The Vast Abyss

“Come, my boy, I must cross-examine you,” continued Uncle Richard. “Out with it. There is always to be perfect confidence between us two.”

“Yes, uncle,” cried Tom passionately, “but don’t make me speak. It is only a suspicion, and I may be wrong.”

“I’ll tell you if you are, Tom, my boy. You heard what I said – there must be perfect confidence between us two. When that ceases, which I think will never be, you and I will part.”

“But it seems so hard, so brutal to say such a thing when perhaps it is all imagination, and due perhaps to one’s not liking some one else.”

“True, Tom,” said Uncle Richard gravely; “but we must have out the truth. Come, I’ll help you, for I’m afraid I think as you do – you fancy it was your cousin Sam?”

Tom nodded quickly.

“Why?”

Tom tightened his lips as if saying, “I won’t speak,” but his uncle’s eyes were searching him, and in a slow, faltering way he said —

“I don’t think Pete Warboys would break in here to steal valuable papers, uncle.”

“No; it hardly seems likely, Tom. Go on.”

“And – and I thought – must I go on, uncle?”

“Yes, boy, to the bitter end,” said his uncle sternly.

“I thought, uncle, that as Uncle James had given me those papers, which made me rich instead of him, my cousin Sam had felt disappointed, and come down here at night, asked Pete Warboys to help him – ”

“But he did not know Pete Warboys.”

“Only a little, uncle; he had seen him. He might have asked him to get him the ladder.”

“Might, Tom; but that looks doubtful. Well?”

“And then, as I could not find out that anything else was stolen – or taken,” said Tom, correcting himself, “except those papers, I thought that it must have been Cousin Sam.”

“Nothing else stolen but those papers? – you mean the packet you saw me put in the drawer here?”

“Yes, uncle, in the big envelope. There was nothing else taken but them, and some of the other papers.”

“Sure, Tom?”

“Yes, quite sure, uncle; and this made me think that nobody else was likely to take them – nobody else would care to do such a thing. But, uncle – ”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think I mind much. I never expected to have any money, except what I could earn for myself; and if it was Sam – ”

“What, who came and broke open this bureau like any burglar would?”

“Yes, uncle,” said Tom sadly; “if you too really think it was Sam.”

“Stop a moment, boy. Had your cousin any notion as to what was kept in that bureau?”

“I’m afraid so, uncle. When he came down here, and I took him about and showed him the place, I remember he asked me what was kept there, and I said you kept your valuable papers there.”

“Humph!” ejaculated Uncle Richard.

“But if you do think it could have been Sam – ”

“Stop again, sir,” cried Uncle Richard; “are you keeping anything back? Are you sure that you did not recognise him by some word, or when you were near the window? Did you not get a glimpse of his face?”

“No, uncle,” said Tom firmly. “I never once had the slightest idea as to whom it could be, till I began to think about it after the struggle, and he had got away. Then I’m afraid I made sure it was he.”

“Humph!”

“But if you think it was he, uncle – ”

“I do think it was, Tom. I feel sure of it, my boy.”

“But you won’t punish him, uncle?”

“I have punished him, Tom.”

“What, you knew, and you have done this?” cried Tom excitedly, as he sprang from his seat, and caught his uncle by the arm.

“I have punished him, Tom, and most severely.”

“Uncle! I’d sooner have given up the money a dozen times over. I wish I’d never known of it. Think what it means. Why, a magistrate would treat him like a thief.”

“Well, he is a thief,” said Uncle Richard sternly.

“Yes; but oughtn’t we to hide it from the world, uncle? He is only a boy, and it will spoil his whole life. I’d give the money, I say, a dozen times over sooner than he should be punished. Boys are stupid and thoughtless, uncle; they often do things in haste that they would not do if they considered first, and such a little thing sometimes means so much afterwards.”

“Was this a little thing, Tom?”

“No, uncle,” cried Tom piteously; “but it would be so horrible. He is my own cousin.”

“Yes, Tom, and my own brother’s son.”

“Yes, uncle; and he never liked me, and I never liked him, but I can’t stand by and let you punish him without saying a word.”

“Then you mean to tell me, Tom, that you would let him go scot free, sooner than have him punished for trying to take again what is your heritage?”

“Yes, uncle, I would,” cried Tom excitedly, “every penny, sooner than he and my aunt and uncle should come to disgrace.”

“But they behaved badly to you, sir.”

“Perhaps I deserved some of it, uncle.”

“Then you must have been a bad one, Tom.”

“Yes, uncle, I’m afraid so. But you will let him off? Perhaps he’ll repent and send the papers back.”

“The same way as foxes do with the farmers’ chickens,” said Uncle Richard, smiling.

“Uncle, it is too serious to laugh at,” cried Tom indignantly. “Sam Brandon is your own nephew.”

“Yes, Tom, and all you say is in vain. I have punished him severely for a cruel, cowardly robbery.”

“But you’ll do no more, uncle?” cried Tom. “Humph! Well, no, I think I may say that I shall do no more. Possibly I shall never see him again.”

