And with scarcely an intervening moment there ascended to him, as if from a considerable way off, a confused uproar that silenced the constant thunder of the waters, in the manner of a vast multitude of people, all bawling, wailing and shrieking at once. It was the most phantom-like and shocking yet. … But when the clamour, with its risings and fallings, had endured for what might be minutes, and never grew less agitating to his ears, the sound of a sullen, heavy, booming drum joined in, to master all those other noises, its single ominous strokes being dealt at brief and regular spaces. Afterwards the hubbub of voices died down, without entirely ceasing; but the drum persisted.
A little later again, a shrill horn screeched sharply above everything else, three separate times, like a call to assembly. The drumming stopped; the cries faded to silence. The sound of the rushing torrent once more reigned. …
An angry reddening of the night, from low down, perhaps from round an upper bend of the valley, told of a conflagration out of sight... and now he obtained his first view of the changed landscape. Instead of the quiet oudine and smooth flank of the shoulder across the stream he had traversed in getting here, that at its highest should not have overtopped this other hill by a hundred feet, his eyes were quickly startled by the spectacle of cliffs and naked crag masses, all lit by this fiery glare and flicker from an invisible blazing valley beacon, to tower indeterminate, rude, topless, towards and into the black sky of stars above. To come to the lowest stars, he must put his head back. He was against a mountain. …
A monstrous beast in silhouette, massive yet low like a rhinoceros, appeared in the moment of lifting itself over the Tor's edge, midway between himself and the dark shape of the girl, who, when he looked round to her, never moved. The brute displayed no hostility, but only the resolve to put height and distance behind it, in its unreasoning terror of the red shine of the valley. … And Saltfleet knew that the hyperphysical part of him that could communicate with these wonders and false threats was not the part which could come to harm on their account, and that neither could that entranced form come to harm. He had no impulse to rise to her assistance. …
Next, almost immediately after, she stirred on her seat, and while he was still turned, viewing her in half-expectancy, awaiting he could not have said what from her, the spectral night passed, without warning or sensation. …
He knew not how he was facing the valley again. He was perched on the slab yet, except that somehow his feet were touching ground, and through the old daylight he continued blinking at the silent white unrest that was all his view past the hill's top. The ceasing of the noise of the waters resembled a return from music to reality. The toneless quietude of this bright morning fog, after that other tortured red and black of a deceitful night, gave him the relief of having slipped out of a dream—and yet it had been none.
The cigar still burned between his fingers, and, putting it instinctively to his mouth, he wondered at the circumstance, and sat thinking. So those illusive happenings had actually occupied a far smaller space than had seemed, and such a liberty with time was dream-like. Again, when had he turned from the girl?—for at the very last moment he had been regarding her. His feet, also, had found the ground without his knowledge. All this was of a dream. …
He smoked and frowned through the drift. His face, square to the unseen height across the dip, kept its colour and stern composure, only his eyes were lighted by an unpleasant gleam that confessed his disturbance. In fact, he felt dazed, humiliated, and wholly confounded. No, it had not been a normal sinking of his senses into a dream, but they had been forced from outside into the likeness of one; and so, as he had known, it was not one. His brain had been forcibly compelled by something stronger than itself; and that was his humiliation...
The girl should be upon the point of coming round too, but he would not apply to her, or even seek her again with his eyes, till he had independently reached some idea of what this thing stood for. …
It seemed to him important to establish that it had not been the failure of his higher centres through sleep or coma. He had seen those sights critically, he had heard those sounds, not emotionally, but coolly; the queernesses in both kinds had not been the fantastic leapings of a dream; they had been possible—in the fast setting of a rigid, necessary world; if not the common world, to which he had been born and was accustomed. Therefore the experience had been real. The time of the ego of his daily life had continued to run straight forward without a break, he had not been in a state of false exaltation, but had remained curious and attentive, and he hoped he had retained that decent hold on his will. … And as little could it be a vision as a dream, since, properly, the two states were identical. To distinguish between the two, it was but a question of the degree of external consciousness. In the dream the brain was exclusively occupied with its own riotous images; in the vision it in part created its own images and in part remained in touch with the true world. But these images had not been created, for the faculties which should create them had at the time been legitimately employed. The proof had been his sang-froid.
