English
ThatIhadsaidsomething,intheactofwaking,Ifeltsure:thehoarsestifledcrywasstillringinginmyears,evenifthestartledlookofmyfellow-travelerhadnotbeenevidenceenough:butwhatcouldIpossiblysaybywayofapology?
“IhopeIdidn’tfrightenyou?”Istammeredoutatlast.“IhavenoideawhatIsaid.Iwasdreaming.”
“Yousaid‘Uggugindeed!’”theyoungladyreplied,withquiveringlipsthatwouldcurvethemselvesintoasmile,inspiteofallhereffortstolookgrave.“Atleast—youdidn’tsayit—youshoutedit!”
“I’mverysorry,”wasallIcouldsay,feelingverypenitentandhelpless.“ShehasSylvie’seyes!”
Ithoughttomyself,half-doubtingwhether,evennow,Iwerefairlyawake.
“AndthatsweetlookofinnocentwonderisallSylvie’stoo.
ButSylviehasn’tgotthatcalmresolutemouthnorthatfar-awaylookofdreamysadness,likeonethathashadsomedeepsorrow,verylongago—”Andthethick-comingfanciesalmostpreventedmyhearingthelady’snextwords.
“Ifyouhadhada‘ShillingDreadful’inyourhand,”sheproceeded,“somethingaboutGhostsorDynamiteorMidnightMurder—onecouldunderstandit:thosethingsaren’tworththeshilling,unlesstheygiveoneaNightmare.
Butreally—withonlyamedicaltreatise,youknow—”andsheglanced,withaprettyshrugofcontempt,atthebookoverwhichIhadfallenasleep.
Herfriendliness,andutterunreserve,tookmeabackforamoment;yettherewasnotouchofforwardness,orboldness,aboutthechildforchild,almost,sheseemedtobe:Iguessedheratscarcelyovertwenty—allwastheinnocentfranknessofsomeangelicvisitant,newtothewaysofearthandtheconventionalismsor,ifyouwill,thebarbarisms—ofSociety.
“Evenso,”Imused,“willSylvielookandspeak,inanothertenyears.”
“Youdon’tcareforGhosts,then,”Iventuredtosuggest,unlesstheyarereallyterrifying?”
“Quiteso,”theladyassented.“TheregularRailway-Ghosts—ImeantheGhostsofordinaryRailway-literature—areverypooraffairs.
Ifeelinclinedtosay,withAlexanderSelkirk,‘Theirtamenessisshockingtome’!AndtheyneverdoanyMidnightMurders.
Theycouldn’t‘welteringore,’tosavetheirlives!”
“’Welteringingore’isaveryexpressivephrase,certainly.Canitbedoneinanyfluid,Iwonder?”
“Ithinknot,”theladyreadilyreplied—quiteasifshehadthoughtitout,longago.“Ithastobesomethingthick.
Forinstance,youmightwelterinbread-sauce.
That,beingwhite,wouldbemoresuitableforaGhost,supposingitwishedtowelter!”
“YouhavearealgoodterrifyingGhostinthatbook?”Ihinted.
“Howcouldyouguess?”sheexclaimedwiththemostengagingfrankness,andplacedthevolumeinmyhands.
Iopenediteagerly,withanotunpleasantthrilllikewhatagoodghost-storygivesone)atthe‘uncanny’coincidenceofmyhavingsounexpectedlydivinedthesubjectofherstudies.
ItwasabookofDomesticCookery,openatthearticleBreadSauce.’
Ireturnedthebook,looking,Isuppose,alittleblank,astheladylaughedmerrilyatmydiscomfiture.
“It’sfarmoreexcitingthansomeofthemodernghosts,Iassureyou!
NowtherewasaGhostlastmonth—Idon’tmeanarealGhostininSupernature—butinaMagazine.ItwasaperfectlyflavourlessGhost.Itwouldn’thavefrightenedamouse!
Itwasn’taGhostthatonewouldevenofferachairto!”
“Threescoreyearsandten,baldness,andspectacles,havetheiradvantagesafterall!”,Isaidtomyself.
“Insteadofabashfulyouthandmaiden,gaspingoutmonosyllablesatawfulintervals,herewehaveanoldmanandachild,quiteattheirease,talkingasiftheyhadknowneachotherforyears!
