Peregrine's Progress Part 87

THE DEEPS OF h.e.l.l

Your Heroes of Romance from time immemorial have generally been large men, more or less handsome, superlatively strong, void of all fear, stalwart of body and steadfast of mind; moreover, being singled out by a hard fate to endure much and often, they suffer, unflinchingly and uncomplainingly, to extremity, like the heroes they are. To be sure, under great stress of mental or even bodily anguish, they are sometimes allowed to sigh, to tremble, or even emit an occasional groan, but tears, it seems, are a weakness forbidden them.

All of which foregoing is to lend additional point to the fact that in my last chapter I leave myself huddled miserably in my chair and dissolved in bitter tears; which of itself should sufficiently preclude the remotest possibility of my reader ever mistaking me for a hero, even if Nature had not done this already.

Behold me then, a high-strung, delicate, hysterical youth, weeping in an agony of shameful horror evoked of a perfervid imagination.

O Imagination! Whoso is possessed of thee is cursed or blessed by a fearful magic whereby the misty vision becomes real, unworthy suspicion changed to hateful certainty, the vague idea into a living horror to haunt us day and night until sweet Reason shrinks appalled; by imagination we may scale the heights of heaven or plumb the foulest deeps of h.e.l.l.

So I, being not in the least like a Hero of Romance, wept miserably, staring through tears upon a countryside bathed in the glory of sunset; but to my jaundiced vision this radiance but made my circ.u.mambient shadow the blacker by contrast, a mephitic gloom wherein a chaise with red wheels bore Diana to her "slave and master"--a master whose power was such that he could force her, willing or unwilling, to obey his summons--his every behest ... horror on horror ... shame on shame, until my mind reeled sick with loathing.

And she who had driven with the profligate Danby to G.o.d alone knew what infamy--even she would return to act for me her part of sorrowing wonder--to weep and sigh. Oh, shameful hypocrisy! And with her would be my aunt and uncles to wonder also and shake grave heads over me, torturing me with their love while in my consciousness gnawed this undying horror that, like a demon raged within me, pa.s.sioning for utterance, insomuch that day or night I had dreaded lest I babble the obscenities that haunted me. Better to die than speak! A bullet would be quick, as Anthony had said--and I had no fire arms! But I remembered that in the kitchen downstairs I had seen a pistol hung up in a dark corner and above the mantel hung George's bayonet, at whose keen point lay silence and oblivion; and this thought had in it a degree of comfort as I sat crouched in my chair, half-blinded by my unheroic tears.

The sun had set, the blackbird had ended his song, for evening was falling apace; against the glimmering dusk bats wheeled and hovered, and as the shadows deepened I watched the stars shine forth, while low down in the darkening sky was an effulgence that marked the rising moon.

Suddenly I arose, moved by a dominating purpose, kicked off my slippers, struggled into my boots and, taking surtout and hat, strode resolutely downstairs; by good hap there chanced to be n.o.body in the kitchen and, crossing to a certain corner, I took from the wall a small but serviceable-looking pistol, and having a.s.sured myself that it was primed and loaded, I slipped it into my pocket and stepped out into the fragrant dusk.

But as I crossed the yard, George suddenly emerged from the stables.

"Lord, Mr. Vereker, sir!" he exclaimed, touching an eyebrow.

"Any one about, George?"

"Nary a soul, sir--'cept me an' my little old woman. But 'bout a hour ago Mr. Anthony's lady rides up, all a-tremblin' an' pale--an' no wonder, poor soul, seein' Mr. Anthony galloped off lookin' like a devil an' a bottle o' my brandy in 'is pocket!"

"Had Mrs. Vere-Manville come to find him, George?"