“Ah, I don’t mind that, uncle,” cried Tom anxiously. “But tell me – how – what you have done. I would not speak to anybody, and kept it all so quiet till you came, uncle, because of that. You – you haven’t put it in the hands of the police?”

“How could I, my boy, when I knew nothing of the robbery until you told me this morning?”

“But you said you had punished him, uncle.”

“So I have – cruelly.”

“I don’t understand you,” said Tom, with his brow puckered-up, and some of the old ideas about his uncle’s sanity creeping back into his mind.

“I suppose not, Tom; but I have punished your cousin all the same – unconsciously of course.”

“I wish you’d tell me what you mean, uncle,” said Tom, with his face one mass of puckers and wrinkles.

“I will, Tom. No; I would never be the man to bring the law to bear on my own brother or nephew, though on your account I should have taken pretty stern measures to enforce restitution of any papers that had been stolen; but I have, without knowing it, allowed your cousin alone, or perhaps incited, to come down here in my absence, and cunningly attempt to get those deeds back into his or his father’s possession.”

“Oh, uncle! you don’t think – ”

“Silence. I don’t want to think or surmise, Tom. I only want for you and me to be left alone to our own devices, and you keep interrupting me when I want to explain.”

Tom made a deprecating gesture.

“Unconsciously, I say, I have punished your cousin, for he came down here and stole some worthless papers.”

“No, uncle,” said Tom sadly; “the deeds are gone.”

“Yes, my boy,” said Uncle Richard; “on second thoughts I felt that it was my duty to place them in a safe depository, and I took them up to London when I went, and saw them locked up in the deed-box with my other valuable papers, and then placed in the strong-room at my lawyer’s, where they are out of every would-be scoundrel’s reach.”

“Uncle!” cried Tom excitedly.

“Well, Tom?”

“I am glad.”

“That the papers are safe?”

“Bother the old papers!” cried Tom; “that you have punished him like that.”

Then the lad burst into a fit of peculiar laughter, and became calm the moment after.

“Come on, uncle,” he cried; “I want to show you the three plane mirrors that I’ve ground.”

“Beauties, Tom,” said Uncle Richard a few minutes later. “Tom, my lad, you’re my dear sister’s son, and the queerest boy I ever met.”

“Am I, uncle?” said Tom dryly.

“Yes, my lad.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Not a bit, Tom. I’m glad.”

“Then hooray! let’s get to work. I want to see the moon with the new plane mirror.”

“Moon, bah! You’re lunatic enough as it is, boy.”

Tom gave his uncle a comical look, and then shyly held out his hand, which was gripped in a clasp which made him wince.

Chapter Forty Seven

There was a heavy post one morning at breakfast, and as Mrs Fidler glanced at the letters, she screwed up her face and turned her eyes upon Tom, to shake her head as much as to say, “What work, what work!”

For to write a letter was a terrible effort to Mrs Fidler. She could write a beautifully clear hand, as the names of the contents of her jampots bore witness, but, as she confided to Tom, it was “such a job to find the next word to set down.”

One of the letters was so big and legal-looking in its broad blue envelope, whose ragged edges told that it was lined with linen, that it took Tom’s eye at once; but Uncle Richard merely slit it open, peered inside, and laid it beside his plate till the meal was at an end.

“I’m going up into the laboratory, Tom,” he said then, and left the room.

“That means he’d like me to go too,” thought Tom, and in a minute or two he followed, and caught sight of Pete at the end of the lane watching him, with his dog at his heels, but only to turn off and walk away.

“Does that mean mischief?” thought Tom, as he went into the mill, and he shook his head as he felt that Pete was a hopeless case.

To his surprise, on entering the laboratory, where Uncle Richard was seated before the bureau with the great letter before him, he was saluted with —

“I see there’s your protégé Pete Warboys banging about again. He is always watching this place, or waiting for you to go and play with him.”

“You mean fight with him, uncle,” said Tom dryly.

“Well, that does seem more in your way. Mr Maxted says you’re winning him over, but I doubt it.”

“Yes, uncle, so do I,” said Tom, smiling.

“I feel in doubt,” continued Uncle Richard, “whether I ought not to have tried to prove whether it was really he who helped to break in here. But there: I only want to be left in peace, and a month’s imprisonment would do him harm, and bring out matters I want forgotten. Ever seen these before?”

He drew some legal-looking documents from the big envelope and held them out.

“The other papers that were stolen from that drawer, uncle?”

“Yes,” said Uncle Richard, looking very stern as he took them back and threw them into the receptacle, which he then locked up, and pocketed his keys. “Which is it, Tom – repentance, or because they are of no use to the thief?”

“Let’s hope it is the first, uncle,” replied Tom gravely, and his uncle uttered a long, deep-toned —

“Hah!” Then, “Come along, and let’s think of something pleasanter, my boy.”