Thenyouthink,”Icontinuedaloud,“thatweoughtsometimestoaskaGhosttositdown?Buthaveweanyauthorityforit?
InShakespeare,forinstance—thereareplentyofghoststhere—doesShakespeareevergivethestage-direction‘handschairtoGhost’?”
Theladylookedpuzzledandthoughtfulforamoment:thenshealmostclappedherhands.“Yes,yes,hedoes!”shecried.“HemakesHamletsay‘Rest,rest,perturbedSpirit!”’
“Andthat,Isuppose,meansaneasy-chair?”
“AnAmericanrocking-chair,Ithink—”
“FayfieldJunction,myLady,changeforElveston!”theguardannounced,flingingopenthedoorofthecarriage:andwesoonfoundourselves,withallourportablepropertyaroundus,ontheplatform.
Theaccommodation,providedforpassengerswaitingatthisJunction,wasdistinctlyinadequate—asinglewoodenbench,apparentlyintendedforthreesittersonly:andeventhiswasalreadypartiallyoccupiedbyaveryoldman,inasmockfrock,whosat,withroundedshouldersanddroopinghead,andwithhandsclaspedonthetopofhissticksoastomakeasortofpillowforthatwrinkledfacewithitslookofpatientweariness.
“Come,youbeoff!”theStation-masterroughlyaccostedthepooroldman.
“Youbeoff,andmakewayforyourbetters!Thisway,myLady!”headdedinaperfectlydifferenttone.
“IfyourLadyshipwilltakeaseat,thetrainwillbeupinafewminutes.”
Thecringingservilityofhismannerwasdue,nodoubt,totheaddresslegibleonthepileofluggage,whichannouncedtheirownertobe“LadyMurielOrme,passengertoElveston,viaFayfieldJunction.”
AsIwatchedtheoldmanslowlyrisetohisfeet,andhobbleafewpacesdowntheplatform,thelinescametomylips:-
“FromsackclothcouchtheMonkarose,
Withtoilhisstiffen’dlimbsherear’d;
Ahundredyearshadflungtheirsnows
Onhisthinlocksandfloatingbeard.”
Buttheladyscarcelynoticedthelittleincident.
Afteroneglanceatthe‘banishedman,’whostoodtremulouslyleaningonhisstick,sheturnedtome.
“ThisisnotanAmericanrocking-chair,byanymeans!
YetmayIsay,”slightlychangingherplace,soastomakeroomformebesideher,“mayIsay,inHamlet’swords,‘Rest,rest—’”shebrokeoffwithasilverylaugh.
“—perturbedSpirit!”’Ifinishedthesentenceforher.
“Yes,thatdescribesarailway-travelerexactly!
Andhereisaninstanceofit,”Iadded,asthetinylocaltraindrewupalongsidetheplatform,andtheportersbustledabout,openingcarriage-doors—oneofthemhelpingthepooroldmantohoisthimselfintoathird-classcarriage,whileanotherofthemobsequiouslyconductedtheladyandmyselfintoafirst-class.
Shepaused,beforefollowinghim,towatchtheprogressoftheotherpassenger.“Pooroldman!”shesaid.“Howweakandillhelooks!
Itwasashametolethimbeturnedawaylikethat.
I’mverysorry—”Atthismomentitdawnedonmethatthesewordswerenotaddressedtome,butthatshewasunconsciouslythinkingaloud.
Imovedawayafewsteps,andwaitedtofollowherintothecarriage,whereIresumedtheconversation.
“Shakespearemusthavetraveledbyrail,ifonlyinadream:‘perturbedSpirit’issuchahappyphrase.”
“’Perturbed’referring,nodoubt,”sherejoined,“tothesensationalbookletspeculiartotheRail.IfSteamhasdonenothingelse,ithasatleastaddedawholenewSpeciestoEnglishLiterature!”
“Nodoubtofit,”Iechoed.“Thetrueoriginofallourmedicalbooks—andallourcookery-books—”
“No,no!”shebrokeinmerrily.“Ididn’tmeanourLiterature!Wearequiteabnormal.
Butthebooklets—thelittlethrillingromances,wheretheMurdercomesatpagefifteen,andtheWeddingatpageforty—surelytheyareduetoSteam?”
