Second Sight (19 page)
Authors: Neil M. Gunn
“No. Nothing will make me forget that hoodoo. The thing is too fundamental.”
“Proceed. I'll observe the well-known process of self-flattery.”
“It's not often you give yourself away, Helen.”
“Will you be good enough to explain exactly in what way I gave myself away?”
“Well, you just gave yourself away.” He shrugged. “I mean you just gave yourself away.”
“I'm not ashamed of a thought directed towards the sparing of any life.”
“What's that got to do with it?”
“With what?”
“Withâwithâthe why and the wherefore?”
She regarded him carefully. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“Good lord, no. I was never more serious.”
“Harry Kingsley?”
“Helen Marway?”
“I think you're a mean hound.”
“My cup is full.”
“It isn't. Hold it out.” Coldly she filled it with hot coffee.
“Thanks.” As he kept on trying to get the cup to sit on the heather, he said uncertainly, almost shyly, “Helen, do you mean you did not want me to kill
anything
to-day?”
She gave him a glance, then announced: “The discussion is closed.”
“I am reconciled,” he said. “The glory has returned unto the day. Allah is Allah.”
A warmth suffused her face as she gathered the sandwich papers, crushed them into a ball, and poked them into the peat, but she gave nothing away.
He glanced at her. “How does it go?” he asked gently.
She apparently did not hear, but after a moment she looked up towards Benbeg and slowly intoned: “
Lâ ilâha illa'llâh
.⦔
He gazed at her.
She withdrew her eyes to her hands, which lay in her lap. “There is no god but God.⦔
He bowed his own head, still hushed by the vowelled liquid run of her voice. She was body and spiritâand all that time meant and could ever mean. He bowed down until his forehead touched the heath before her, like a Moslem at prayer.
She looked at him with a calm smile, and kept looking as he raised his head and met her eyes. The warmth was still in her face but she was not confused.
“You are the woman who sat among the rocks and dived in deep seas,” he said, with uncertain humour.
She smiled upon him, poised and enigmatic.
He glanced towards the two gillies. Their presence made action impossible, and action was what he needed. He could not bear her any more. He must.â¦
She met the swift return of his eyes, and began to laugh very softly, through her nostrils, until her lips parted and the deep cooing chuckle came through. In an instant her voice whipped: “Harry!”
The sound stopped his advance.
“You'll pay for this,” he vowed. “You'll pay for it beyond anything you have ever dreamed.” He tried to dissemble his heavy breathing, and so merely emphasised it.
“I wonder,” she said, and began to collect the luncheon apparatus.
As Alick and Donald and the pony followed them on the way home, Alick said, looking at her ankles and the easy grace of her body, “How did you get on with her?”
“Oh fine. She's all right.”
“A bit of a beauty, what?”
“Boy, isn't she!” said Donald.
“How would you like to have a girl like that?”
“Och, be quiet!”
Alick smiled. “What was she talking about?”
“I could see she didn't like the idea of the stag being wounded. She asked me if I knew about plants.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn't know any plants. She wandered off by herself.”
“Did she get any?”
“I kept watching her out of the corner of my eye. I don't think she got any. Then she lay down. She's queer in some ways, I think?”
“What ways?”
“Oh I don't know. Are there any plants?”
“A few. She didn't look for them very long?”
“I don't think so. I got a bit of white heather.”
“Did you? And did you give it to her?”
“No.”
“You should have given it to her. She would have been delighted. Why didn't you?”
“I didn't like,” said Donald.
Alick laughed. “Have you got it yet?”
Donald did not answer.
“Give it to her.”
Donald shook his head, embarrassed.
“Lord, man, you'll never get a girl if you behave like that. I do believe if she began to make love to you, you'd be frightened.”
“Would I?” said Donald. “I'll soon let her see!”
“What?”
“Get up!” said Donald, and he hit the pony on the flank with his palm.
“I can see you have fallen for her a bit.”
“Who? Me?” asked Donald. “Not on your life!”
“She's a beauty, though, isn't she?”
“Oh, she'll do.”
“How would you like to be in a position, with the money, where you could walk in and carry off a girl like that?''
“I should like the money all right.”
“Look here,” said Alick. “If you had given her the white heather, I bet you she would have given you an extra good tip and perhaps squeezed your hand.”
“You be quiet,” said Donald. Then he added, “To tell the truth, I thought she might think that Iâthat I might expect a tip or something.”
Alick looked at him, and, looking away, remarked, “The day will soon come when that won't bother you.”
Donald glanced at him. Then they walked for a long way in a silence which Donald felt so much that his dark eyes caught a strange animal glimmer of pain.
When next Alick spoke, he referred to the projected meeting at Corr Inn that evening. “Would you like to come?”
“Yes,” said Donald.
“So long as you won't get drunk.”
“I can get drunk if I like.”
Alick looked at him, a smile on his face, but Donald moodily refused his eyes.
As they approached the Lodge, they could see evidences of excitement.
“Angus has done it on us,” said Alick.
