by W. W. Tarn
CHAPTER VIII
FIONA FINDS HER TREASURE
And Fiona?
Fiona sat on the hearthrug in the bookroom, and told her father thewhole story from beginning to end, as it has been told here. Andsometimes he asked a question, and sometimes he said, "Yes, that wouldbe so," and sometimes he stroked her hair and said nothing. And whenshe had ended, he said, "So you never found your own treasure afterall, Fiona?"
She said, "I suppose I can have it now, if I go back."
"Do you think you will go back?" he asked.
She replied with another question.
"Have you found out what my treasure is, daddy?"
"I believe I could guess," he answered. "But you have found a goodmany things already, apart from treasure, haven't you, littledaughter?"
She sat silent and looked into the fire.
"I suppose I have," she said.
"We won't enumerate them," said the Student. "It spoils thingsentirely, sometimes, to put them into words. But I will tell yousomething an old writer once said. He was talking of that particularkind of treasure which men call Truth; and he said that if he wereoffered Truth itself on the one hand, and the everlasting search forit on the other hand, he would choose the search. I expect you canunderstand that now; for you have seen what has happened to you overyour own search."
"I think I can understand," said Fiona. "I must be growing older,daddy."
"You'll be too old soon to go back to Fairyland at all, littledaughter," said the Student. "If you are going, you will have to go atonce."
"What do you think, daddy?" she questioned.
"I can only tell you that, in my case, I went back," the Studentanswered.
"Why, daddy, have you been in Fairyland too?" cried Fiona. "And younever told me."
"Yes," said the Student. "Even a musty old scholar like myself wasyoung once, you know," and he looked into the fire with eyes whichseemed to see things very, very far away. "It was not quite the sameas the Fairyland you have been in, Fiona; but we called it Fairyland."
"Can't you come back with me if I go daddy?" asked the girl.
"I'm too old now, little daughter," he said. "For good or for bad, Icould never find the way again. I can only see it now through youreyes. I'll come as far as the door with you, and that's all that anold man can do. I suppose you know where the door is?"
"I never felt there was any doubt," said Fiona.
"Then we'll start first thing to-morrow, if it's calm enough," hesaid.
But that evening was the last of the golden autumn; and when Fionawoke in the morning, the Isle of Mist was justifying its name. Thesouthwest gale was raging round the house like a live animal, seizingit and shaking it, and wailing in the chimneys pitifully, like anunburied ghost; and before the gale the long lead-colored rollers wereracing in from the Atlantic, smashing themselves on the crags andshooting up heavenward in columns of spray thrice the height of thecliffs, while the noise of the surf in the Scargill cave came boomingacross the water like the roar of a battleship's guns. The hills wereall shrouded in mist, and the mist was fine salt rain that rolled infrom the sea, driving in billows over the moor and across the fields;the gulls were tossed about in it like little bits of waste paper, andevery green thing on the island opened its heart to the rain and dranktill it could drink no more. Toward evening Fiona and the Student, inoilskins and sou'-westers, went down to the rocks and out seaward asfar as was possible, and there stood, unable to speak for the noise.They balanced themselves against the gusts, and felt the tinglingdrops of salt spray rattle like hail off their coats, while theywatched the cliff waterfalls, unable to fall for the wind, go straightup heavenward in clouds of smoke, and the sea foam and tear at therocks below; and once for a moment the cloud-mist parted, and thehills started out, their dark sides all gashed and seamed with whitestreaks where every tiny runlet and burn was rushing in spate downtoward the sea. Fiona managed to shout, with her clear young voice,"No one can really love this island who only knows it in summer;" andthen they went home, out of the dusk and the lashing of the wet wind,to the quiet bookroom and tea things, and lamps, and books; for manmay love Nature, but he loves still better the contrast between Natureand the things which he has fashioned for himself.
For three weeks the wind blew; and though there were days when thesea-mist lifted, there was no day on which the sea was calm enough forthe launching of their small boat. Then one afternoon came change. Thewarm air turned chill, and the warm rain became sleet; that night thewind backed to the north, and next day was a blizzard of snow. And thenight after the wind fell away, and the snow ceased, and Orion and histwo dogs shone huge in a frosty sky; and Fiona woke to the glories ofa scarlet sunrise on a great field of white.
"We must hurry, daddy," she said. "It's perfectly calm."
"It's a pet day," said the Student, sniffing the air. "It won't last;the wind backed too suddenly. But it's all right till sunset."
Directly breakfast was over they launched the little boat, andstarted. The snow shone white in the sunshine, and the calm seaagainst the snow was as blue as a blue lotus; but the shadows on thesnow were a wonder, and the woven complexity of their colorings wouldhave taxed every hue on an artist's palette. So they pulled down andinto the cave, at whose mouth the great bluff looked barer and blackerthan ever against the world's whiteness; and they grounded their boatand climbed the rock barrier. There the Student sat down and filledand lit his pipe.
"This is as far as I can go," he said. "If I mistake not, you willfind that they have opened the door for you."
So Fiona went on to the recess where the Urchin had found thedoubloon, and where the torch had been smashed in her father's hand;and the solid wall of the cliff had opened, and there was an archwayleading into the black vaulting of the long cave behind. Fiona passedthrough into the darkness . . . and the darkness parted to right andleft of her, and she stood again in the fairy ring where she had stoodon All Hallows E'en.
But how changed. Of all the bright throng of fairies that hadclustered round it, not one stood there to-day. The circle of scarlettoadstools was broken down and shattered, as though by a great storm;and the ring itself was no longer grass, but was covered deep in snow.Of all the things she had seen there that evening, only one remained.The beryl throne still stood lonely in the midst of the bare ring; andon the throne sat the King of the Fairies. His face rested on hishand, as though he were deep in thought; his eyes were looking atsomething far away. On the steps of the throne sat the Chancellor, theKing's inseparable friend; and he, too, was deep in thought. It was aview of the fairy world which Fiona had never expected.