So, being objective, it had been real. Then different realities could co-exist, since the old reality of everyday life had been no more than overlaid. But if so, the co-existence could only take place in different situations of time or space. Here the scenery, as to its fundamentals, had been identical for both realities—they had occupied the same space, therefore. Their co-existence had necessarily taken place over the prolonged running line of time. He had just been in ancient history. This, too, he already knew, without the aid of logic. …
The hill was haunted, then, and he was not the first to know it. Drapier must have known it; the girl, perhaps now up and gazing at him, she undoubtedly had found it out. Its phantoms were real. They were contemporaneous with the beginning on earth of the undivided stone, long since broken to confusion. That stone had been the descending blue star; this he knew by intuition. Could he have seen down into the valley, it would have been given him to learn among what kind of people it had been received. When last had giant wild cattle and the rhinoceros roamed in Britain? Whatever was to be thought of Arsinal's character, the triumphs of his intellect were not fading—and he had also put forth that theory of the founding of the northern stocks. … The nearer the approach to the truth as well of his two recorded prophecies, the more pressing it became to exclude him. …
Yesterday's apparition, by comparison, had been simple both in space and time, and understandable. Then he had been experimenting with one of the two flints; just now this girl had had the other in her hand. Yet the richer and more wonderful of his experiences was the indirect telepathic one; evincing either that the two stones were of unequal potency, inherently or according to the degree of correspondence in the experimenter, or that the potency of either was increasable by some nature of this hill. … Each moment his ghost-woman of the inn and Arsinal's goddess seemed to draw closer together, as if at last to coalesce. …
He smiled. Thus these phenomena were to crack his brain as thoroughly as another had once for all cracked Arsinal's when still a boy! ... But, truly, he cared not greatly to follow any of it up, even at so developed a stage. The invisible, it seemed, could be sufficiently sense-subverting, and yet might be less than the haughtiness of the soul. For another feather's weight in the balance, he would go off the hill now, at once, with no last look towards Ingrid Fleming, in the contemptuous determination to leave the rest of this business to those who should want it more. …
He could not do that. There was a thing he needed to discover. Well aware was he of this girl's deep serious interest in the sequence of riddles riding against them; but now he wished to ascertain additionally whether she, unlike Arsinal, could if necessary despise and disown her concern. He wished to test the purity of her spirit’s gold. He thought that the desire was nothing personal, but that he was seeking a standard of judgment between the two. On himself, it appeared, depended the last destination of the stone the girl was holdin
g. If she insisted upon busying herself with this matter, perhaps it could not be hers.
His faith was that the greedy, possessive, desiring self was ever ridiculous and punishable. His excess of pride, that otherwise so flatly contradicted the Christian humility, nevertheless, in practical effect, met it round the circle, for the object of his undying chief hatred of heart was precisely that meaner pride of the individual that constitutes the worldly nature.
He believed that the splendour of the soul consisted in its generosity of cold blood—it must give, give, and give; but not in exaltation, or from love; only because the soul's grandeur lay in its nakedness. … Of no one else in the world so far had he had such hopes as of this girl.
He looked round, and she was in the same place, but on her feet watching him. Her face was colourless, and set hard in a sort of suffering. He went over to her.
Their eyes alone spoke during the first moments. Then Ingrid said, but in an incredibly small voice:
"How long have you been up? I have just had the most terrible and blessed vision."
"I too have seen something I could not have thought possible. … I have not been here long. You were unconscious when I arrived."
"I don't wish to speak of what I have seen."
"Then let us not."
Neither, in that case, was it necessary that he should attempt the relation of his experience. He considered it certain that they had known different things. She had been staring towards the tomb, and the present pain in her eyes told of a passion endured. …
"Do you want to talk to me?" asked Ingrid. "Did you come up, expecting to find me here?"
"Yes. I was told you were not at your house, so guessed you might be on the Tor. But don't hurry. You are upset, and had better take a few minutes."
She sat down again on her rock, but Saltfleet noticed that she had put away the flint. After a pause, she looked up to him again.
"What is it?"
"It is a practical question of facts, decisions, ways and means. But are you sufficiently recovered?"
"Yes; I am going home directly."
"In the first place, Arsinal has arrived. I didn't send for him, but the news of your cousin's death had otherwise reached him."
She showed no eagerness, hardly any interest.
"Then he will see me?"
"That, unfortunately, will now depend on your management. … For I notified Mr. Copping immediately, and he has since called on us. Your mother is taking a hand. She has offered Arsinal both stones, on the condition that we do not attempt to meet you again. Arsinal was disposed to accept off-hand, but I felt that you should be told first. In the meantime, Mr. Copping appears to have withdrawn his consent to the use of his place for a talk between you and Arsinal."
"But I think I must talk to him."... Ingrid fell into a deep musing silence. She manifested so little disturbance, that Saltfleet remained uncertain if she had thoroughly apprehended his information.
"Our difficulty, of course, is that we can have no means of judging what exactly this offer of your mother's stands for. She is Drapier's executrix, we are told; but can you, and will you, veto it?"
"I will speak to my mother when I get back."
"For me, I am no longer Arsinal's agent, and so I am indifferent, but he, you will understand, regards his acquisition of these two flints as supremely important. He would rather have that talk with you than not; but above all he wishes not to bungle his securing the things. Your mother has made him the direct offer, while you, so far, have declined to."
"I understand his desire, and also my mother's. I can settle nothing here, but will speak to her at home."
"You have your stone with you?"
"Yes."
"And cannot refuse it to your mother, on demand?"
"By law, I cannot."
"I don't wish to pry behind the scenes, but what attitude will you probably take with her, and what is to be the likely upshot?"
"I shall tell her my wishes, and abide by her decision then."
