The Men Who Wrought Part 9

The sleepy eyes of the woman were raised expectantly to his face, and, deep down in their depths, a light of admiration, which had only his manhood for its object, was growing with each pa.s.sing moment. She too rose from her seat at the window, and they stood facing each other perfect in their splendid youth.

"Well?"

The woman could no longer restrain her impatience. Her interrogation broke from her almost unconsciously.

"I came here to--accept your invitation to visit that--to see those things first hand, which is the duty of our country's political leaders," he said, with a smile which thrilled the expectant woman.

"And you will--accept?"

Ruxton nodded. His fine head, with its fair hair, was inclined in acquiescence.

"Thank G.o.d!"

The woman's exclamation was one of unrestrained thankfulness and relief. Had Ruxton needed any added proof of her honesty and sincerity, it was in that wonderful expression of fervid thankfulness which accompanied her words. But he had needed none, and it was the result of a coalition of heart and brain.

"I shall communicate with your father and appoint a time when I can start with him--on his submersible."

The woman's eyes were wide.

"My father!" she exclaimed.

"Surely--Mr. Charles Smith."

The laugh which followed Ruxton's announcement was full of delighted admiration.

"And we took so much trouble. We planned so carefully. We came to you because we believed you to be the only man approachable on such a subject. We did not realize we were approaching an intellect capable of fathoming and turning inside out our closely kept secrets."

"Intellect?" Ruxton laughed as he held out his hand in "good-bye." "It is not necessarily intellect which recognizes strong family likenesses.

But I regret to say that your father, brilliant as he may be as an inventor, does not do you justice in the matter of his personal appearance. However, I shall send him a message addressed Veevee, London, which you will doubtless see, and I pray that Providence may bless our feeble efforts. From all I can imagine the immediate future will contain many uncertainties for me, so I do not know if we shall ever meet again. But I want to tell you that I thank you from the bottom of my heart for coming to me. If things are as bad as you think, then you have done our country an inestimable service--you and your father."

But his words had a different effect from that which might have been expected. A shudder of pain seemed suddenly to affect the woman and a great distress shadowed her beautiful eyes.

"Please don't," she cried. "If you knew all that is in here," she went on, pressing her hands upon her bosom, "you would understand all this thing means. Mr. Farlow, you have never felt terror as a woman can feel it. How could you? You, a man, so big, and strong, and fearless. Even your imagination, riot as it may, could never know the haunt which the sinking of the _Lusitania_ has created in my woman's mind. Those poor helpless souls. Think of them, and think of some future, distant day when---- Oh, G.o.d! No, no! The service you speak of is no service. It is--Duty."

Ruxton was deeply affected by the evident sincerity of her distress. He had nothing to add. But Vita Vladimir brushed her moment of weakness aside, and gazed up at him with luminous, searching eyes.

"I had almost forgotten," she cried. "I am afraid I am but a poor plotter. The delight that you have accepted has put so much out of my poor brain." Then her eyes grew wide with awe and dread. "I told you that other lives than yours hang upon this matter. So--it is necessary for inviolable secrecy. Need you tell even your--father of your going?

Need any one know? Your servants? Any one at all? It is a big thing to ask, but--life is very dear to us all, and---- No, no, what am I talking about? I must not beg. I must demand. For as sure as the sun rises to-morrow you will be silenced forever if word of this leaks out.

We shall all be."

The woman's manner was far more impressive than her words. But Ruxton treated the matter almost lightly.

"Don't worry. I have given my promise to go. I am wilfully thrusting my neck into the noose waiting for it. I shall not take unnecessary chances. No one, not even my father, shall hear of this thing from me.

So--good-bye until I return from--Germany."

Vita's relief found expression in a grave sort of smile.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "But--but you are not going to--Germany."

CHAPTER VI

THE OLD MILL COVE

He had known the mill all his life; at least he believed he had. He had gazed upon that awesome black ruin, keeping watch and ward over the wicked little cove below it, like some sentinel on guard over a dangerous criminal, with wide, childish eyes, and a mind full of terrified speculation. He had known it later, when, with boyish bravado, he had flouted the horrific stories of a superst.i.tious countryside, and explored its barren, ruined recesses. He had known it still later, when, with manhood's eyes opening to a dim appreciation of all those things which have gone before in the great effort of life, he had seen in it a picturesque example of the endless struggle which has gone on since the dawn of life.

So he thought he knew it all.

Now the limitations of his knowledge were forcing themselves upon him.

Now he was realizing that there were secrets by the score in those every-day things which a lifetime of contact may never reveal. The strangeness of it all set him marvelling. The limitations of human understanding seemed extraordinarily narrow.

He gazed down into the gaping cavity beneath his feet, and, by the dim rays of a lighted lantern, counted the worn stone steps until the darkness below swallowed up their outline.

Ruxton Farlow straightened himself up and glanced about him at the bare stone walls, from the joints of which the cement had long since fallen.

