Complete Works of Bram Stoker

by Bram Stoker

  I thought a moment, but there seemed to be only one answer. “You are quite right, Dick. We can do nothing just at present. We must keep a sharp lookout, and get some tangible evidence of his intention — something that we can support, and then we can take steps against him. As to the matter of his threat to harm Norah, I shall certainly try to bring that out in a way we can prove, and then he shall have the hottest corner he ever thought of in his life.”

  “Quite right that he should have it, Art; but we must think of her too. It would not do to have her name mixed up with any gossip. She will be going away very shortly, Isuppose, and then his power to hurt her will be nil. In the mean time everything must be done to guard her.”

  “I shall get a dog — a good savage one, this very day; that ruffian must not be able to even get near the house again — ” Dick interrupted me.

  “Oh, I quite forgot to tell you about that. The very day after that night I got a dog and sent it up. It is the great mastiff that Meldon, the dispensary doctor, had — the one that you admired so much. I specially asked Norah to keep it for you, and train it to be always with her. She promised that she would always feed him herself and take him about with her. I am quite sure she understood that he was to be her protector.”

  “Thank you, Dick,” I said, and I am sure he knew I was grateful.

  By this time we had come near the house outside which the car stood. Andy was inside, and evidently did not expect our coming so soon, for he sat with a measure of stout half emptied before him on the table, and on each of his knees sat a lady — one evidently the mother of the other.

  As we appeared in the door-way he started up.

  “Be the powdhers, there’s the masther! Git up, acushla!” — this to the younger woman, for the elder had already jumped up. Then to me: “Won’t ye sit down, yer ‘an’r. There’s only the wan chair, so ye see the shifts we’re dhruv to, whin there’s three iv us. I couldn’t put Mrs. Dempsey from off iv her own shtool, an’ she wouldn’t sit on me knee alone — the dacent woman — so we had to take the girrul on too. They all sit that way in these parts!” The latter statement was made with brazen openness and shameless effrontery. I shook my finger at him:

  “Take care, Andy. You’ll get into trouble one of these days.”

  “Into throuble, fora girrul sittin’ on me knee! Begor, the Govermint ‘II have to get up more coorts and more polis if they want to shtop that ould custom. An’ more betoken, they II have to purvide more shtools, too. Mrs. Dempsey, whin I come round agin, mind ye kape a govermint shtool for me. Here’s the masther wouldn’t let any girrul sit on any wan’s knee. Begor, not even the quality nor the fairies! All right, yer’an’r, the mare’s quite ready. Good-bye, Mrs. Dempsey. Don’t forgit the shtool — an’ wan, too, for Biddy! Gee up, ye ould corn-crake!” and so we resumed our journey.

  As we went along Dick gave me all details regarding the property which he and Mr. Caicy had bought for me. Although I had signed deeds and papers without number, and was owner in the present or in future of the whole Hill, I had not the least idea of either the size or disposition of the estate. Dick had been all over it, and was able to supply me with every detail. As he went on he grew quite enthusiastic — everything seemed to be even more favorable than he had at first supposed. There was plenty of clay; and he suspected that in two or three places there was pottery clay, such as is found chiefly in Cornwall. There was any amount of water; and when we should be able to control the whole Hill and regulate matters as we wished, the supply would enable us to do anything in the way of either irrigation or ornamental development. The only thing we lacked, he said, was limestone, and he had a suspicion that limestone was to be found somewhere on the Hill.

  “I cannot but think,” said he, “that there must be a streak of limestone somewhere. I cannot otherwise account for the subsidence of the lake on the top of the Hill. I almost begin to think that that formation of rock to which the Snake’s Pass is due runs right through the Hill, and that we shall find that the whole top of it has similar granite cliffs, with the hollow between them possibly filled in with some rock of one of the later formations. However, when we get possession I shall make accurate search. I tell you, Art, it will well repay the trouble if we can find it. A limestone quarry here would be pretty well as valuable as a gold mine.