He was right. George had shot a really good beast.
Joyce stalked about in great feather. Harry and Helen were getting details of the hunt. Geoffrey, leaning on his stick, waggled his head in ironic mirth over the mystery of beginner's luck.
“Let us go round this way,” said Donald.
“No fear,” said Alick.
They were hailed. Helen took her folded rainproof off the pony, though Donald clearly wanted to take it into the house himself. “Not at all,” she said, giving him a bright smile. “Thank you, Donald, for a very pleasant day.”
His face darkened, and he went on with the pony.
Alick found Angus in the gun-room, and as they cleaned their rifles Angus said, “Talk about luck!” and in a few words described how, while they were resting, he saw the stag coming towards them. “I think he had just come into the forest, on the rut. He began ploughing up a peat pool at fifty yards. I could have hit him with a stone.”
“Mr. Smith will be delighted.”
Angus glanced around and whispered, “Wasn't I a fool? I really meant to take Mr. Marway for a walk. I knew if we got anything good it would be against me.”
“And why didn't you?”
“Because of the way it happened. And I got all strung up. I couldn'tâI couldn't frighten the beast. Damn, it wouldn't have been fair. Ach, what the hell do I care?”
Alick smiled. “He'll take it out of you.”
“Let him! A good head, isn't it?”
“Yes; fine span.”
Geoffrey came in and walked past them into the sittingroom. He did not speak. When the door closed, Angus winked to Alick. “The bââr has the pin in for me!”
“You're not the only one,” said Alick.
Angus looked at him. “He hasn't thanked you for what you did for him?”
“Only that deep, silent thanks.”
“God, it wouldn't have cost him much to have said thank you, however he felt.”
“I don't mind,” said Alick.
“Perhaps not,” said Angus. “All the same⦔
“We can leave him to it.”
“To what?”
“To his fate.”
There was no emphasis in Alick's voice, but Angus suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Come on,” he said. “Let's get out of here.” Alick unhurriedly finished his job. Angus glanced at the tall big figure, so full-chested, upright, and at ease. There was something in Alick, some strange reserved element of personality, that could never be touched. A snatch of a pipe theme came hissing softly through his lips. He played reels and strathspeys on the violin, not with the fire, the “lift”, that gives them life and rouses enthusiasm, but with an extraordinary purity of tone, a limpid small tone, that haunted the memory. A big man, playing quietly to himself. To dance to this music was, for some inexplicable reason, a memorable experience, an extra delight. The dancers would glance at Alick. He never danced himself.
They left the gun-room. “Coming in for a moment?” and Angus nodded sideways towards the kitchen door.
“No,” said Alick.
They went on.
Joyce parted from Helen in the hall, her loud voice hurrying for the sitting-room. Before hanging up her rainproof in the cloak-room, Helen shook it out. From an internal fold something fell to the floor. She gazed at it. It was a piece of white heather.
“Proceed. I'll observe the well-known process of self-flattery.”
“It's not often you give yourself away, Helen.”
“Will you be good enough to explain exactly in what way I gave myself away?”
“Well, you just gave yourself away.” He shrugged. “I mean you just gave yourself away.”
“I'm not ashamed of a thought directed towards the sparing of any life.”
“What's that got to do with it?”
“With what?”
“Withâwithâthe why and the wherefore?”
She regarded him carefully. “Are you trying to be funny?”
“Good lord, no. I was never more serious.”
“Harry Kingsley?”
“Helen Marway?”
“I think you're a mean hound.”
“My cup is full.”
“It isn't. Hold it out.” Coldly she filled it with hot coffee.
“Thanks.” As he kept on trying to get the cup to sit on the heather, he said uncertainly, almost shyly, “Helen, do you mean you did not want me to kill
anything
to-day?”
She gave him a glance, then announced: “The discussion is closed.”
“I am reconciled,” he said. “The glory has returned unto the day. Allah is Allah.”
A warmth suffused her face as she gathered the sandwich papers, crushed them into a ball, and poked them into the peat, but she gave nothing away.
He glanced at her. “How does it go?” he asked gently.
She apparently did not hear, but after a moment she looked up towards Benbeg and slowly intoned: “
Lâ ilâha illa'llâh
.⦔
He gazed at her.
She withdrew her eyes to her hands, which lay in her lap. “There is no god but God.⦔
He bowed his own head, still hushed by the vowelled liquid run of her voice. She was body and spiritâand all that time meant and could ever mean. He bowed down until his forehead touched the heath before her, like a Moslem at prayer.
She looked at him with a calm smile, and kept looking as he raised his head and met her eyes. The warmth was still in her face but she was not confused.
“You are the woman who sat among the rocks and dived in deep seas,” he said, with uncertain humour.
She smiled upon him, poised and enigmatic.
He glanced towards the two gillies. Their presence made action impossible, and action was what he needed. He could not bear her any more. He must.â¦
She met the swift return of his eyes, and began to laugh very softly, through her nostrils, until her lips parted and the deep cooing chuckle came through. In an instant her voice whipped: “Harry!”
