JANET.
_Sir Colin MacKelpie_, _Croom_, _to Janet MacKelpie_, _Vissarion_.
_March_ 9, 1907.
MY DEAR JANET,
I have duly received both your letters, and am delighted to find you are so well pleased with your new home. It must certainly be a very lovely and unique place, and I am myself longing to see it. I came up here three days ago, and am, as usual, feeling all the better for a breath of my native air. Time goes on, my dear, and I am beginning to feel not so young as I was. Tell Rupert that the men are all fit, and longing to get out to him. They are certainly a fine lot of men. I don't think I ever saw a finer. I have had them drilled and trained as soldiers, and, in addition, have had them taught a lot of trades just as they selected themselves. So he shall have nigh him men who can turn their hands to anything--not, of course, that they all know every trade, but amongst them there is someone who can do whatever may be required. There are blacksmiths, carpenters, farriers, saddle-makers, gardeners, plumbers, cutlers, gunsmiths, so, as they all are farmers by origin and sportsmen by practice, they will make a rare household body of men. They are nearly all first-class shots, and I am having them practise with revolvers. They are being taught fencing and broadsword and ju-jitsu; I have organized them in military form, with their own sergeants and corporals. This morning I had an inspection, and I assure you, my dear, they could give points to the Household troop in matters of drill. I tell you I am proud of my clansmen!
I think you are quite wise about waiting to bring out the lassies, and wiser still about the marrying. I dare say there will be more marrying when they all get settled in a foreign country. I shall be glad of it, for as Rupert is going to settle there, it will be good for him to have round him a little colony of his own people. And it will be good for them, too, for I know he will be good to them--as you will, my dear. The hills are barren here, and life is hard, and each year there is more and more demand for crofts, and sooner or later our people must thin out. And mayhap our little settlement of MacKelpie clan away beyond the frontiers of the Empire may be some service to the nation and the King. But this is a dream! I see that here I am beginning to realise in myself one part of Isaiah's prophecy:
"Your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams."
By the way, my dear, talking about dreams, I am sending you out some boxes of books which were in your rooms. They are nearly all on odd subjects that _we_ understand--Second Sight, Ghosts, Dreams (that was what brought the matter to my mind just now), superstitions, Vampires, Wehr-Wolves, and all such uncanny folk and things. I looked over some of these books, and found your marks and underlining and comments, so I fancy you will miss them in your new home. You will, I am sure, feel more at ease with such old friends close to you. I have taken the names and sent the list to London, so that when you pay me a visit again you will be at home in all ways. If you come to me altogether, you will be more welcome still--if possible. But I am sure that Rupert, who I know loves you very much, will try to make you so happy that you will not want to leave him. So I will have to come out often to see you both, even at the cost of leaving Croom for so long. Strange, is it not? that now, when, through Roger Melton's more than kind remembrance of me, I am able to go where I will and do what I will, I want more and more to remain at home by my own ingle. I don't think that anyone but you or Rupert could get me away from it. I am working very hard at my little regiment, as I call it. They are simply fine, and will, I am sure, do us credit. The uniforms are all made, and well made, too. There is not a man of them that does not look like an officer. I tell you, Janet, that when we turn out the Vissarion Guard we shall feel proud of them. I dare say that a couple of months will do all that can be done here. I shall come out with them myself. Rupert writes me that he thinks it will be more comfortable to come out direct in a ship of our own. So when I go up to London in a few weeks' time I shall see about chartering a suitable vessel. It will certainly save a lot of trouble to us and anxiety to our people. Would it not be well when I am getting the ship, if I charter one big enough to take out all your lassies, too? It is not as if they were strangers. After all, my dear, soldiers are soldiers and lassies are lassies. But these are all kinsfolk, as well as clansmen and clanswomen, and I, their Chief, shall be there. Let me know your views and wishes in this respect. Mr. Trent, whom I saw before leaving London, asked me to "convey to you his most respectful remembrances"--these were his very words, and here they are. Trent is a nice fellow, and I like him. He has promised to pay me a visit here before the month is up, and I look forward to our both enjoying ourselves.
Good-bye, my dear, and the Lord watch over you and our dear boy.
Your affectionate Uncle, COLIN ALEXANDER MACKELPIE.
BOOK III: THE COMING OF THE LADY
Rupert Sent Leger's Journal.
_April_ 3, 1907.
I have waited till now--well into midday--before beginning to set downthe details of the strange episode of last night. I have spoken withpersons whom I know to be of normal type. I have breakfasted, as usualheartily, and have every reason to consider myself in perfect health andsanity. So that the record following may be regarded as not only true insubstance, but exact as to details. I have investigated and reported ontoo many cases for the Psychical Research Society to be ignorant of thenecessity for absolute accuracy in such matters of even the minutestdetail.
