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'I don't know how to thank you for your goodness to me this night, butI think you had best leave me now. I'll try and sleep this out; I feela weight off my mind since I have told you all. If there's anything ofthe man left in me, I must try and fight out life alone.'

'I'll go tonight, as you wish it,' I said; 'but take my advice, and donot live in such a solitary way. Go among men and women; live amongthem. S

hare their joys and sorrows, and it will help you to forget.This solitude will make you melancholy mad.'

'I will!' he answered, half unconsciously, for sleep was overmasteringhim.

I turned to go, and he looked after me. When I had touched the latch Idropped it, and, coming back to the bed, held out my hand. He graspedit with both his as he rose to a sitting posture, and I said mygoodnight, trying to cheer him:

'Heart, man, heart! There is work in the world for you to do, JacobSettle. You can wear those white robes yet and pass through that gateof steel!'

Then I left him.

A week after I found his cottage deserted, and on asking at the workswas told that he had 'gone north', no one exactly knew whither.

Two years afterwards, I was staying for a few days with my friend Dr.Munro in Glasgow. He was a busy man, and could not spare much time forgoing about with me, so I spent my days in excursions to the Trossachsand Loch Katrine and down the Clyde. On the second last evening of mystay I came back somewhat later than I had arranged, but found thatmy host was late too. The maid told me that he had been sent for tothe hospital--a case of accident at the gas-works, and the dinner waspostponed an hour; so telling her I would stroll down to find hermaster and walk back with him, I went out. At the hospital I found himwashing his hands preparatory to starting for home. Casually, I askedhim what his case was.

'Oh, the usual thing! A rotten rope and men's lives of no account. Twomen were working in a gasometer, when the rope that held theirscaffolding broke. It must have occurred just before the dinner hour,for no one noticed their absence till the men had returned. There wasabout seven feet of water in the gasometer, so they had a hard fightfor it, poor fellows. However, one of them was alive, just alive, butwe have had a hard job to pull him through. It seems that he owes hislife to his mate, for I have never heard of greater heroism. They swamtogether while their strength lasted, but at the end they were so doneup that even the lights above, and the men slung with ropes, comingdown to help them, could not keep them up. But one of them stood onthe bottom and held up his comrade over his head, and those fewbreaths made all the difference between life and death. They were ashocking sight when they were taken out, for that water is like apurple dye with the gas and the tar. The man upstairs looked as if hehad been washed in blood. Ugh!'

'And the other?'

'Oh, he's worse still. But he must have been a very noble fellow. Thatstruggle under the water must have been fearful; one can see that bythe way the blood has been drawn from the extremities. It makes theidea of the _Stigmata_ possible to look at him. Resolution like thiscould, you would think, do anything in the world. Ay! it might almostunbar the gates of Heaven. Look here, old man, it is not a verypleasant sight, especially just before dinner, but you are a writer,and this is an odd case. Here is something you would not like to miss,for in all human probability you will never see anything like itagain.' While he was speaking he had brought me into the mortuary ofthe hospital.

On the bier lay a body covered with a white sheet, which was wrappedclose round it.

'Looks like a chrysalis, don't it? I say, Jack, if there be anythingin the old myth that a soul is typified by a butterfly, well, then theone that this chrysalis sent forth was a very noble specimen and tookall the sunlight on its wings. See here!' He uncovered the face.Horrible, indeed, it looked, as though stained with blood. But I knewhim at once, Jacob Settle! My friend pulled the winding sheet furtherdown.

The hands were crossed on the purple breast as they had beenreverently placed by some tender-hearted person. As I saw them myheart throbbed with a great exultation, for the memory of hisharrowing dream rushed across my mind. There was no stain now on thosepoor, brave hands, for they were blanched white as snow.

And somehow as I looked I felt that the evil dream was all over. Thatnoble soul had won a way through the gate at last. The white robe hadnow no stain from the hands that had put it on.