The sound stopped his advance.
“You'll pay for this,” he vowed. “You'll pay for it beyond anything you have ever dreamed.” He tried to dissemble his heavy breathing, and so merely emphasised it.
“I wonder,” she said, and began to collect the luncheon apparatus.
As Alick and Donald and the pony followed them on the way home, Alick said, looking at her ankles and the easy grace of her body, “How did you get on with her?”
“Oh fine. She's all right.”
“A bit of a beauty, what?”
“Boy, isn't she!” said Donald.
“How would you like to have a girl like that?”
“Och, be quiet!”
Alick smiled. “What was she talking about?”
“I could see she didn't like the idea of the stag being wounded. She asked me if I knew about plants.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn't know any plants. She wandered off by herself.”
“Did she get any?”
“I kept watching her out of the corner of my eye. I don't think she got any. Then she lay down. She's queer in some ways, I think?”
“What ways?”
“Oh I don't know. Are there any plants?”
“A few. She didn't look for them very long?”
“I don't think so. I got a bit of white heather.”
“Did you? And did you give it to her?”
“No.”
“You should have given it to her. She would have been delighted. Why didn't you?”
“I didn't like,” said Donald.
Alick laughed. “Have you got it yet?”
Donald did not answer.
“Give it to her.”
Donald shook his head, embarrassed.
“Lord, man, you'll never get a girl if you behave like that. I do believe if she began to make love to you, you'd be frightened.”
“Would I?” said Donald. “I'll soon let her see!”
“What?”
“Get up!” said Donald, and he hit the pony on the flank with his palm.
“I can see you have fallen for her a bit.”
“Who? Me?” asked Donald. “Not on your life!”
“She's a beauty, though, isn't she?”
“Oh, she'll do.”
“How would you like to be in a position, with the money, where you could walk in and carry off a girl like that?''
“I should like the money all right.”
“Look here,” said Alick. “If you had given her the white heather, I bet you she would have given you an extra good tip and perhaps squeezed your hand.”
“You be quiet,” said Donald. Then he added, “To tell the truth, I thought she might think that Iâthat I might expect a tip or something.”
Alick looked at him, and, looking away, remarked, “The day will soon come when that won't bother you.”
Donald glanced at him. Then they walked for a long way in a silence which Donald felt so much that his dark eyes caught a strange animal glimmer of pain.
When next Alick spoke, he referred to the projected meeting at Corr Inn that evening. “Would you like to come?”
“Yes,” said Donald.
“So long as you won't get drunk.”
“I can get drunk if I like.”
Alick looked at him, a smile on his face, but Donald moodily refused his eyes.
As they approached the Lodge, they could see evidences of excitement.
“Angus has done it on us,” said Alick.
He was right. George had shot a really good beast.
Joyce stalked about in great feather. Harry and Helen were getting details of the hunt. Geoffrey, leaning on his stick, waggled his head in ironic mirth over the mystery of beginner's luck.
“Let us go round this way,” said Donald.
“No fear,” said Alick.
They were hailed. Helen took her folded rainproof off the pony, though Donald clearly wanted to take it into the house himself. “Not at all,” she said, giving him a bright smile. “Thank you, Donald, for a very pleasant day.”
His face darkened, and he went on with the pony.
Alick found Angus in the gun-room, and as they cleaned their rifles Angus said, “Talk about luck!” and in a few words described how, while they were resting, he saw the stag coming towards them. “I think he had just come into the forest, on the rut. He began ploughing up a peat pool at fifty yards. I could have hit him with a stone.”
“Mr. Smith will be delighted.”
Angus glanced around and whispered, “Wasn't I a fool? I really meant to take Mr. Marway for a walk. I knew if we got anything good it would be against me.”
“And why didn't you?”
“Because of the way it happened. And I got all strung up. I couldn'tâI couldn't frighten the beast. Damn, it wouldn't have been fair. Ach, what the hell do I care?”
Alick smiled. “He'll take it out of you.”
“Let him! A good head, isn't it?”
“Yes; fine span.”
Geoffrey came in and walked past them into the sittingroom. He did not speak. When the door closed, Angus winked to Alick. “The bââr has the pin in for me!”
“You're not the only one,” said Alick.
Angus looked at him. “He hasn't thanked you for what you did for him?”
“Only that deep, silent thanks.”
“God, it wouldn't have cost him much to have said thank you, however he felt.”
“I don't mind,” said Alick.
“Perhaps not,” said Angus. “All the same⦔
“We can leave him to it.”
“To what?”
“To his fate.”
There was no emphasis in Alick's voice, but Angus suddenly felt uncomfortable. “Come on,” he said. “Let's get out of here.” Alick unhurriedly finished his job. Angus glanced at the tall big figure, so full-chested, upright, and at ease. There was something in Alick, some strange reserved element of personality, that could never be touched. A snatch of a pipe theme came hissing softly through his lips. He played reels and strathspeys on the violin, not with the fire, the “lift”, that gives them life and rouses enthusiasm, but with an extraordinary purity of tone, a limpid small tone, that haunted the memory. A big man, playing quietly to himself. To dance to this music was, for some inexplicable reason, a memorable experience, an extra delight. The dancers would glance at Alick. He never danced himself.
