‘Yes, sir. I see you realise!’
Sir Nathaniel smiled in a fatherly way.
‘To marry, a husband is required. And that husband should be you.’
‘Yes, yes.’
‘And that marriage should be immediate and secret – or, at least, not spoken of outside ourselves… And now I must ask you a somewhat delicate question! Would the young lady be agreeable to that proceeding?’
‘I do not know, sir!’
‘You do not know? Then how are we to proceed?’
‘I suppose we – or one of us – must ask her. That one must be myself – and I am ready.’
‘Is this a sudden idea, Adam, a sudden resolution?’
‘A sudden resolution, sir, but not a sudden idea. The resolution is sudden because the need is sudden and imperative. If I were to speak in hyperbole, I could say that the idea is as old as Fate, and that the resolution was waiting before the beginning of the world!’
‘I am glad to hear it. I hope it will turn out that the coming of the White Worm has been a blessing in disguise. But now, if things have to be hurried on like this, what is to be the sequence of events?’
‘First, that Mimi should be asked to marry me. If she agrees, all is well and good. The sequence is obvious.’
‘And is to be kept a secret amongst ourselves?’
Adam answered at once:
‘I want no secret, sir, except for Mimi’s good. For myself, I should like to go and shout it out on the house-tops! But I see that we must be discreet. Untimely knowledge to our enemy might work incalculable harm.’
‘And how would you suggest, Adam, that we could combine the momentous question with secrecy?’
Here Adam grew red and moved uneasily. Then with a sudden rush he spoke:
‘Someone must ask her – as soon as possible!’
‘And that someone?’
‘I have been thinking the matter over, sir, since we have been
here. It requires expedition to achieve safety, and we shall all have to do as duty requires.’
‘Certainly. And I trust that none of us shall shirk such a duty. But this is a concrete thing. We may consider and propose in the abstract, but the action is concrete – who, again, is to be the “someone”? Who is to ask her?’
‘I thought that you, sir, would be so good!’
‘God bless my soul! This is a new kind of duty to take on one – at my time of life. Adam, I hope you know that you can count on me to help in any way I can!’
‘I have counted on you, sir, when I ventured to make such a suggestion. I can only ask, sir, ’ he added, ‘that you will be more than ever kind to me – to us, and look on the painful duty as a voluntary act of grace prompted by kindness and affection.’
Sir Nathaniel said in a meek but not a doubting voice:
‘Painful duty!’
‘Yes, ’ said Adam boldly. ‘Painful to you, though to me it would be all joyful.’
‘Yes, I understand!’ said the other kindly.
Then he went on: ‘It is a strange job for an early morning! Well, we all live and learn. I suppose the sooner I go the better. Remember, I am in your hands and shall do just what you wish, and shall try to do it just as you wish. Now you had better write a line for me to take with me. For, you see, this is to be a somewhat unusual transaction, and it may be embarrassing to the lady, even to myself. So we ought to have some sort of warrant, something to show on after-thought, that we have been all along mindful of her feelings. It will not do to take acquiescence for granted – although we act for her good. You had better write the letter to have ready, and I had better not know what is in it – except the main purpose of the introducing the subject. I shall explain fully as we go along anything that she may wish.’
‘Sir Nathaniel, you are a true friend; and I am right sure that both Mimi and I shall be grateful to you for all our lives – however long or however short they may be!’
So the two talked it over and agreed as to points to be borne in mind by the ambassador. It was striking six when Sir Nathaniel left the house, Adam seeing him quietly off.
As the young man followed him with wistful eyes – almost jealous of the privilege which his kind deed was about to bring him, he felt that his own heart was in his friend’s breast.
The memory of that morning was like a dream to all those concerned in it. Sir Nathaniel had a confused recollection of detail and sequence, though the main facts stood out in his memory boldly and clearly. Adam Salton’s recollection was of an illimitable time filled with anxiety, hope, and chagrin, all unified and dominated by a sense of the slow passage of time and accompanied by vague nebulous fears. Mimi could not for a long time think at all or recollect anything, except that Adam loved her and was saving her from a terrible danger. In the bitter time itself, whilst she was learning those truths she found her own heart. When she had time to think, later on, she wondered how or when she had any ignorance of the facts that Adam loved her and that she loved him with all her heart. Everything, every recollection however small, every feeling, seemed to fit into those elemental facts as though they had all been moulded together. The main and crowning recollection was her saying goodbye to Sir Nathaniel and entrusting to him loving messages straight from her heart to Adam Salton, and of his bearing when with an impulse which she could not check – and did not want to – she put her lips to his and kissed him. Later, when she was alone and had time to think, it was a passing grief to her that she would have to be silent, for a time, to Lilla on the happy events of that strange early morning mission.
She had, of course, agreed to keep all secret until Adam should give her leave to speak.
The advice and assistance of Sir Nathaniel de Salis was a great help to Adam Salton in carrying out his idea of marrying Mimi Watford without publicity. He went with him to London,
and, with his knowledge and influence, the young man got the licence of the Archbishop of Canterbury for a private marriage. Sir Nathaniel then took him to live in his own house till the marriage should have been solemnised. All this was duly done, and, the formalities having been fixed, Adam and Mimi were married at Doom.