Crooken Sands

Mr Arthur Fernlee Markam, who took what was known as the Red Houseabove the Mains of Crooken, was a London merchant, and beingessentially a cockney, thought it necessary when he went for thesummer holidays to Scotland to provide an entire rig-out as a Highlandchieftain, as manifested in chromolithographs and on the music-hallstage. He had once seen in the Empire the Great Prince--'The BounderKing'--bring down the house by appearing as 'The MacSlogan of thatIlk,' and singing the celebrated Scotch song, 'There's naething likehaggis to mak a mon dry!' and he had ever since preserved in his minda faithful image of the picturesque and warlike appearance which hepresented. Indeed, if the true inwardness of Mr. Markam's mind on thesubject of his selection of Aberdeenshire as a summer resort wereknown, it would be found that in the foreground of the holidaylocality which his fancy painted stalked the many hued figure of theMacSlogan of that Ilk. However, be this as it may, a very kindfortune--certainly so far as external beauty was concerned--led him tothe choice of Crooken Bay. It is a lovely spot, between Aberdeen andPeterhead, just under the rock-bound headland whence the long,dangerous reefs known as The Spurs run out into the North Sea.Between this and the 'Mains of Crooken'--a village sheltered by thenorthern cliffs--lies the deep bay, backed with a multitude ofbent-grown dunes where the rabbits are to be found in thousands. Thusat either end of the bay is a rocky promontory, and when the dawn orthe sunset falls on the rocks of red syenite the effect is verylovely. The bay itself is floored with level sand and the tide runsfar out, leaving a smooth waste of hard sand on which are dotted hereand there the stake nets and bag nets of the salmon fishers. At oneend of the bay there is a little group or cluster of rocks whose headsare raised something above high water, except when in rough weatherthe waves come over them green. At low tide they are exposed down tosand level; and here is perhaps the only little bit of dangerous sandon this part of the eastern coast. Between the rocks, which are apartabout some fifty feet, is a small quicksand, which, like the Goodwins,is dangerous only with the incoming tide. It extends outwards till itis lost in the sea, and inwards till it fades away in the hard sand ofthe upper beach. On the slope of the hill which rises beyond thedunes, midway between the Spurs and the Port of Crooken, is the RedHouse. It rises from the midst of a clump of fir-trees which protectit on three sides, leaving the whole sea front open. A trimold-fashioned garden stretches down to the roadway, on crossing whicha grassy path, which can be used for light vehicles, threads a way tothe shore, winding amongst the sand hills.

When the Markam family arrived at the Red House after their thirty-sixhours of pitching on the Aberdeen steamer _Ban Righ_ from Blackwall,with the subsequent train to Yellon and drive of a dozen miles, theyall agreed that they had never seen a more delightful spot. Thegeneral satisfaction was more marked as at that very time none of thefamily were, for several reasons, inclined to find favourable anythingor any place over the Scottish border. Though the family was a largeone, the prosperity of the business allowed them all sorts of personalluxuries, amongst which was a wide latitude in the way of dress. Thefrequency of the Markam girls' new frocks was a source of envy totheir bosom friends and of joy to themselves.