They left the gun-room. “Coming in for a moment?” and Angus nodded sideways towards the kitchen door.
“No,” said Alick.
They went on.
Joyce parted from Helen in the hall, her loud voice hurrying for the sitting-room. Before hanging up her rainproof in the cloak-room, Helen shook it out. From an internal fold something fell to the floor. She gazed at it. It was a piece of white heather.
Chapter Nine
S
ome two hours later, Helen sat beside Harry in the back seat of George's car. Darkness was falling and George kept in sight the tail light of the front car in which Sir John and Lady Marway, Geoffrey and Marjory, were leading the way to Screesval and dinner with Matthew Blair.
Screesval had a small salmon river of repute, which was its main attraction for the lessee. His grouse moor he let younger friends shoot over. Like Sir John, who had been at college with him, he could not consider himself one of the true sporting tribe. But he had always loved the Highlands in the autumn, and fishing was his mild passion, inducing the pleasant natural moods that assorted so well with his taste for classical literature and the attributes thereof, like simple, good food and good wine. The invitation to dinner always accorded with the arrival at Screesval of his friend, Dean Cameron, for a fortnight's fishing. The Dean and Mr. Blair contrived as far as possible to have this short spell to themselves, though it sometimes happened, as on the present occasion, that Mr. Blair had another guest.
But it was the thought of the Dean that tickled George, who was in remarkably good form after his successful day's hunt. “We'll turn him on to Geoffrey!”
“I say, wasn't old Geoff amusing over our stag?” cried Joyce.
“Can you blame him?” Helen asked.
“No, of course not! That's the joke!”
“But about the Dean,” said George. “He's a dear old boy. And so is old Blair. But, it's just, you know, talk, and sometimes the smile sorta sticks on your face. And whatever you say about Geoff, he is never troubled with qualms in a fight. I should like to get Geoff all out on an argument.”
“I'll tell you what,” said Joyce. “We'll ask the Dean about second sight and that. You know, is it from on high or from on low? I must say Alick's feat of finding Geoffrey in the dark gave me the jitters. What was it you said about it, George?”
“Whoops!” exclaimed George. A wreath of mist came at them, glowed blindingly, and vanished. “Another!”
The heather and the bog and the narrow road were swept by the headlights. Helen peered out of the window and saw the hills. It was a mysterious land, so silent, so self-contained.
“There's Corr Inn,” said Harry. Helen turned to his side and saw the solitary light. Their knees touched, their hands. Harry caught her hand. She squeezed his swiftly and withdrew her own.
“Isn't it weird!” Joyce exclaimed.
Helen turned to her own window and stared out. Driving at night in this country always affected her strongly. To-night there was something in it that hurt her. For it was not an objective beauty. Surely nothing had ever been devised by nature to prove more completely that beauty was an inward experience. And yet, in another sense, could anything in nature be more objective, with that added, almost terrifying suggestion of being withdrawn? Withdrawn and heedlessâtill the very quick of the heart shivered and the pressure behind the seeing eyes was like a pressure of tears.
She was going to have warned Joyce about not introducing the topic of second sight. It was essential that she should. Her mother had been worried enough about it. And Geoffrey would welcome it out of a feeling that he would like to make them all thoroughly ashamed of their sentimentalitiesâand so get some of his own back. But she could not draw her mind away to tackle the point. Moreover, she was becoming almost unbearably conscious of Harry's near presence. And there he was, touching herâgently, as if by the swaying of the car; and there againâthe back of his hand against her kneeânot finding her hand. She huddled herself over against her window. The sad beauty of the young nightâshe wanted to bury her head, to turn blindly to him and bury her head.
“Have you gone to sleep, Helen?” called Joyce.
“Not with George at the wheel.”
“Oh, I say!” exclaimed George. “This funeral crawl. I can't help it.”
“Don't worry,” said Harry. “Yonder are the lights of Screesval.”
As the car drew up, Harry turned to Helen. Her face, moon-pale in the shadows, smiled to him. He caught her hand to help her out but could not speak to her. Turning to George and Joyce, he said, “By the way, don't introduce that second sight business.”
Joyce looked at him. “Why ever not?”
Harry shrugged and turned towards the rest of the party coming from the other car.
Screesval Lodge was larger and more solidly furnished than Corbreac. Corbreac was a shooting-box, a temporary home: Screesval had a library, dark panelling, and a cellar. The walls were rich with trophies and prints, and the corridor to the billiard room was panelled with carefully matched deerskins. In Screesval footfalls were softer and noise more distant. It was a home that Mr. Blair, except for the winter months, when he went to the Madeiras, tended to occupy almost continuously.