Yesterday was Tuesday, the second day of April, 1907. I passed a day ofinterest, with its fair amount of work of varying kinds. Aunt Janet andI lunched together, had a stroll round the gardens after tea--especiallyexamining the site for the new Japanese garden, which we shall call"Janet's Garden." We went in mackintoshes, for the rainy season is inits full, the only sign of its not being a repetition of the Deluge beingthat breaks in the continuance are beginning. They are short at presentbut will doubtless enlarge themselves as the season comes towards an end.We dined together at seven. After dinner I had a cigar, and then joinedAunt Janet for an hour in her drawing-room. I left her at half-past ten,when I went to my own room and wrote some letters. At ten minutes pasteleven I wound my watch, so I know the time accurately. Having preparedfor bed, I drew back the heavy curtain in front of my window, which openson the marble steps into the Italian garden. I had put out my lightbefore drawing back the curtain, for I wanted to have a look at the scenebefore turning in. Aunt Janet has always had an old-fashioned idea ofthe need (or propriety, I hardly know which) of keeping windows closedand curtains drawn. I am gradually getting her to leave my room alone inthis respect, but at present the change is in its fitful stage, and ofcourse I must not hurry matters or be too persistent, as it would hurther feelings. This night was one of those under the old regime. It wasa delight to look out, for the scene was perfect of its own kind. Thelong spell of rain--the ceaseless downpour which had for the time floodedeverywhere--had passed, and water in abnormal places rather trickled thanran. We were now beginning to be in the sloppy rather than the delugedstage. There was plenty of light to see by, for the moon had begun toshow out fitfully through the masses of flying clouds. The uncertainlight made weird shadows with the shrubs and statues in the garden. Thelong straight walk which leads from the marble steps is strewn with finesand white from the quartz strand in the nook to the south of the Castle.Tall shrubs of white holly, yew, juniper, cypress, and variegated mapleand spiraea, which stood at intervals along the walk and its branches,appeared ghost-like in the fitful moonlight. The many vases and statuesand urns, always like phantoms in a half-light, were more than everweird. Last night the moonlight was unusually effective, and showed notonly the gardens down to the defending wall, but the deep gloom of thegreat forest-trees beyond; and beyond that, again, to where the mountainchain began, the forest running up their silvered slopes flamelike inform, deviated here and there by great crags and the outcropping rockysinews of the vast mountains.
Whilst I was looking at this lovely prospect, I thought I saw somethingwhite flit, like a modified white flash, at odd moments from one toanother of the shrubs or statues--anything which would afford cover fromobservation. At first I was not sure whether I really saw anything ordid not. This was in itself a little disturbing to me, for I have beenso long trained to minute observation of facts surrounding me, on whichoften depend not only my own life, but the lives of others, that I havebecome accustomed to trust my eyes; and anything creating the faintestdoubt in this respect is a cause of more or less anxiety to me. Now,however, that my attention was called to myself, I looked more keenly,and in a very short time was satisfied that something wasmoving--something clad in white. It was natural enough that my thoughtsshould tend towards something uncanny--the belief that this place ishaunted, conveyed in a thousand ways of speech and inference. AuntJanet's eerie beliefs, fortified by her books on occult subjects--and oflate, in our isolation from the rest of the world, the subject of dailyconversations--helped to this end. No wonder, then, that, fully awakeand with senses all on edge, I waited for some further manifestation fromthis ghostly visitor--as in my mind I took it to be. It must surely be aghost or spiritual manifestation of some kind which moved in this silentway. In order to see and hear better, I softly moved back the foldinggrille, opened the French window, and stepped out, bare-footed andpyjama-clad as I was, on the marble terrace. How cold the wet marblewas! How heavy smelled the rain-laden garden! It was as though thenight and the damp, and even the moonlight, were drawing the aroma fromall the flowers that blossomed. The whole night seemed to exhale heavy,half-intoxicating odours! I stood at the head of the marble steps, andall immediately before me was ghostly in the extreme--the white marbleterrace and steps, the white walks of quartz-sand glistening under thefitful moonlight; the shrubs of white or pale green or yellow,--alllooking dim and ghostly in the glamorous light; the white statues andvases. And amongst them, still flitting noiselessly, that mysteriouselusive figure which I could not say was based on fact or imagination. Iheld my breath, listening intently for every sound; but sound there wasnone, save those of the night and its denizens. Owls hooted in theforest; bats, taking advantage of the cessation of the rain, flittedabout silently, like shadows in the air. But there was no more sign ofmoving ghost or phantom, or whatever I had seen might have been--if,indeed, there had been anything except imagination.