The girl's apathy surprised Saltfleet more at every speech. He asked her bluntly:
"If you are really so unconcerned, why have you wanted this meeting with Arsinal, and why have you hesitated to let him have what he is as anxious as possible to get?"
"Does it matter?" came her reply. "All of us have wanted this or that. Hugh Drapier has wanted something, and Peter Copping, and Mr. Arsinal, and I, and even you. In the whole of this week's events down here, whose wants have mattered? To put it in another way, of the circumstances that have mattered, how many have been willed, or wanted, or dreamt of, beforehand? Can't you read the signs, Mr. Saltfleet?"
"Yet each of us must act. … You are probably a shade disheartened by this overcoming of yours. It will pass. Until it has passed, let me suggest a course for us all. You do wish to meet Arsinal?"
"If he is what I have imagined."
"Then, presumably, Mr. Copping must be repersuaded to let us have his home, or studio. Do you feel that you can arrange that for later in the day."
"I'll try. Or I will send word to you of another place."
"And the hour. This afternoon I may have to come out here again with Arsinal—he can hardly not want to see it before he leaves the district. But even so, we could still be home in time for an early meeting—say, at five, or five-thirty. The latter perhaps would be safer for us, and more convenient to you."
"At half-past five." Ingrid barely nodded.
"But I would ask a guarantee," proceeded Saltfleet. "In accepting and attending such an interview, we shall necessarily be seriously offending your mother—unless, indeed, you can procure her consent. But otherwise she will certainly consider it a rejection of her conditional offer of the stone; and will as certainly withdraw the offer. Arsinal then will have to rely upon your good offices; but at home you may meet with opposition. You will, I am sure, do what you can for us. Nevertheless, I think that the object of contention should be lodged—to prevent your mother's sudden confiscation of it. This is in the nature of a guarantee, and so I call it one."
"Lodged where?"
"One moment. I haven't finished, and there is another unpleasantness. I will be quite frank. The stone has to be somewhere. If, in coming to meet us, you leave it behind at home, there is the risk of its being appropriated in your absence. The danger may be of the slightest, yet in any case it will be enough thoroughly to upset Arsinal, who therefore is certain to insist on your not parting with the stone so long as the negotiations are on. On the other hand, should you keep it with you, more than one at the meeting might feel the strong temptation to suggest and urge the fitting together of the two counterparts there and then. … That I would resist to the last ounce of my strength, and still, fate being so very much to the fore in all these concerns, I might well be overruled. Consequently, it will be equally undesirable for you to leave the stone at home and carry it. The one third plan is to deposit it."
"Why don't you want them fitted?"
"The operation will be too hazardous," replied Saltfleet shortly.
"But Mr. Arsinal, if he gets them both, will fit them, if only to certify that they belong."
"I know he will. He is a man, however, and is entitled to take the risk for himself."
"Have you heard of a risk?"
"I've either heard of one, or imagined one. That topic is extraneous, and need not be introduced. I have made you the request, Miss Fleming."
She was silent for a short while, looking at the ground. Then she said again, in a hesitating low voice:
"Why, then, don't you accept my mother's offer? That is the surest way for you."
"We could not, before I had spoken to you. But have we now your consent?"
"The stone is in my pocket, and you may take it away with you at once."
"Why have you changed your mind?"
"My mind is the same, but my will has left it, and it has collapsed. Those who have the will should be allowed to gratify it, while they may. Who can say how lon
g it will be for? So really Mr. Arsinal may have the stone, since you assure me that my mother is agreeable."
"Then are you throwing it all over?"
Ingrid rose and confronted him.
"You have found me here, in this out-of-the-way place, in such distress, and can ask me a question like that! ... Can you not conceive that the stage of mere curiosity may give way to something quite different and very much more awful? Mr. Arsinal is happy that he is still in the time of groping and searching—if groping and searching he is. I do not wish to disappoint him, and so he may have this stone, and you may take it to him."
"How far do these psychic phenomena depend upon the possession of either stone?"
"I don't know."
"And you are willing not to meet him?"
She stood thinking, with averted eyes.
"I am not sure if that will be permitted—my not meeting him. Probably he is a person I shall have to meet. … And you have mentioned a risk to me in the joining of the stones. That may be only a forbidding appearance—an unpleasant-looking door, through which some of us have to pass. What have you heard; or, I think you said, imagined?"
"I doubt if I can tell you."
But her strange pale beauty and half-supernatural gaze persuaded him in another moment that it was to no ordinary girl of the world that he was being invited to make this otherwise unpardonable statement; and also she should be warned in time.
"There is an ancient Cretan prophecy—and a second from another place—in connection with the reuniting of these stones. It is to bring about the marriage of a man and woman, and of them is to be born a regenerator of the human race. This is associated with the worship of the Great Mother. Arsinal is of opinion that the entire fair-haired northern stock was the creation of the undivided stone upon its first arrival on the planet. It should be meteoric."
"Is he wise, or mad?"
Devil's Tor Page 37