He was a little man, with a rolling gait, a rubicund countenance, and gay charming manners in company. He knew everything that went on about the house, brought presents to his headkeeper's children, interested himself in a choked ditch (when he could get thoroughly wet poking his walkingstick into the mud), a sick cow, or a mole trap. Anyone less like a classical student it might be difficult to imagine. But then Mr. Blair did not read a masterpiece for knowledge so much as for companionship and sustenance. He had the distinct impression of knowing Virgil personally. He had been a stockbroker.
His welcome was extremely bright. He bowed over Lady Marway's hand. “Ah, my dear!” he said to Helen, regarding a beauty that made him sigh. He turned to Sir John. “How you bring my bachelorhood home to me, Jack!” His laughter was cunning, his eyes full of merry glances.
The Dean was quiet, gentle-mannered, pale, with a smile that lingered on his face as he listened. There was a quality about him, immediately arresting, even forceful. Only after a time did one gather that it centred in the eyes.
Mr. Blair's second guest was Colonel Brown, a tall, strongboned man of sixty, with the intelligent practical expression that has been used to directing the evolution and organisation of an army's mechanised units. Difficulties called out his ingenuity and a guarded sense of humour. His wife was to have been with him, but she had been caught into the social whirl of arranging for a daughter's wedding.
Thus Lady Marway became the hostess of the evening.
At dinner all their doings, their luck and mishaps at sport, the names of mutual friends, the usual topics, were touched upon. It was not until they were going to join the ladies in the large comfortable library that Mr. Blair, who loved his food and wine, became properly aware of Geoffrey's slight limp. “My dear fellow, you must tell us about that fall of yours. May I take your arm?”
“Not at all,” said Geoffrey. “A slight muscular stiffness that will be quite gone by to-morrow, I hope.”
“In the mist? Did I hear you say you were caught at night?”
“Yes.”
“Butâwasn't that extraordinarily dangerous? Shouldn't you have sat down until the morning?”
“By all the rules, yes.”
“And you didn't? Youââ” He bowed to the ladies. “We could not leave you more than five minutes.” When he had all his guests seated, he stood for a moment, saying, “We must hear about Mr. Smith's adventure in the mist. I once got lost myself. But, fortunately, never in the dark. I should be grateful for a few tips. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” said Lady Marway. “Even ifâwe don't want quite to have its anxiety again.”
“Of course, you would have been anxious!” He turned to Geoffrey. “How
did
it happen?”
“Oh, simply enough,” said Geoffrey, warmed by the good port. “In the rigours of the chase, my stalker and I got separated. The mist was thick and then the night came downâand there I was.”
“You would be!” said Mr. Blair. “Jove, you would! And you kept going?”
Geoffrey described how he had kept going and fallen over.
“That was a narrow squeak,” said Colonel Brown.
“And after that?” asked Mr. Blair.
“Oh, I lay for a bit, until I got too uncomfortably cold. Then I set off again. I was making fair headway, when Harry's stalker found me. We waited till the dawn.”
“Did he have to go far to find you?” asked Colonel Brown.
“Right into the heart of the forest,” said Geoffrey.
“That seems pretty miraculous, if it was dark as all that, doesn't it?” The Colonel kept looking at Geoffrey.
“Oh, it was,” said Geoffrey, with solemn malice; “it was quite a miracle. But, as Miss Marway here will tell you, he has second sight.”
They all looked at Helen.
“That is Mr. Smith's idea”, she explained, “of making a joke.”
Geoffrey's released laugh rattled out. Mr. Blair and his two guests smiled, looking from Geoffrey to Helen. Obviously here was a house joke, with some amusing personalities behind it. And presently the Colonel asked Geoffrey: “Purely as a matter of curiosityâfor mist is one of our bogeysâhow do you think the stalker found you? What is his technique?”
“I don't know,” said Geoffrey. “I assume he worked out the way I should be likely to come and chanced it.”
“George,” said Helen, with a smile, “what about those five shillings?”
“I object!” said George. Then he rushed upon an explanation of the bet.
Geoffrey kept silent, enjoying himself.
“All the same,” said Mr. Blair. “It was an extraordinary featâhowever it was done. Really extraordinary.” And he asked some more questions; until at last the Dean inquired in his clear, rather low-pitched voice:
“Had you any real reason to suspect second sight?”
At once there was complete silence, for as they looked at the Dean they came under the influence of his eyes. His pale skin had a faintly ivory pallor, worn fine, like old monastery parchment, as if the inner mind had worked outward upon it.
His question was directed at Geoffrey, who knew that his hostess would rather he let the subject lie, and yet who could not resist the temptation to score over certain others of his party by exposing their superstition.
“I don't know about real reason,” he said, with apparent hesitancy. “The trouble is you never do get any reason from the inherently superstitious type of mind. You get statements, of course. However, I may go so far as to say that certain young members of our party are disposed to believe that the stalker in question has second sight.”
The Dean smiled. “But surely not without some evidence?”
“Oh, I assure you the evidence was most striking,” said Geoffrey.
The Dean looked along the young smiling faces and settled silently on Harry.