Arthur Fernlee Markam had not taken his family into his confidenceregarding his new costume. He was not quite certain that he should befree from ridicule, or at least from sarcasm, and as he was sensitiveon the subject, he thought it better to be actually in the suitableenvironment before he allowed the full splendour to burst upon them.He had taken some pains, to insure the completeness of the Highlandcostume. For the purpose he had paid many visits to 'The ScotchAll-Wool Tartan Clothing Mart' which had been lately established inCopthall-court by the Messrs. MacCallum More and Roderick MacDhu. Hehad anxious consultations with the head of the firm--MacCallum as hecalled himself, resenting any such additions as 'Mr.' or 'Esquire.'The known stock of buckles, buttons, straps, brooches and ornaments ofall kinds were examined in critical detail; and at last an eagle'sfeather of sufficiently magnificent proportions was discovered, andthe equipment was complete. It was only when he saw the finishedcostume, with the vivid hues of the tartan seemingly modified intocomparative sobriety by the multitude of silver fittings, thecairngorm brooches, the philibeg, dirk and sporran that he was fullyand absolutely satisfied with his choice. At first he had thought ofthe Royal Stuart dress tartan, but abandoned it on the MacCallumpointing out that if he should happen to be in the neighbourhood ofBalmoral it might lead to complications. The MacCallum, who, by theway, spoke with a remarkable cockney accent, suggested other plaids inturn; but now that the other question of accuracy had been raised, Mr.Markam foresaw difficulties if he should by chance find himself in thelocality of the clan whose colours he had usurped. The MacCallum atlast undertook to have, at Markam's expense, a special pattern wovenwhich would not be exactly the same as any existing tartan, thoughpartaking of the characteristics of many. It was based on the RoyalStuart, but contained suggestions as to simplicity of pattern from theMacalister and Ogilvie clans, and as to neutrality of colour from theclans of Buchanan, Macbeth, Chief of Macintosh and Macleod. When thespecimen had been shown to Markam he had feared somewhat lest itshould strike the eye of his domestic circle as gaudy; but as RoderickMacDhu fell into perfect ecstasies over its beauty he did not make anyobjection to the completion of the piece. He thought, and wisely, thatif a genuine Scotchman like MacDhu liked it, it must beright--especially as the junior partner was a man very much of his ownbuild and appearance. When the MacCallum was receiving hischeque--which, by the way, was a pretty stiff one--he remarked:

'I've taken the liberty of having some more of the stuff woven in caseyou or any of your friends should want it.' Markam was gratified, andtold him that he should be only too happy if the beautiful stuff whichthey had originated between them should become a favourite, as he hadno doubt it would in time. He might make and sell as much as he would.

Markam tried the dress on in his office one evening after the clerkshad all gone home. He was pleased, though a little frightened, at theresult. The MacCallum had done his work thoroughly, and there wasnothing omitted that could add to the martial dignity of the wearer.

'I shall not, of course, take the claymore and the pistols with me onordinary occasions,' said Markam to himself as he began to undress. Hedetermined that he would wear the dress for the first time on landingin Scotland, and accordingly on the morning when the _Ban Righ_ washanging off the Girdle Ness lighthouse, waiting for the tide to enterthe port of Aberdeen, he emerged from his cabin in all the gaudysplendour of his new costume. The first comment he heard was from oneof his own sons, who did not recognise him at first.

'Here's a guy! Great Scott! It's the governor!' And the boy fledforthwith and tried to bury his laughter under a cushion in thesaloon. Markam was a good sailor and had not suffered from thepitching of the boat, so that his naturally rubicund face was evenmore rosy by the conscious blush which suffused his cheeks when he hadfound himself at once the cynosure of all eyes. He could have wishedthat he had not been so bold for he knew from the cold that there wasa big bare spot under one side of his jauntily worn Glengarry cap.However, he faced the group of strangers boldly. He was not,outwardly, upset even when some of the comments reached his ears.

'He's off his bloomin' chump,' said a cockney in a suit of exaggeratedplaid.

'There's flies on him,' said a tall thin Yankee, pale withsea-sickness, who was on his way to take up his residence for a timeas close as he could get to the gates of Balmoral.

'Happy thought! Let us fill our mulls; now's the chance!' said ayoung Oxford man on his way home to Inverness. But presently Mr.Markam heard the voice of his eldest daughter.

'Where is he? Where is he?' and she came tearing along the deck withher hat blowing behind her. Her face showed signs of agitation, forher mother had just been telling her of her father's condition; butwhen she saw him she instantly burst into laughter so violent that itended in a fit of hysterics. Something of the same kind happened toeach of the

other children. When they had all had their turn Mr.Markam went to his cabin and sent his wife's maid to tell each memberof the family that he wanted to see them at once. They all made theirappearance, suppressing their feelings as well as they could. He saidto them very quietly:

'My dears, don't I provide you all with ample allowances?'


Tags: Bram Stoker Horror