“AndwhenwetravelbyElectricityifImayventuretodevelopyourtheoryweshallhaveleafletsinsteadofbooklets,andtheMurderandtheWeddingwillcomeonthesamepage.”
“AdevelopmentworthyofDarwin!”,theladyexclaimedenthusiastically.“Onlyyoureversehistheory.
Insteadofdevelopingamouseintoanelephant,youwoulddevelopanelephantintoamouse!”
Buthereweplungedintoatunnel,andIleanedbackandclosedmyeyesforamoment,tryingtorecallafewoftheincidentsofmyrecentdream.
“IthoughtIsaw—”Imurmuredsleepily:andthenthephraseinsistedonconjugatingitself,andraninto“youthoughtyousaw—hethoughthesaw—”andthenitsuddenlywentoffintoasong:—
”HethoughthesawanElephant,
Thatpractisedonafife:
Helookedagain,andfounditwas
Aletterfromhiswife.
‘AtlengthIrealise,’hesaid,
“ThebitternessofLife!’”
Andwhatawildbeingitwaswhosangthesewildwords!
AGardenerheseemedtobeyetsurelyamadone,bythewayhebrandishedhisrake—madder,bythewayhebroke,everandanon,intoafranticjig—maddestofall,bytheshriekinwhichhebroughtoutthelastwordsofthestanza!
ItwassofaradescriptionofhimselfthathehadthefeetofanElephant:buttherestofhimwasskinandbone:andthewispsofloosestraw,thatbristledallabouthim,suggestedthathehadbeenoriginallystuffedwithit,andthatnearlyallthestuffinghadcomeout.
SylvieandBrunowaitedpatientlytilltheendofthefirstverse.ThenSylvieadvancedalone(Brunohavingsuddenlyturnedshy)andtimidlyintroducedherselfwiththewords“Please,I’mSylvie!”
“Andwho’sthatotherthing?’,saidtheGardener.
“Whatthing?”saidSylvie,lookinground.“Oh,that’sBruno.He’smybrother.”
“Washeyourbrotheryesterday?”theGardeneranxiouslyenquired.
“CourseIwere!”criedBruno,whohadgraduallycreptnearer,anddidn’tatalllikebeingtalkedaboutwithouthavinghisshareintheconversation.
“Ah,well!”theGardenersaidwithakindofgroan.“Thingschangeso,here.WheneverIlookagain,it’ssuretobesomethingdifferent!YetIdoesmyduty!Igetsupwriggle-earlyatfive—”
“IfIwasoo,”saidBruno,“Iwouldn’twrigglesoearly.It’sasbadasbeingaworm!”headded,inanundertonetoSylvie.
“Butyoushouldn’tbelazyinthemorning,Bruno,”saidSylvie.“Remember,it’stheearlybirdthatpicksuptheworm!”
“Itmay,ifitlikes!”Brunosaidwithaslightyawn.“Idon’tlikeeatingworms,onebit.Ialwaysstopinbedtilltheearlybirdhaspickedthemup!”
“Iwonderyou’vethefacetotellmesuchfibs!”criedtheGardener.
TowhichBrunowiselyreplied“Oodon’twantafacetotellfibswiz—onlyamouf.”
Sylviediscreetlychangedthesubject.“Anddidyouplantalltheseflowers?”shesaid.
“Whatalovelygardenyou’vemade!Doyouknow,I’dliketoliveherealways!”
“Inthewinter-nights—”theGardenerwasbeginning.
“ButI’dnearlyforgottenwhatwecameabout!”Sylvieinterrupted.
“Wouldyoupleaseletusthroughintotheroad?
There’sapooroldbeggarjustgoneout—andhe’sveryhungry—andBrunowantstogivehimhiscake,youknow!”
“It’sasmuchasmyplaceisworth!’,theGardenermuttered,takingakeyfromhispocket,andbeginningtounlockadoorinthegarden-wall.
“Howmuchareitwurf?“Brunoinnocentlyenquired.
ButtheGardeneronlygrinned.“That’sasecret!”hesaid.“Mindyoucomebackquick!”
hecalledafterthechildren,astheypassedoutintotheroad.
Ihadjusttimetofollowthem,beforeheshutthedooragain.
