The Sign of the Spider

by Bertram Mitford

  CHAPTER XXXI.

  CONCLUSION.

  "Well, Fay, I think that's about enough for one lesson. Down you get."

  "Just once more round the park, father," was the pleading rejoinder."I'm quite beginning to feel at home on Tricksie now."

  Laurence gave way, and Tricksie darted off, perhaps a trifle toovivaciously for a learner of the noble art of horsemanship. But the girlkept her seat bravely, and the conceded scamper being brought to aclose, she came round to where Laurence awaited, and slid from hersaddle.

  "Father, I won't have you call it 'lessons' any more," she cried. "I canride now; _can_ ride--do you hear!"

  "Oh, can you?" laughed Laurence, thinking what a pretty picture she madestanding there with the full light of the setting sun tinting the goldenwaves of her hair, playing upon the great dark eyes. Indeed, he ownedinwardly to a weakness, a soft place as strange as it was unwonted, forthis child of his. Yet she was something more than a child now, quite atall slip of a girl at the angular age; but there was nothing awkward orangular even then about Fay Stanninghame.

  "Well, hitch up the pony to the rail there," he went on. "Those twoscamps can take him in when they are tired of careering around andwhooping like Sioux on the war-path."

  The two boys, also happy in the possession of a pony apiece, had lost notime either in learning to ride it.

  "There's no part of a fool about either of those chaps," said Laurence,more to himself than to the girl, as he watched the two circling at fullgallop in and out among the trees, absolutely devoid of fear. "Let'sstroll a little, Fay; or would you rather go in?"

  "Of course, I wouldn't," linking her arm in his. "Father, are we veryrich now?"

  "Oh, pretty warm. Think it fun, eh, child?"

  "Fun? Why it's heavenly. This lovely place! Oh, sometimes I dream thatthis _is_ all a dream, and then--to wake up and find it real!"

  "Well, dear, be as happy as you like now--all day and every day. Youhave had enough of the other thing to last you a precious long time."

  They strolled on through the sweet May evening--on beneath a great beechhanger, where cushats cooed softly among the green mast, and the air wasmusical with the sweet piping of thrushes and the caw of homing rooks.Here and there a gap in the hawthorn hedge disclosed a glimpse ofred-tiled roof and farm stack--and nestling among the trees of the parkthe chimneys of the Hall.

  Laurence Stanninghame had found this place by a mere chance. He mighthave purchased it for a third of its value, but he preferred not.Possibly he distrusted the wandering blood within him, possibly he didnot lose sight of the fact that where he had found the great diamonds hehad certainly left behind many more, to be found or not at some futuretime. So he rented the house and park, and extensive shooting andfishing rights. No more pinching and scraping now. To the children thischange was, as Fay had said, "heavenly."

  "How do people get rich in Africa, father?" said the latter, as theyturned homeward.

  "In various ways. They find gold mines with no gold in them, and thensell shares in them to a pack of idiots for a great deal of money. Orthey perhaps find a few diamonds themselves. Or they trade in all sortsof things--ivory, and so forth."

  He had stopped to light a pipe; Fay, intently watching his face throughthe clouds of smoke he was puffing forth, detected a lurking quizzicalexpression in his eyes, which roused her scepticism.

  "I never quite know whether you are serious or not, father," she said."But you never tell us any stories about Africa."

  "I've got out of practice for story-telling, little one."

  "But Colonel Hewett tells us plenty,"--naming a neighbour,--"and yet hehasn't been so much in Africa as you have."

  "Ah, he'll never get out of practice in that line," returned Laurence,with the same quizzical laugh.

  "What a lot of adventures you must have had, father," went on Faywistfully; for this was a sore subject both with herself and herbrothers. They had expected tale upon tale of hair-raising peril--oflions and crocodiles and snakes and fighting Zulus. But woefuldisappointment awaited. The last topic the returned wanderer seemed tocare to talk upon was that of his wanderings.

  Before they regained the house they were joined by the two boys, happyand healthy with their recent gallop, and full of the trout they weregoing to catch on the morrow under the tuition of the keeper. Laurence,dismissing them for a while, entered quietly by a back way. The post hadcome in, and with it an African mail letter. This he carried into hisprivate sanctum. It was from Holmes.

  "I hope the fellow isn't going to make trouble," he said to himself witha slight clouding of the brow. "He's idiot enough to turnpious--repentant, I suppose, they would call it--and give the wholething away. 'Nothing but a curse can come of it,--the curse of blood,'the young fool said, or words to that effect. I wonder what sort of a'curse' it is that puts one in possession of all this," looking out uponthe soft, peaceful English landscape, hayfield and wooded hill,slumbering in the gathering dusk. "As if there could be a greater curseanyhow than being condemned to go through life that most pitiableobject--a pauper with sixteen quarterings. No--no!"

  He tore open the envelope, and in the fading light ran rapidly over itscontents. Hazon had returned to Johannesburg, and had wound up all theiraffairs, and each of them was in possession of more than a smallfortune. There was nothing, however, of the remorseful or the morbidabout the writer now, and, turning over the page, Laurence broke into ashort half laugh, for there followed the announcement of Holmes'engagement to Mabel Falkner of the blue eyes, and the usual transportsand rhapsodies attendant upon such a communication. Skipping the bulk ofthis, Laurence returned the missive to his pocket with another sneeringlaugh.

  "We shall hear no more about a 'curse' on our good fortune now, friendHolmes," he said to himself, "for you are entering upon an institutioncalculated to knock out all such Quixotic niceties. Ha, ha! I shouldn'tbe in the least surprised if in a little while you didn't hanker tostart up-country again upon another 'ivory' trade."

  But Holmes' letter had, as it were, let in a waft of the dark cloud ofthe Past upon the fair and smiling peacefulness of the Present, and hefell to thinking on what strange experiences had been his--of theconsistent and unswerving irony of life as he had known it. Everyconventionality violated--every rule of morality, each set aside, hadbrought him nothing but good--had brought nothing but good to him andhis. Had he grovelled on in humdrum poverty-stricken respectability,what would have befallen him--and them? For him the stereotyped"temporary insanity" verdict of a coroner's jury--for them, well, Heavenonly knew. Whereas now?

  At this stage an impulse moved him, and opening a locked cabinet he tookforth something, and as he examined it the associations of the thing,and the fast darkening room, brought back the vision of glooming rockwalls and a perfectly defenceless man weighed down with horror anddread.

  "May I come in, father? But you are in the dark."

  It was Fay's voice. He half started, so rapt was he in his meditations.

  "That's soon remedied," he said, striking a light. "Yes, come in, littleone. You were asking about this thing once. Look at it--queer sort ofweapon, isn't it?"

  "It is, indeed," she answered. "Is it a Zulu war club? Why, the head ismade of brass, or is it gold? And look, there is some strange writing onit."

  "And the handle is a bone. Yes, the head is gold, and I put the thingtogether when I had no other weapon--ay--and used it, too, in theghastliest kind of fight I ever was in. Come, now, we will put it awayagain."

  "Not yet, father. Show me some more queer things," she pleaded, nestlingto his side.

  Then he got out other trophies and curios, and Fay spent a good hour ofunalloyed delight turning them wonderingly over, and drinking in theincident, more or less stirring, which related to each.

  But there was one thing he did not show her; one thing upon which no eyesave his own might ever again rest; one thing he treasured up in thegreatest security under lock and key, which was enshrined within hismind as a hallowed "charm,
" and that was the metal box and itscontents--the "charm" which twice had stood between him and death--deathviolent and horrible--The Sign of the Spider.