The King must have heard her step, for he rose from his throne andcame down to meet her.
"Have you come for your treasure, Fiona?" he said.
And she said, "I have come because you asked me to come back."
The King held out his sceptre to her; and again the mist came up fromthe ground and enwrapped the beryl throne, and the figures of theKing and the Chancellor wavered and became dim before her. _Were_ theythe King and the Chancellor? Was not what she saw, so dim through themist, the figures of the shepherd who had helped her on Glenollisdaland his black collie? But the mist was wavering again about them, andagain all was a blur; and then the mist suddenly cleared, and therewas no one there at all but just the old hawker and the little terrierwhich followed him.
"So you were the King of the Fairies all the time," said Fiona.
"All the time," said the old man gently. "We go about in the world asyou see us. And some still entertain angels unaware. Have you come foryour treasure, Fiona?"
And this time Fiona answered, "Yes."
"You have earned it," said the King. "And you have found much morethan any treasure. Your father has told you that?"
And again Fiona said, "Yes."
"I cannot really give you your treasure," said the King, "for youhave it already. I think you have had it all the time; but you did notknow. But now you have learnt."
; "What is it?" asked Fiona. "But I think I can guess now."
"It is the spirit of the island which you love," said the King, "andwhich henceforth loves you. You have spoken face to face with bird andbeast and with the beings who knew and loved the land before your racewas. To-day you have the freedom of the island, and of all livingthings in it; they are your friends forever. And to the dead in itsgraveyards you are kin. All that is there has passed into your blood,the old lost loves, the old impossible loyalties, the old forgottenheroisms and tendernesses; all these are yours; and yours are thesongs that were sung long ago, and the tales which were told by thefireside; and the deeds of the men and women of old have become partof you. You can walk now through the crowded city and never know it,for the wind from the heather will be about you where you go; you canstand in the tumult of men and never hear them, for round you will bethe silence of your own sea. That is the treasure of the Isle of Mist;the island has given you of its soul. You have found greater thingsalready; you will find greater things yet again. But such as it is, itis the best gift which we of the fairy world have to give."
"And now," continued the King, "you will not see us again. And I willtake back the bracelet. It would be no further use to you, for you areno longer a child. You are too old for Fairyland."
"But my father could see you," said Fiona.
"He could only see me as I really am through your eyes," said theKing. "It may be that some day you too will see me again through theeyes of a child. But for the present it is farewell."
So Fiona stooped down and stroked the little dog, who looked at herwith wistful eyes, and took her farewell of the King; and the Kingraised his hand, and the mist rose again and enwrapped the fairy ringand those in it . . . and Fiona walked out through the archway intothe cave, and there sat the Student on the rock barrier, just as shehad left him, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. And even as she cameto him there was a noise behind her, and when she looked round it wasto see the archway blocked by a great fall of rock.
"You will not use that way again, little daughter," said the Student.
"I shall not use any way again now, daddy," she said. "I am too old.But oh, daddy, it has been worth it."
Then they launched their boat and paddled slowly out of the cave, outof the dark into daylight; and before them lay the quiet sea bathed inthe winter sun, and the Isle of Mist dreaming under its mantle ofwhite.
THE END.
_A Selection from theCatalogue of_
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONS
Complete Catalogues senton application
THE MOON POOL
BY A. MERRITT
Romance, real romance, and wonderful adventure,--absolutelyimpossible, yet utterly probable! A story one almost regrets havingread, since one can then no longer read it for the first time. Once inthe proverbial blue moon there comes to the fore an author who canconceive and write such a tale. Here is one!
Few indeed will forget, who, with the Professor, watch the mysticapproach of the Shining One down the moon path,--who follow with himand the others the path below the Moon Pool, beyond the Door of theSeven Lights;--and would there were more characters in fiction likeLakla the lovely and Larry O'Keefe the lovable.
Perhaps you readers will know who were those weird and awe-inspiringSilent Ones.
G. P. PUTNAM'S SONSNEW YORK LONDON
Visions and Beliefs inthe West of Ireland
By Lady Gregory
With Two Essays and Notes by W. B. Yeats_Two Volumes. 12o_
To those who have felt the haunting charm that inheres in the Celticconsciousness of an imminent supernaturalism, this collection of Irishfancy, belief, and folk-lore, gathered from the lips of the peoplewith patient and reverent care, will have particular value. It hasinterest as an exceptionally thorough and representative study ofpsychic sensitiveness in Ireland, and the slightness of the barrierbetween worlds seen and unseen.
G. P. Putnam's SonsNew York London
The Substanceof a Dream
By F. W. Bain
"In this new and wholly charming Hindu story a very old world speaksto us, but one that has not lost its childhood with age andsophistication. It is a world of innocent voluptuousness where passionis not contrary to faith but is itself faith.
"Mr. Bain's people have character, as there are colors in moonlight, acharacter with a common beauty in all its diversities; and because ofits utter and inner harmony, this creation of his has a very rarebeauty."
G. P. Putnam's SonsNew York London
Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in theoriginal edition have been corrected.
In Chapter II, a quotation mark was deleted after "the love of wormswas the root of all evil".
In Chapter III, a quotation mark was added after "if you could wait afew minutes . . .".
In Chapter IV, _said Fiona," and you wriggle so."_ was changed to_said Fiona, "and you wriggle so."_, and _"Urchin," she shouted;"Urchin.'_ was changed to _"Urchin," she shouted; "Urchin."_
In Chapter V, quotation marks were added after "Go up a hill." and"the true cave at all."