"No, sir! He'd been gone a good 'arf-hour afore she came. 'O George,'

says she, all a-gaspin' like, 'is Miss Lovel 'ere?' 'Upstairs along o'

Mr. Vereker, ma'm,' I says. 'Oh, I must see her--I must see her!'

cries she, a-shakin' wuss'n ever, so that I was afeard she'd fall off 'er 'oss an' 'im that gentle! 'Can I 'elp you ma'm?' says I. 'No!'

says she, moanin' an' breathless-like. 'Oh, no, George--n.o.body can, O G.o.d, 'elp me, G.o.d 'elp me!' An' then, sir, down comes Miss Lovel an'

runs to 'er. 'Why, Babs!' says she, anxious-like. 'Oh, what is it, dearest?' At this, Mr. Anthony's lady begins to sob--'eart-breakin', sir! 'O Di,' says she, all wildlike, 'O Di dear, 'e wants me! 'E says I must go--to-night--an' I'm afraid.' So Miss Lovel, she kisses 'er an' they whisper together. Then Miss Lovel calls for 'er 'oss, an'

away they ride very close together, an' Miss L.'s arm about 'er. Lord, sir, who'd a thought it o' Mr. Anthony? So wild an' fierce-like 'e were--enough to fright any woman, 'specially such a beautiful, gentle creetur' as 'is wife! Drink 's a fearsome thing!"

"True, George. But Mr. Anthony would die rather than harm her, I am sure."

"Maybe, sir--but 'e looked 'orrible wild an' fierce when 'e rode off--an' drink du be a tur'ble thing."

"Now--touching a chaise, George--"

"Chaise, sir?"

"A black chaise picked out in yellow, with red wheels. You have seen such drive up to Raydon Manor, yonder, you told me once, I think?"

"I did, sir, an' I 'ave--frequent! It do have drove up theer this very evening. But Lord, Mr. Vereker, be you a thinkin' o' walkin' out--an'

night comin' on?"

"I am, George."

"'T will be dark soon, sir. And you 'ardly yourself, yet!"

"No, George, there will be a moon."

"But, sir, wot am I to tell your lady aunt?"

"That I have taken a walk in quest of my health--and sanity, George."

"Be you a-goin' fur, sir?"

"No further than I need."

"Then I think I'll go along wi' you, sir."

"No, George, I may be back before the moon is up. At least--no, it will be high-risen when I return, most likely. Only pray a.s.sure my aunt that I am doing the very best for myself." So saying, I left the faithful George staring after me and shaking dubious head.

I walked at a leisurely pace, deliberating how best to contrive the desperate task I had set myself to accomplish, how best to bring it to a final and certain issue.

And presently up came the moon in glory and I stared up at her as one does who may behold her perhaps for the last time. Calm and serene she arose, and as I walked amid this tender light, I seemed to breathe in something of her pa.s.sionless serenity and knew a strange exaltation of mind, placid and untroubled. Gone were my fever dreams, the foul horrors that had haunted me, and my obscene demons were vanished utterly away and with them, as it seemed, the inertia of my late sickness.

To die, and in so doing take evil with me, leaving the world so much the better? To die, and perhaps find for myself that oblivion, that untroubled rest that I so earnestly desired? Surely Death, after all, was the Great Good Thing? So I walked on at leisurely pace, serene, a.s.sured and utterly content.

Reaching the high road, I followed it until I espied a rutted byway bounded on the one hand by lofty trees and on the other by a high and sinister wall. At the same leisurely pace I strolled down this dark lane and thus arrived at a pair of tall and very ma.s.sive iron gates.

Here I paused, and though the adjacent trees cast much shadow, presently discovered a bell handle to which I applied myself forthwith.

After some delay the door of the lodge opened and a figure appeared, though strangely vague and indistinct and then, peering at me through the bars of the gate, I saw a gigantic negro, his skin as black as his livery.

"Is your master in?" I demanded.

"Who yo' mean--mah master?" he replied in surly tone.

"I wish to see Mr. Haredale or Captain Danby."

"No sich names hyah!"

"Well then, I want Mr. Trenchard."

"Who's yo' se'f to see Mas'r Trenchard?"

"I am an--acquaintance of his."

"Well, ah don' know yo' face, so ah guess dey's bof' out fo' you an'

so's yo'se'f--an' can stay out, fo' shure." Having said which, the negro laughed shrilly, and I saw the flash of his teeth ere he departed.

Balked thus but determined as ever, I turned away and began to follow the wall, looking for a place where I might climb it by means of some tree or rise in the ground. And with every step the sudden conviction I had formed that Trenchard was Haredale grew stronger; and Haredale, as I knew, was but another name for that evil rogue whose name had once been Devereux.

I went slowly, scanning every yard of the wall for a likely place, now in brilliant moonlight, now in shadow, while stronger and stronger waxed my determination that, supposing Trenchard were Devereux indeed, I would this night rid the world of him once and for all.