  Nearly all these promontories on the western coast of Ireland are of slate or granite, and here we have not got lime within thirty miles. With a quarry on the spot, we can not only build cheap and reclaim our own bog, but we can supply five hundred square miles of country with the rudiments of prosperity, and at a nominal price compared with what they pay now.” Then he went on to tell me of the various arrangements effected — how those who wished to emigrate were about to do so, and how others who wished to stay were to have better farms given them on what we called “the main-land”; and how he had devised a plan for building houses for them — good solid stone houses, with proper offices and farmyards. He concluded what seemed to me like a somewhat modified day-dream: “And if we can find the limestone — well, the improvements can all be done without costing you a penny; and you can have around you the most prosperous set of people to be found in the country.” In such talk as this the journey wore on till the evening came upon us. The day had been a fine one — one of those rare sunny days in a wet autumn. As we went I could see everywhere the signs of the continuous rains. The fields were sloppy and sodden, and the bottoms were flooded; the bogs were teeming with water; the roads were washed clean — not only the mud but even the sand having been swept away, and the road-metal was everywhere exposed. Often, as we went along, Dick took occasion to illustrate his views as to the danger of the shifting of the bog at Knockcalltecrore by the evidence around us of the destructive power of the continuous rain. When we came to the mountain gap where we got our first and only view of Knockcalltecrore from the Galway road, Andy reined in the mare, and turned to me, pointing with his whip. “There beyant, yer’an’r, is Knockcalltecrore — the Hill where the threasure is. They do say that a young English gintleman has bought up the Hill, an’ manes to git the threasure for himself. Begor, perhaps he has found it already. Here, gee up, ye ould corn-crake! What the divil are ye kapin’ the quality waitin’ for?” and we sped down the road.

  The sight of the Hill filled me with glad emotion, and I do not think that it is to be wondered at. And yet my gladness was as followed by an unutterable gloom — a gloom that fell over me the instant after my eyes took in the well-known Hill struck by the falli ng sunset from the west. It seemed to me that all had been so happy and so bright and so easyfor me, that there must be in store some terrible shock or loss to make the balance even, and to reduce my satisfaction with life to the level above which man’s happiness may not pass.

  There was a curse on the Hill! I felt it and realised it at that moment for the first time. I suppose I must have shown something of my brooding fear in my face, for Dick, looking round at me after a period of silence, said suddenly: “Cheer up, Art, old chap! Surely you, at any rate, have no cause to be down on your luck. Of all men that live, I should think you ought to be about the very happiest.” “That’s it, old fellow,” I answered. “I fear that there must be something terrible coming. I shall never be quite happy till Norah and all of us are quite away from the Hill.” “What on earth do you mean? Why, you have just bought the whole place.” “It may seem foolish, Dick; but the words come back to me and keep ringing in my ears: The mountain holds, and it holds tight.’” Dick laughed. “Well, Art, it is not my fault, or Mr. Calces, if you don’t hold it tight. It is yours now, every acre of it; and, if I don’t mistake, you are going to make it in time — and not a long time either — into the fairest bower to which the best fellow ever brought the fairest lady! There now, Art, isn’t that a pretty speech?” Dick’s words made me feel ashamed of myself, and I made an effort to pull myself together, which lasted until Dick and I said good-night.