“He is merely trying to get one back on me for having had the worst of an argument over an experience I had alone with this stalker.” Harry smiled. “The stalker's experience was certainly very striking. But if you don't mind, sir, I would rather not go into it again.”
After a moment's silence, Mr. Blair said, “That seems quite the authentic attitude. You know old Farquharâyou've met himâwith the long beard?”
Sir John nodded.
“Well, he's remarkably interesting on the subject. I've been trying to check up some of his stuff, but I can only find one or two Highland books dealing with the matter. He seems genuinely moved.”
“Quite,” said Sir John. “None of them means not to be genuine. There can, however, be self-deceptionâand a rumour can grow. In India, we had too often to deal with what was demonstrably, and in fact, superstition to permit credulity to move us unduly.”
“I suppose you had,” said the Dean. “All the same, we cannot quite dismiss a real spiritual or mental experience merely because it arouses dubious reactions in the minds of others, can we? In science, when you discover an exception to a law, you invalidate the law. But a superstition does not in that sense invalidate a spiritual truth. The difficulty here, of course, is extremely complex. But therefore to dismiss the difficulty is surely an over-simplification.”
“I quite agree,” said Sir John. “The difficulty is one of assessing the evidence. And it would appear to be almost insuperable.”
“At any given moment a difficulty which cannot be surmounted, whether in physics or psychology, is in fact insuperable,” said the Dean quietly. “But that does not deter either scientist or psychologist. Why? Because past experience has shown us that patient investigation tends to surmount the difficulty.”
“But the only way that I know”, said Geoffrey, “of surmounting the difficulty is by testing the evidence. If all the available evidence does not make a conclusive case, then you are compelled to dismiss the truth or reality of that which the evidence was supposed to prove.”
“Granted, but only after assuming two things. First, that all the available evidence, all of it, is brought forward for test and, second, that those who assess the evidence are in fact competent to assess it.”
“Granted,” said Geoffrey.
The Dean smiled slowly as he looked at Geoffrey. “There is just one further point. All the evidence at present available may not be all the evidence available to-morrow or ultimately.”
“I am afraid”, said Geoffrey, meeting the smile, “that my interest is in physics rather than in metaphysics.”
The Dean leaned back, enjoying the thrust.
“Now let us apply that”, said Mr. Blair, with his jolliest speculative expression, “to this business of second sight. I have a feeling that in a moment we shall be in the region of intuition, when the ladies shall be able to lead our stumbling conclusions to esoteric heights.”
“I wonder why”, said Marjory, “there should be this flattering assumption on the part of man that women are not quite capable of the grave refinement of reason?”
S
ome two hours later, Helen sat beside Harry in the back seat of George's car. Darkness was falling and George kept in sight the tail light of the front car in which Sir John and Lady Marway, Geoffrey and Marjory, were leading the way to Screesval and dinner with Matthew Blair.
Screesval had a small salmon river of repute, which was its main attraction for the lessee. His grouse moor he let younger friends shoot over. Like Sir John, who had been at college with him, he could not consider himself one of the true sporting tribe. But he had always loved the Highlands in the autumn, and fishing was his mild passion, inducing the pleasant natural moods that assorted so well with his taste for classical literature and the attributes thereof, like simple, good food and good wine. The invitation to dinner always accorded with the arrival at Screesval of his friend, Dean Cameron, for a fortnight's fishing. The Dean and Mr. Blair contrived as far as possible to have this short spell to themselves, though it sometimes happened, as on the present occasion, that Mr. Blair had another guest.
But it was the thought of the Dean that tickled George, who was in remarkably good form after his successful day's hunt. “We'll turn him on to Geoffrey!”
“I say, wasn't old Geoff amusing over our stag?” cried Joyce.
“Can you blame him?” Helen asked.
“No, of course not! That's the joke!”
“But about the Dean,” said George. “He's a dear old boy. And so is old Blair. But, it's just, you know, talk, and sometimes the smile sorta sticks on your face. And whatever you say about Geoff, he is never troubled with qualms in a fight. I should like to get Geoff all out on an argument.”
“I'll tell you what,” said Joyce. “We'll ask the Dean about second sight and that. You know, is it from on high or from on low? I must say Alick's feat of finding Geoffrey in the dark gave me the jitters. What was it you said about it, George?”
“Whoops!” exclaimed George. A wreath of mist came at them, glowed blindingly, and vanished. “Another!”
The heather and the bog and the narrow road were swept by the headlights. Helen peered out of the window and saw the hills. It was a mysterious land, so silent, so self-contained.
“There's Corr Inn,” said Harry. Helen turned to his side and saw the solitary light. Their knees touched, their hands. Harry caught her hand. She squeezed his swiftly and withdrew her own.
“Isn't it weird!” Joyce exclaimed.
Helen turned to her own window and stared out. Driving at night in this country always affected her strongly. To-night there was something in it that hurt her. For it was not an objective beauty. Surely nothing had ever been devised by nature to prove more completely that beauty was an inward experience. And yet, in another sense, could anything in nature be more objective, with that added, almost terrifying suggestion of being withdrawn? Withdrawn and heedlessâtill the very quick of the heart shivered and the pressure behind the seeing eyes was like a pressure of tears.