So, after waiting awhile, I returned to my room, closed the window, drewthe grille across again, and dragged the heavy curtain before theopening; then, having extinguished my candles, went to bed in the dark.In a few minutes I must have been asleep.
"What was that?" I almost heard the words of my own thought as I sat upin bed wide awake. To memory rather than present hearing the disturbingsound had seemed like the faint tapping at the window. For some secondsI listened, mechanically but intently, with bated breath and that quickbeating of the heart which in a timorous person speaks for fear, and forexpectation in another. In the stillness the sound came again--this timea very, very faint but unmistakable tapping at the glass door.
I jumped up, drew back the curtain, and for a moment stood appalled.
There, outside on the balcony, in the now brilliant moonlight, stood awoman, wrapped in white grave-clothes saturated with water, which drippedon the marble floor, making a pool which trickled slowly down the wetsteps. Attitude and dress and circumstance all conveyed the idea that,though she moved and spoke, she was not quick, but dead. She was youngand very beautiful, but pale, like the grey pallor of death. Through thestill white of her face, which made her look as cold as the wet marbleshe stood on, her dark eyes seemed to gleam with a strange but enticinglustre. Even in the unsearching moonlight, which is after all ratherdeceptive than illuminative, I could not but notice one rare quality ofher eyes. Each had some quality of refraction which made it look asthough it contained a star. At every movement she made, the starsexhibited new beauties, of more rare and radiant force. She looked at meimploringly as the heavy curtain rolled back, and in eloquent gesturesimplored me to admit her. Instinctively I obeyed; I rolled back thesteel grille, and threw open the French window. I noticed that sheshivered and trembled as the glass door fell open. Indeed, she seemed soovercome with cold as to seem almost unable to move. In the sense of herhelplessness all idea of the strangeness of the situation entirelydisappeared. It was not as if my first idea of death taken from hercerements was negatived. It was simply that I did not think of it atall; I was content to accept things as they were--she was a woman, and insome dreadful trouble; that was enough.
I am thus particular about my own emotions, as I may have to refer tothem again in matters of comprehension or comparison. The whole thing isso vastly strange and abnormal that th
e least thing may afterwards givesome guiding light or clue to something otherwise not understandable. Ihave always found that in recondite matters first impressions are of morereal value than later conclusions. We humans place far too littlereliance on instinct as against reason; and yet instinct is the greatgift of Nature to all animals for their protection and the fulfilment oftheir functions generally.
When I stepped out on the balcony, not thinking of my costume, I foundthat the woman was benumbed and hardly able to move. Even when I askedher to enter, and supplemented my words with gestures in case she shouldnot understand my language, she stood stock-still, only rocking slightlyto and fro as though she had just strength enough left to balance herselfon her feet. I was afraid, from the condition in which she was, that shemight drop down dead at any moment. So I took her by the hand to leadher in. But she seemed too weak to even make the attempt. When I pulledher slightly forward, thinking to help her, she tottered, and would havefallen had I not caught her in my arms. Then, half lifting her, I movedher forwards. Her feet, relieved of her weight, now seemed able to makethe necessary effort; and so, I almost carrying her, we moved into theroom. She was at the very end of her strength; I had to lift her overthe sill. In obedience to her motion, I closed the French window andbolted it. I supposed the warmth of the room--though cool, it was warmerthan the damp air without--affected her quickly, for on the instant sheseemed to begin to recover herself. In a few seconds, as though she hadreacquired her strength, she herself pulled the heavy curtain across thewindow. This left us in darkness, through which I heard her say inEnglish:
"Light. Get a light!"
I found matches, and at once lit a candle. As the wick flared, she movedover to the door of the room, and tried if the lock and bolt werefastened. Satisfied as to this, she moved towards me, her wet shroudleaving a trail of moisture on the green carpet. By this time the wax ofthe candle had melted sufficiently to let me see her clearly. She wasshaking and quivering as though in an ague; she drew the wet shroudaround her piteously. Instinctively I spoke:
"Can I do anything for you?"
She answered, still in English, and in a voice of thrilling, almostpiercing sweetness, which seemed somehow to go straight to my heart, andaffected me strangely: "Give me warmth."
I hurried to the fireplace. It was empty; there was no fire laid. Iturned to her, and said:
"Wait just a few minutes here. I shall call someone, and get help--andfire."
Her voice seemed to ring with intensity as she answered without a pause: