Old Fires and Profitable Ghosts Part 20

He turned and appeared to be studying the frescoes. "Julia Constantine--an odd name," he muttered. "Do you know anything of her parentage?"

"Nothing except that her father was a labourer at Sheba, the manor-farm.

The family has belonged to this parish for generations. I believe July is the last of them."

He faced round upon her again. "_Sand_, did you say? That's a strange thing to remember. How does _sand_ come into your mind? Think, now."

She cast down her eyes; her fingers plucked at the daisy-chain. After a while she shook her head. "I can't think," she answered, glancing up timidly and pitifully.

"Surely we are wasting time," I suggested. To tell the truth I disapproved of his worrying the poor girl.

He took the daisy-chain from her, looking at me the while with something between a "by-your-leave" and a challenge. A smile played about the corners of his mouth.

"Let us waste a little more." He held up the chain before her and began to sway it gently to and fro. "Look at it, please, and stretch out your arm; look steadily. Now your name is Julia Constantine, and you say that the arm on the wall belongs to you. Why?"

"Because . . . if you please, sir, because of the mark."

"What mark?"

"The mark on my arm."

This answer seemed to discompose as well as to surprise him.

He s.n.a.t.c.hed at her wrist and rolled back her sleeve, somewhat roughly, as I thought. "Look here, sir!" he exclaimed, pointing to a thin red line encircling the flesh of the girl's upper arm, and from that to the arm and armlet in the fresco.

"She has been copying it," said I, "with a string or ribbon, which no doubt she tied too tightly."

"You are mistaken, sir; this is a birthmark. You have had it always?"

he asked the girl.

She nodded. Her eyes were fixed on his face with the gaze of one at the same time startled and confiding; and for the moment he too seemed to be startled. But his smile came back as he picked up the daisy-chain and began once more to sway it to and fro before her.

"And when that arm belonged to you, there was sand around you--eh!

Tell us, how did the sand come there?"

She was silent, staring at the pendulum-swing of the chain. "Tell us,"

he repeated in a low coaxing tone.

And in a tone just as low she began, "There was sand . . . red sand . . . it was below me . . . and something above . . . something like a great tent." She faltered, paused and went on, "There were thousands of people. . . ." She stopped.

"Yes, yes--there were thousands of people on the sand--"

"No, they were not on the sand. There were only two on the sand . . .

the rest were around . . . under the tent . . . my arm was out . . .

just like this. . . ."

The young man put a hand to his forehead. "Good Lord!" I heard him say, "the amphitheatre!"

"Come, sir," I interrupted, "I think we have had enough of this jugglery."

But the girl's voice went on steadily as if repeating a lesson:--

"And then you came--"

"_I!_" His voice rang sharply, and I saw a horror dawn in his eyes, and grow. "_I!_"

"And then you came," she repeated, and broke off, her mind suddenly at fault. Automatically he began to sway the daisy-chain afresh. "We were on board a s.h.i.+p . . . a funny s.h.i.+p . . . with a great high stern. . . ."

"Is this the same story?" he asked, lowering his voice almost to a whisper; and I could hear his breath going and coming.

"I don't know . . . one minute I see clear, and then it all gets mixed up again . . . we were up there, stretched on deck, near the tiller . . . another s.h.i.+p was chasing us . . . the men began to row, with long sweeps. . . ."

"But the sand," he insisted, "is the sand there?"

"The sand? . . . Yes, I see the sand again . . . we are standing upon it . . . we and the crew . . . the sea is close behind us . . . some men have hold of me . . . they are trying to pull me away from you. . . .

Ah!--"

And I declare to you that with a sob the poor girl dropped on her knees, there in the aisle, and clasped the young man about the ankles, bowing her forehead upon the insteps of his high boots. As for him, I cannot hope to describe his face to you. There was something more in it than wonder--something more than dismay, even--at the success of his unhallowed experiment. It was as though, having prepared himself light-heartedly to witness a play, he was seized and terrified to find himself the princ.i.p.al actor. I never saw ghastlier fear on human cheeks.

"For G.o.d's sake, sir," I cried, stamping my foot, "relax your cursed spells! Relax them and leave us! This is a house of prayer."

He put a hand under the girl's chin, and, raising her face, made a pa.s.s or two, still with the daisy-chain in his hand. She looked about her, s.h.i.+vered and stood erect. "Where am I?" she asked. "Did I fall?

What are you doing with my chain?" She had relapsed into her habitual childishness of look and speech.

I hurried them from the church, resolutely locked the door, and marched up the path without deigning a glance at the young man. But I had not gone fifty yards when he came running after.

"I entreat you, sir, to pardon me. I should have stopped the experiment before. But I was startled--thrown off my balance. I am telling you the truth, sir!"

"Very likely," said I. "The like has happened to other rash meddlers before you."

"I declare to you I had no thought--" he began. But I interrupted him:

"'No thought,' indeed! I bring you here to resolve me, if you can, a curious puzzle in archaeology, and you fall to playing devil's pranks upon a half-witted child. 'No thought!'--I believe you, sir."

"And yet," he muttered, "it is an amazing business: the sand--the _velarium_--the outstretched arm and hand--_pollice compresso_--the exact gesture of the gladiatorial shows--"

"Are you telling me, pray, of gladiatorial shows under the Eastern Empire?" I demanded scornfully.

"Certainly not: and that," he mused, "only makes it the more amazing."

"Now, look here," said I, halting in the middle of the road, "I'll hear no more of it. Here is my gate, and there lies the highroad, on to Porthlooe or back to Plymouth, as you please. I wish you good morning, sir; and if it be any consolation to you, you have spoiled my digestion for a week."

I am bound to say the young man took his dismissal with grace.

He halted then and there and raised his hat; stood for a moment pondering; and, turning on his heel, walked quickly off towards Porthlooe.

It must have been a week before I learnt casually that he had obtained employment there as secretary to a small company owning the _Lord Nelson_ and the _Hand-in-hand_ privateers. His success, as you know, was rapid; and naturally in a gossiping parish I heard about it--a little here, a little there--in all a great deal. He had bought the _Providence_ schooner; he had acted as freighter for Minards' men in their last run with the _Morning Star_; he had slipped over to Cork and brought home a Porthlooe prize illegally detained there; he was in London, fighting a salvage case in the Admiralty Court; . . . Within twelve months he was accountant of every trading company in Porthlooe, and agent for receiving the moneys due to the Guernsey merchants.

In 1809, as you know, he opened his bank and issued notes of his own.

And a year later he acquired two of the best farms in the parish, Tresawl and Killifreeth, and held the fee simple of the harbour and quays.

During the first two years of his prosperity I saw little of the man.

We pa.s.sed each other from time to time in the street of Porthlooe, and he accosted me with a politeness to which, though distrusting him, I felt bound to respond. But he never offered conversation, and our next interview was wholly of my seeking.