Adam had tried to arrange that he and his wife should start for Australia at once; but the first ship to suit them did not start for ten days. So he took his bride off to the Isle of Man
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for the interim. He wished to place a stretch of sea between Mimi and the White Worm, that being the only way to ensure protection for his wife. When the day for departure arrived, they went from Douglas in the
King Orrey
to Liverpool. On arrival at the landing-stage, they drove to Congleton, where Sir Nathaniel met them and drove them at once to Doom, taking care to avoid any one that he knew on the journey. They travelled at a great pace and arrived before dusk at Doom Tower.
Sir Nathaniel had taken care to have the doors and windows shut and locked – all but the door used for their entry. The shutters were up and the blinds down. Moreover, heavy curtains were drawn across the windows. When Adam commented on this, Sir Nathaniel said in a whisper:
‘Wait till we are alone, and I shall tell you why this is done; in the meantime not a word or a sign. You will approve when we have had a talk together.’
They said no more on the subject till, when after dinner, they were ensconced alone in Sir Nathaniel’s study, which was on the top story of the tower. Doom Tower was a lofty structure, seated on an eminence high up in the Peak. The top of the tower commanded a wide prospect ranging from the hills above the Ribble
2
to the near side of the Brow, which marked the northern bound of ancient Mercia. It was of the early Norman period, less than a century younger than Castra Regis. The windows of the study were barred and locked, and heavy dark curtains closed them in. When this was done not a gleam of light from the tower was seen from outside.
When they were alone Sir Nathaniel spoke, keeping his voice to just above a whisper:
‘It is well to be more than careful. In spite of the fact that your marriage was kept secret, as also your temporary absence, both are known.’
‘How? To whom?’
‘How, I know not; but I am beginning to have an idea. To whom is it the worst? Where it is most dangerous.’
‘To her?’ asked Adam in momentary consternation.
Sir Nathaniel shivered perceptibly as he answered:
‘The White Worm – yes!’
Adam noticed that from thence on he never spoke amongst themselves of Lady Arabella otherwise, except when he wished to divert the suspicion of others or cover up his own. Then, having opened the door, looked outside it and closed it again, he put his lips to Adam’s ear and whispered even more softly:
‘Not a word, not a sound to disturb your wife. Her ignorance may be yet her protection. You and I know all and shall watch. At all costs, she must have no suspicion!’
Adam hardly dared to breathe. He put his finger to his lips and at last said under his breath:
‘I shall do whatever you tell me to, and all the thanks of my heart are to you!’
Sir Nathaniel switched off the electric light, and when the room was pitch dark he came to Adam, took him by the hand, and led him to a seat set in the southern window. Then he softly drew back a piece of the curtain and motioned his companion to look out.
Adam did so, and immediately shrank back as though his eyes had opened on pressing danger. His companion set his mind at rest by saying in a low voice, not a whisper:
‘It is all right; you may speak, but speak low. There is no danger here – at present!’
Adam leaned forward, taking care, however, not to press his face against the glass. What he saw would not under ordinary circumstances have caused concern to anybody but to him. With his knowledge, it was simply appalling – though the night was now so dark that in reality there was little to be seen.
On the western side of the tower stood a grove of old trees of forest dimensions. They were not grouped closely, but stood
a little apart from each other, producing the effect of a row widely planted. Over the tops of them was seen a green light, something like the danger signal at a railway-crossing. At the height of the tower, the light was not enough to see anything even close to it. It seemed at first quite still; but presently, when Adam’s eye became accustomed to it, he could see that it moved a little as if trembling. This at once recalled to Adam’s mind all that had been. He seemed to see again the same duplicate light quivering above the well-hole in the darkness of that inner room at Diana’s Grove – to hear again Oolanga’s prolonged shriek, and to see the hideous black face, now grown gray with terror, disappear into the impenetrable gloom of the mysterious orifice. Instinctively he laid his hand on his revolver, and stood up ready to protect his wife. Then, seeing that nothing happened, and that the light and all outside the tower remained the same, he softly pulled the curtain over the window, and, rising up, came and sat down beside Sir Nathaniel who looked up for a moment with a sharp glance, and said in an even voice:
‘I see you understand. I need say nothing.’
‘I understand!’ he replied in the same quiet tone.
Sir Nathaniel switched on the light again, and in its comforting glow they began to talk freely.
‘She has diabolical cunning, ’ said Sir Nathaniel. ‘Ever since you left, she has ranged along the Brow and wherever you were accustomed to frequent. I have not heard whence the knowledge of your movements came to her, nor have I been able to learn any data whereon I have been able to found an opinion. She seems to have heard both of your marriage and your absence; but I gather, by inference, that she does not know where you and your wife are, or of your return. So soon as the dusk falls, she goes out on her rounds, and before dawn covers the whole ground round the Brow, and away up into the heart of the Peak. I presume she doesn’t condescend to rest or to eat. This is not to be wondered at in a lady who has been in the habit of sleeping for a thousand years at a time, and of consuming an amount of food at a sitting which would make a moderate-sized elephant kick the beam.
1
However, be all that as it may, her ladyship is now nightly on the prowl, and in her own proper shape that she used before the time of the Romans. It certainly has great facilities for the business on which she is now engaged. She can look into windows of any ordinary kind. Happily, this house is beyond her reach, especially if she wishes – as she manifestly does – to remain unrecognised. But, even at this height, it is wise to show no lights, lest she might learn something of even our presence or absence.’