She was going to have warned Joyce about not introducing the topic of second sight. It was essential that she should. Her mother had been worried enough about it. And Geoffrey would welcome it out of a feeling that he would like to make them all thoroughly ashamed of their sentimentalitiesâand so get some of his own back. But she could not draw her mind away to tackle the point. Moreover, she was becoming almost unbearably conscious of Harry's near presence. And there he was, touching herâgently, as if by the swaying of the car; and there againâthe back of his hand against her kneeânot finding her hand. She huddled herself over against her window. The sad beauty of the young nightâshe wanted to bury her head, to turn blindly to him and bury her head.
“Have you gone to sleep, Helen?” called Joyce.
“Not with George at the wheel.”
“Oh, I say!” exclaimed George. “This funeral crawl. I can't help it.”
“Don't worry,” said Harry. “Yonder are the lights of Screesval.”
As the car drew up, Harry turned to Helen. Her face, moon-pale in the shadows, smiled to him. He caught her hand to help her out but could not speak to her. Turning to George and Joyce, he said, “By the way, don't introduce that second sight business.”
Joyce looked at him. “Why ever not?”
Harry shrugged and turned towards the rest of the party coming from the other car.
Screesval Lodge was larger and more solidly furnished than Corbreac. Corbreac was a shooting-box, a temporary home: Screesval had a library, dark panelling, and a cellar. The walls were rich with trophies and prints, and the corridor to the billiard room was panelled with carefully matched deerskins. In Screesval footfalls were softer and noise more distant. It was a home that Mr. Blair, except for the winter months, when he went to the Madeiras, tended to occupy almost continuously.
He was a little man, with a rolling gait, a rubicund countenance, and gay charming manners in company. He knew everything that went on about the house, brought presents to his headkeeper's children, interested himself in a choked ditch (when he could get thoroughly wet poking his walkingstick into the mud), a sick cow, or a mole trap. Anyone less like a classical student it might be difficult to imagine. But then Mr. Blair did not read a masterpiece for knowledge so much as for companionship and sustenance. He had the distinct impression of knowing Virgil personally. He had been a stockbroker.
His welcome was extremely bright. He bowed over Lady Marway's hand. “Ah, my dear!” he said to Helen, regarding a beauty that made him sigh. He turned to Sir John. “How you bring my bachelorhood home to me, Jack!” His laughter was cunning, his eyes full of merry glances.
The Dean was quiet, gentle-mannered, pale, with a smile that lingered on his face as he listened. There was a quality about him, immediately arresting, even forceful. Only after a time did one gather that it centred in the eyes.
Mr. Blair's second guest was Colonel Brown, a tall, strongboned man of sixty, with the intelligent practical expression that has been used to directing the evolution and organisation of an army's mechanised units. Difficulties called out his ingenuity and a guarded sense of humour. His wife was to have been with him, but she had been caught into the social whirl of arranging for a daughter's wedding.
Thus Lady Marway became the hostess of the evening.
At dinner all their doings, their luck and mishaps at sport, the names of mutual friends, the usual topics, were touched upon. It was not until they were going to join the ladies in the large comfortable library that Mr. Blair, who loved his food and wine, became properly aware of Geoffrey's slight limp. “My dear fellow, you must tell us about that fall of yours. May I take your arm?”
“Not at all,” said Geoffrey. “A slight muscular stiffness that will be quite gone by to-morrow, I hope.”
“In the mist? Did I hear you say you were caught at night?”
“Yes.”
“Butâwasn't that extraordinarily dangerous? Shouldn't you have sat down until the morning?”
“By all the rules, yes.”
“And you didn't? Youââ” He bowed to the ladies. “We could not leave you more than five minutes.” When he had all his guests seated, he stood for a moment, saying, “We must hear about Mr. Smith's adventure in the mist. I once got lost myself. But, fortunately, never in the dark. I should be grateful for a few tips. Do you mind?”
“Not at all,” said Lady Marway. “Even ifâwe don't want quite to have its anxiety again.”
“Of course, you would have been anxious!” He turned to Geoffrey. “How
did
it happen?”
“Oh, simply enough,” said Geoffrey, warmed by the good port. “In the rigours of the chase, my stalker and I got separated. The mist was thick and then the night came downâand there I was.”
“You would be!” said Mr. Blair. “Jove, you would! And you kept going?”
Geoffrey described how he had kept going and fallen over.
“That was a narrow squeak,” said Colonel Brown.
“And after that?” asked Mr. Blair.
“Oh, I lay for a bit, until I got too uncomfortably cold. Then I set off again. I was making fair headway, when Harry's stalker found me. We waited till the dawn.”
“Did he have to go far to find you?” asked Colonel Brown.
“Right into the heart of the forest,” said Geoffrey.
“That seems pretty miraculous, if it was dark as all that, doesn't it?” The Colonel kept looking at Geoffrey.