Wehurrieddowntheroad,andverysooncaughtsightoftheoldBeggar,aboutaquarterofamileaheadofus,andthechildrenatoncesetoffrunningtoovertakehim.
Lightlyandswiftlytheyskimmedovertheground,andIcouldnotintheleastunderstandhowitwasIkeptupwiththemsoeasily.
Buttheunsolvedproblemdidnotworrymesomuchasatanothertimeitmighthavedone,thereweresomanyotherthingstoattendto.
TheoldBeggarmusthavebeenverydeaf,ashepaidnoattentionwhatevertoBruno’seagershouting,buttrudgedwearilyon,neverpausinguntilthechildgotinfrontofhimandheldupthesliceofcake.
Thepoorlittlefellowwasquiteoutofbreath,andcouldonlyuttertheoneword“Cake!”
notwiththegloomydecisionwithwhichHerExcellencyhadsolatelypronouncedit,butwithasweetchildishtimidity,lookingupintotheoldman’sfacewitheyesthatloved‘allthingsbothgreatandsmall.’
Theoldmansnatcheditfromhim,anddevoureditgreedily,assomehungrywildbeastmighthavedone,butneverawordofthanksdidhegivehislittlebenefactor—onlygrowled“More,more!”
andglaredatthehalf-frightenedchildren.
“Thereisnomore!”,Sylviesaidwithtearsinhereyes.“I’deatenmine.Itwasashametoletyoubeturnedawaylikethat.I’mverysorry—”
Ilosttherestofthesentence,formymindhadrecurred,withagreatshockofsurprise,toLadyMurielOrme,whohadsolatelyutteredtheseverywordsofSylvie’s—yes,andinSylvie’sownvoice,andwithSylvie’sgentlepleadingeyes!
“Followme!”werethenextwordsIheard,astheoldmanwavedhishand,withadignifiedgracethatillsuitedhisraggeddress,overabush,thatstoodbytheroadside,whichbeganinstantlytosinkintotheearth.
AtanothertimeImighthavedoubtedtheevidenceofmyeyes,oratleasthavefeltsomeastonishment:but,inthisstrangescene,mywholebeingseemedabsorbedinstrongcuriosityastowhatwouldhappennext.
Whenthebushhadsunkquiteoutofoursight,marblestepswereseen,leadingdownwardsintodarkness.Theoldmanledtheway,andweeagerlyfollowed.
Thestaircasewassodark,atfirst,thatIcouldonlyjustseetheformsofthechildren,as,hand-in-hand,theygropedtheirwaydownaftertheirguide:butitgotlightereverymoment,withastrangesilverybrightness,thatseemedtoexistintheair,astherewerenolampsvisible;and,whenatlastwereachedalevelfloor,theroom,inwhichwefoundourselves,wasalmostaslightasday.
Itwaseight-sided,havingineachangleaslenderpillar,roundwhichsilkendraperiesweretwined.
Thewallbetweenthepillarswasentirelycovered,totheheightofsixorsevenfeet,withcreepers,fromwhichhungquantitiesofripefruitandofbrilliantflowers,thatalmosthidtheleaves.
Inanotherplace,perchance,Imighthavewonderedtoseefruitandflowersgrowingtogether:here,mychiefwonderwasthatneitherfruitnorflowersweresuchasIhadeverseenbefore.
Higherup,eachwallcontainedacircularwindowofcolouredglass;andoverallwasanarchedroof,thatseemedtobespangledalloverwithjewels.
Withhardlylesswonder,Iturnedthiswayandthat,tryingtomakeouthowintheworldwehadcomein:fortherewasnodoor:andallthewallswerethicklycoveredwiththelovelycreepers.
“Wearesafehere,mydarlings!”saidtheoldman,layingahandonSylvie’sshoulder,andbendingdowntokissher.
Sylviedrewbackhastily,withanoffendedair:butinanothermoment,withagladcryof“Why,it’sFather!”,shehadrunintohisarms.
“Father!Father!”
Brunorepeated:and,whilethehappychildrenwerebeinghuggedandkissed,Icouldbutrubmyeyesandsay“Where,then,aretheragsgoneto?”
;fortheoldmanwasnowdressedinroyalrobesthatglitteredwithjewelsandgoldembroidery,andworeacircletofgoldaroundhishead.
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