  CHAPTER XVI

  I cann
ot say the night was a happy one. There were moments when I seemed to lose myself and my own anxieties in thoughts of Norah and the future, and such moments were sweet to look back on — then as they are now; but I slept only fitfully and dreamt frightfully. It was natural enough that mydreams should centre around Knockcalltecrore; but there was no good reason why they should all be miserable or terrible. The Hill seemed to be ever under some uncomfortable or unnatural condition. When mydreams began, it was bathed in a flood of yellow moonlight, and at its summit was the giant Snake, the jewel of whose crown threw out an unholy glare of yellow light, and whose face and form kept perpetually changing to those of Murtagh Murdock. I can now, with comparatively an easy effort, look back on it all, and disentangle or give a reason for all the phases of my thought. The snake “wid side whishkers” was distinctly suggested the first night I heard the legend at Mrs. Kelligan’s; the light from the jewel was a part of the legend itself; and so on with every fact and incident. Presently, as I dreamed, the whole Mountain seemed to writhe and shake as though the great Snake was circling round it, deep under the earth; and again this movement changed into the shifting of the bog. Then through dark shadows that lay athwart the Hill I could see the French soldiers, with their treasure-chest, pass along in dusky, mysterious silence, and vanish in the hill-side. I saw Murdock track them; and, when they were gone, he and old Moynahan — who suddenlyand mysteriously appeared beside him — struggled on the edge of the bog, and, with a shuddering wail, the latter threw up his arms and sank slowly into the depths of the morass. Again Norah and I were wandering together, when suddenly Murdock’s evil face, borne on a huge serpent body, writhed up beside us; and in an instant Norah was whirled from my side and swept into the bog, I being powerless to save her or even help her. The last of all my dreams was as follows: Norah and I were sitting on the table rock in the Cliff Fields; all was happy and smiling around us. The sun shone and the birds sang, and as we sat hand in hand the beating of our hearts seemed a song also. Suddenly there was a terrible sound — half a roar, as of an avalanche, and half a fluttering sound, as of many great wings. We clung together in terror, waiting for the portent which was at hand. And then over the cliff poured the whole mass of the bog, foul-smelling, foetid, terrible, and of endless might. Just as it was about to touch us, and as I clasped Norah to me, so that we might die together, and while her despairing cry was in my ear, the whole mighty mass turned into loathsome, writhing snakes, sweeping into the sea! I awoke with a scream which brought nearly everyone in the hotel into my bedroom. Dick was first, and found me standing on the floor, white and drunk with terror.

  “What is it, old fellow? Oh, I see, only a nightmare! Come on; he’s all right; it’s only a dream!” and almost before I had realised that the waking world and not the world of shadows was around me, the room was cleared and I was alone. I lit a candle and put on some clothes; as it was of no use trying to sleep again after such an experience, I got a book and resolutely set to reading. The effort was successful, as such efforts always are, and I quite forgot the cause of my disturbance in what I read. Then the matter itself grew less interesting...

  There was a tap at my door. I started awake. It was broad daylight, and the book lay with crumpled leaves beside me on the floor. It was a message to tell me that Mr. Sutherland was waiting breakfast for me. I called out that I would be down in a few minutes, which promise I carried out as nearly as was commensurate with the requirements of the tub and the toilet. Ifound Dick awaiting me; he looked at me keenly as I came in, and then said, heartily: “I see your nightmare has not left any ill effects. I say, old chap, it must have been a whopper — a regular Derby winner among nightmares — worse than Andy’s old corncrake. You yelled fit to wake the dead. I would have thought the contrast between an ordinary night and the day you are going to have would have been sufficient to satisfy any one without such an addition to its blackness.” Then he sung out in his rich voice:

  “Och, Jewel, kape dhramin’ that same till ye die, For bright mornin’ will give dirty night the black lie.”

  We sat down to breakfast, and I am bound to say, from the trencher experience of that meal, that there is nothing so fine as an appetiserfor breakfast as a good preliminary nightmare.

  We drove off to Knockcalltecrore. When we got to the foot of the hill we stopped as usual. Andy gave me a look which spoke a lot, but he did not say a single word — for which forbearance I owed him a good turn. Dick said: “I want to go round to the other side of the hill, and shall cross over the top. I shall look you up, if I may, at Joyce’s about two o’clock.” “All right,” I said; “we shall expect you,” and I started up the Hill.

  When I got to the gate and opened it there was a loud, deep barking, which, however, was instantly stilled. I knew that Norah had tied up the mastiff, and I went to the door. I had no need to knock; for as I came near it opened, and in another instant Norah was in my arms. She whispered in my ear when I had kissed her: “I would like to have come out to meet you, but I thought you would rather meet me here.” Then, as we went into the sitting-room, hand in hand, she whispered again: “Aunt has gone to buy groceries, so we are all alone.