“Oh, it was,” said Geoffrey, with solemn malice; “it was quite a miracle. But, as Miss Marway here will tell you, he has second sight.”
They all looked at Helen.
“That is Mr. Smith's idea”, she explained, “of making a joke.”
Geoffrey's released laugh rattled out. Mr. Blair and his two guests smiled, looking from Geoffrey to Helen. Obviously here was a house joke, with some amusing personalities behind it. And presently the Colonel asked Geoffrey: “Purely as a matter of curiosityâfor mist is one of our bogeysâhow do you think the stalker found you? What is his technique?”
“I don't know,” said Geoffrey. “I assume he worked out the way I should be likely to come and chanced it.”
“George,” said Helen, with a smile, “what about those five shillings?”
“I object!” said George. Then he rushed upon an explanation of the bet.
Geoffrey kept silent, enjoying himself.
“All the same,” said Mr. Blair. “It was an extraordinary featâhowever it was done. Really extraordinary.” And he asked some more questions; until at last the Dean inquired in his clear, rather low-pitched voice:
“Had you any real reason to suspect second sight?”
At once there was complete silence, for as they looked at the Dean they came under the influence of his eyes. His pale skin had a faintly ivory pallor, worn fine, like old monastery parchment, as if the inner mind had worked outward upon it.
His question was directed at Geoffrey, who knew that his hostess would rather he let the subject lie, and yet who could not resist the temptation to score over certain others of his party by exposing their superstition.
“I don't know about real reason,” he said, with apparent hesitancy. “The trouble is you never do get any reason from the inherently superstitious type of mind. You get statements, of course. However, I may go so far as to say that certain young members of our party are disposed to believe that the stalker in question has second sight.”
The Dean smiled. “But surely not without some evidence?”
“Oh, I assure you the evidence was most striking,” said Geoffrey.
The Dean looked along the young smiling faces and settled silently on Harry.
“He is merely trying to get one back on me for having had the worst of an argument over an experience I had alone with this stalker.” Harry smiled. “The stalker's experience was certainly very striking. But if you don't mind, sir, I would rather not go into it again.”
After a moment's silence, Mr. Blair said, “That seems quite the authentic attitude. You know old Farquharâyou've met himâwith the long beard?”
Sir John nodded.
“Well, he's remarkably interesting on the subject. I've been trying to check up some of his stuff, but I can only find one or two Highland books dealing with the matter. He seems genuinely moved.”
“Quite,” said Sir John. “None of them means not to be genuine. There can, however, be self-deceptionâand a rumour can grow. In India, we had too often to deal with what was demonstrably, and in fact, superstition to permit credulity to move us unduly.”
“I suppose you had,” said the Dean. “All the same, we cannot quite dismiss a real spiritual or mental experience merely because it arouses dubious reactions in the minds of others, can we? In science, when you discover an exception to a law, you invalidate the law. But a superstition does not in that sense invalidate a spiritual truth. The difficulty here, of course, is extremely complex. But therefore to dismiss the difficulty is surely an over-simplification.”
“I quite agree,” said Sir John. “The difficulty is one of assessing the evidence. And it would appear to be almost insuperable.”
“At any given moment a difficulty which cannot be surmounted, whether in physics or psychology, is in fact insuperable,” said the Dean quietly. “But that does not deter either scientist or psychologist. Why? Because past experience has shown us that patient investigation tends to surmount the difficulty.”
“But the only way that I know”, said Geoffrey, “of surmounting the difficulty is by testing the evidence. If all the available evidence does not make a conclusive case, then you are compelled to dismiss the truth or reality of that which the evidence was supposed to prove.”
“Granted, but only after assuming two things. First, that all the available evidence, all of it, is brought forward for test and, second, that those who assess the evidence are in fact competent to assess it.”
“Granted,” said Geoffrey.
The Dean smiled slowly as he looked at Geoffrey. “There is just one further point. All the evidence at present available may not be all the evidence available to-morrow or ultimately.”
“I am afraid”, said Geoffrey, meeting the smile, “that my interest is in physics rather than in metaphysics.”
The Dean leaned back, enjoying the thrust.
“Now let us apply that”, said Mr. Blair, with his jolliest speculative expression, “to this business of second sight. I have a feeling that in a moment we shall be in the region of intuition, when the ladies shall be able to lead our stumbling conclusions to esoteric heights.”
“I wonder why”, said Marjory, “there should be this flattering assumption on the part of man that women are not quite capable of the grave refinement of reason?”
Other books
Origin by J.T. Brannan
Loving Teacher by Jade Stratton
Thursdays with the Crown by Jessica Day George
Fire Eye by Peter d’Plesse
Secrets on Cedar Key by Terri DuLong
Mine to Have: A Claimed Story by Jade Sinner
IF I WERE YOUR WOMAN by Taylor-Jones, LaConnie
Vintage Pleasures by London, Billy
Cracks in the Sidewalk by Crosby, Bette Lee
House Rules by Rebecca Brooke