He looked up at the worm-eaten, oaken rafters which had stood the wear of centuries. The flooring which they supported had long since fallen into decay, and he only wondered how much longer those st.u.r.dy oaken beams would continue to support the colossal weight of the millstones now resting from their grinding labors.

Through the rents which time and weather had wrought he saw the warm glow of daylight above, for all was ruin in the great old mill, ruin within and without. As it was with the walls of stone, and the great tower of woodwork above them, so it was with the outbuildings beyond the doorway, within which he stood. The walls remained, heavily b.u.t.tressed by the hardy hands of a race of men who had understood so well the necessity for fortifying their homes against all eventualities, but the timbers of the roofs had long since fallen victims to the inclemencies of the seasons and the ruthless "North-easters" which, probably, since the time when the iron sh.o.r.es of Britain first emerged from beneath the waters, had beaten their relentless wings against the barrier which held up their freedom.

Ruxton set his lantern on the ground and moved away to the wide doorway, which no longer possessed the remotest sign of the old wooden doors which had probably been at one time heavy enough to resist a siege. Here he drew a letter from his pocket and read it carefully over by the light of the sunset.

"Dear Mr. Farlow:

"I never knew your wonderful coast could be so interesting, even absorbing. I feel I owe you personal thanks for a delightful time, simply because you live--where you live. I have discovered a most wonderful spot. I say discovered, but probably you have known it from the days when you were first able to toddle about by yourself. However, I must tell you of it. It is an old, old, ruined mill, regarded by the folks on your coast as an evil place which is haunted by the spirits of the smugglers who once upon a time used it as the headquarters for their nefarious trade. But the incredible part of it is we unearthed a secret in it which has remained hidden for generations, possibly centuries. Now listen carefully and I will tell you of this secret. In the middle of the stone chamber under the mill there is the entrance to a pa.s.sage which communicates with that villainous cove over which the evil eye of the old mill forever gazes. Six inches beneath the surface of the debris on the floor there is a slate slab, and, on raising this, you will discover a stone staircase which goes down, down,--follow it, and you shall see what you shall see. I have since discovered that this is the _only means of reaching the beach of the cove--unless you possess wings_. But I began this note with the intention of only telling you how much I am looking forward to seeing you again on Thursday evening at eight o'clock. I do hope you are taking full advantage of your vacation from parliamentary work, and are storing up plenty of good health upon your wonderful, wonderful moors.

"Yours very sincerely, "Vita Vladimir."

Ruxton refolded the letter and put it away. He understood it was the final summons to that great adventure which was to tell him of the threat overshadowing his beloved country.

He had obeyed it readily, eagerly, and now that the reality of the whole thing was developing he paused to consider the motives urging him.

He was going to witness things first hand. He was glad. His understanding of duty a.s.sured him that it was the only means by which he could hope to convince others, when the time came. But was this his sole motive? Was this the motive which had inspired that feeling of exaltation when he first read the perfumed note, so carefully written lest it should fall into wrong hands? He knew it was not.

His eyes were raised to the glistening sea away beyond the cove. He was gazing straight out through the narrow opening of the cove where the precipitous cliffs rose sheer out of the blue waters and marked the entrance which the country-folk sensationally loved to call "h.e.l.l's Gate." His mind was searching and probing the feelings which inspired him, and he knew that the beckoning hand of the woman was exercising a greater power than any sense of duty. He did not blind himself. He had no desire to. Those dark Slavonic eyes of his were wide and bright, and the half smile of them was full of an eager warmth. The idealist mind behind them was widely open to its own imagery. He saw through those h.e.l.l's Gates the perfect, palpitating figure which had poured out its burden of soul to him on the edge of those very cliffs; and she was--beckoning.

The youth of him had been engulfed in the soul of the woman. Nor, as yet, did he realize the extent of the power she was exercising. All he knew was that he had neither the power nor desire to resist the summons, and herein lay the distinguishing mark of those whom Destiny claims.

After a few moments he glanced at his watch. And at once the alertness of the man was displayed. It was twenty minutes to eight, and shortly after eight it would be low tide. The appointment had been made with regard to that, and that while he approached from the land, she would come by water. Therefore he must not delay.

Dismissing every other consideration he turned back to the mysterious stairway he had unearthed and began its descent, aided by the light of the lantern he had discovered secreted upon the top step, ready for his use.

His progress was rapid and easy. The vaulted, declining pa.s.sage beneath the mill was high and wide, and constructed of masonry calculated to withstand the erosion of ages. It was moist and slimy, and the steps were at times slippery, but these things were no deterrents.

The stairway, however, seemed endless in the dim lantern light, and by the time he had completed the journey he had counted upwards of one hundred steps. At the bottom he paused and looked back up the way he had come, but, in the blackness of the tunnel, his light revealed little more than the first few steps.