  You must tell me all about everything.” We sat down close together, still hand in hand, and I told her all that we had done since I had left. When I had finished the Paris part of the story, she put up her hands before her face, and I could see the tears drop through herfingers. “Norah, Norah, don’t cry, my darling! What is it?” “Oh, Arthur, I can’t help it! It is so wonderful — more than all I ever longed or wished for!” Then she took her hands away, and put them in mine, and looked me bravely in the face, with her eyes half laughing and half crying, and her cheeks wet, and said: “Arthur, you are the Fairy Prince! There is nothing that I can wish for that you have not done — even my dresses are ready by your sweet thoughtfulness. It needs an effort, dear, to let you do all this, but I see it is quite right: I must be dressed like one who is to be your wife. I shall think I am pleasing you afresh every time I put one of them on; but I must pay for them myself. You know I am quite rich now. I have all the money you paid for the Cliff Fields; father says it ought to go in such things as will fit me for my new position, and will not hearof taking any of it.” “He is quite right, Norah, my darling, and you are quite right, too; all shall be just as you wish. Now tell me all about everything since I went away.”

  “May I bring in Turco? he is so quiet with me; and he must learn to know you and love you, or he won’t be any friend of mine.” She looked at me lovingly, and went and brought in the mastiff, by whom I was forthwith received into friendship.

  That was indeed a happy day. We had a family consultation about the school; the time of beginning was arranged, and there was perfect accord among us. As Dick and I drove back through the darkness, I could not but feel that, even if evil were looming ahead of us, at least some of us had experienced what it is to be happy.

  It had been decided that after a week’s time — on the 28th of October — Norah was to leave for school. Her father was to bring her as far as London, and Mr. Chapman was to take her over to Paris. This was Joyce’s own wish. He said:

  “‘Twill be betther for ye, darlin’, to go widout me. Ye’ll have quite enough to do for a bit to keep even wid the girls that have been reared in betther ways nor you, widout me there to make little ivye.”

  “But, father,” she remonstrated, “I don’t want to appear any different from what I am. And I am too fond of you, and too proud of you, not to want to appear as your daughter.”

  Her father stroked her hair gently as he answered:

  “Norah, my darlin’, it isn’t that. Ye’ve always been the good and dutiful daughter to me; an’ in all your pretty life there’s not wan thing I wish undone or unsaid. But I’m older than you, daughter, an’ I know more iv the world; an’ what I say is best for ye — now, and in yer future. I’m goin’ to live wid Eugene; an’ afther a while I suppose I, too, ‘II be somethin’ different from what lam.
An’ thin, whin I’ve lived a while in a city, and got somethin’ of city ways, I’ll come an’ see ye, maybe. Ye must remimberthat it’s not only of you we’ve to think, but of th’ other girls in the school. I don’t want to have any of them turnin’ up their noses at ye; that’s not the way to get the best out iv school, my dear; for I suppose school is like everywhere else in the world: the higher ye’re able to hould yer head, the more others’II look up to ye.”

  His words were so obviously true, that not one of us had a word to say, and the matter was acquiesced in nem. con. I myself got leave to accompany the party as far as London, but not beyond. It was further arranged that Joyce should take his daughter to Galway to get some clothes for her — just enough to take her to Paris — and that when in Paris she should have a full outfit under the direction of Madame Lepecheaux. They were to leave on Friday, so as to have the Saturday in Galway; and as Norah wanted to say goodbye on the Sunday to old school-fellows and friends in the convent, they would return on Monday, the 25th of October. Accordingly, on the morning after next, Joyce took a letter for me to Mr. Caicy, who was to pay to him whatever portion of the purchase-money of his land he should require, and whom I asked to give all possible assistance in whatever matters either he or Norah might desire. I would have dearly liked to have gone myself with them, but the purpose and the occasion were such that I could not think of offering to go. On the dayfixed they left on the long carfrom Carnaclif. They started in torrents of rain, but were as well wrapped up as the resources of Dick and myself would allow.