They went up into the observatory, where the new diagonal mirror Tom had ground and silvered was fitted into the telescope; and that night being gloriously clear, the new addition was tested, and proved to be almost perfect.

“As nearly perfect as we shall get it, Tom,” said Uncle Richard; and then till quite late a glorious evening was spent, searching the dark depths of space for twin stars, Tom having a goodly share of the observations; and when he was not using the glass making shift with the star-finder, and listening the while to his uncle’s comments upon that which he saw.

The telescope was directed at the double star Castor; which, with Pollux, was glittering brightly in the black-looking sky, when Uncle Richard made way for the boy to take his place.

“Wonderfully clear, uncle.”

“But do you notice anything particular?”

“Yes; I was going to say, it’s like it is sometimes when the moon is low-down; the air seems to be all in a quiver.”

“That is so, Tom. People don’t, as a rule, think that they can see the atmosphere, but you can see it to-night all in motion. I think it means wind.”

“Wind blowing hard a very long way up?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“Oh!” ejaculated Tom.

“What’s the matter?”

“It was so sudden. A cloud has swept right across.”

Uncle Richard stepped up to the opening, and looked out into the night.

“Yes,” he said, “we may shut up for the night; there’s a dense black curtain of clouds drawing across the sky. Come and look. Ah! how brilliant!”

Tom started. He had just taken his eye from the great glass, when the interior of the observatory was lit up for an instant by a flash of lightning, and as soon as his dazzled eyes mastered the intense darkness which followed, he joined his uncle, and looked out of the great shutter opening, to see the singular sight, of one-half of the heavens brilliantly illuminated with the countless orbs, while the Milky Way was clearly defined; the other of an inky blackness, moving steadily, cutting off star after star, till two-thirds of the sky was darkened, and in half-an-hour, when the shutter was drawn over and fastened, not a star was to be seen.

“We are going to have a wild night, Tom, I think,” said Uncle Richard; and as he spoke there was a rumbling noise amongst the woodwork overhead, caused by a passing blast. “There, let’s go in.”

Coffee was waiting when they went in, after leaving all safe, and very welcome, for they were both shivering. Soon after bed was sought, and Tom dropped into a deep sleep, from which he was roused by a rattling at his door, while some one else seemed to be shaking his window. Then there was a rumble like thunder in the chimney, and the beating at the door.

“Tom! wake up, lad!”

“Yes! All right!” cried the boy, springing out of bed. “Anything the matter, uncle?”

“Yes. Terrible storm. The big shutter has been torn open, and is beating about on the top of the mill.”

“All right; I’ll go and fasten it,” cried Tom, beginning to dress rapidly, and waking up more and more to the fact that a wild storm was raging. Every now and then, after a great deal of shrieking and howling, as if the wind was forcing itself through crack and cranny, there came a loud heavy bass booming sound, as a vast wave of air broke upon the house, making the windows seem to be on the point of falling in, while the slates upon the roof clattered and the chimneys shook.

“My word, it blows!” muttered Tom, as he buttoned up his jacket tightly, and hurried down-stairs, to find that there were lights in the kitchen and dining-room, while in the hall stood Mrs Fidler, in a wonderful costume of dressing-gown, shawl, and night-cap.

“What a storm, my dear!” she said.

“You up?”

“Oh yes, my dear; it was impossible to lie. I’ve lit the kitchen fire, for poor cook is in hysterics, and Maria is sobbing and crying – quite helpless.”

“How silly!” muttered Tom. “Where’s uncle?”

“Here I am. Ready?”

For Uncle Richard appeared with a ready-lit lantern and the keys.

“We shall have to go out by the front door, Tom; the wind’s worse on the other side of the house.”

“I’m ready, uncle.”

“Pray take care, sir,” said Mrs Fidler. “If one of the sails of that mill is blown off – oh, dear, dear, what am I thinking about?”

“What indeed, Mrs Fidler! Be ready to close the door after us, for the wind has tremendous force. – Come along, Tom.”

He led the way, opened the door, and the wind rushed in, banging others, setting pictures swinging, whisking a couple of hats off their pegs, and rushing up into the house with a roar.

Mrs Fidler strove to close the door as they passed out, but failed, and Tom had to help, holding on by the handle, and dragging the door to.

Outside, the evergreens were beaten down, and the loose strands of the different creepers were flogging wall and trellis-work in a way which forbode destruction to both tree and trellis. Twice over Tom had to turn his back to get his breath, and in the darkness he could see the ornamental conifers of the garden bent over like grass; while from a short distance away, where the pine-wood commenced, there was a tremendous roar, as of breakers during a storm. Fir-trees in a soft breeze murmur like the sea; in a gale the resemblance is startling.

Half-way to the yard gate Tom was caught by a sudden blast, buffeted, and, staggering hard, had again to turn his back before he could get his breath; while as the gate was reached, another blast caught the lantern, swung it against the post, the glass was broken, and puff, the light went out.

“We must go back,” said Uncle Richard, with his lips close to Tom’s ear.

“No, all right; there’s a box of matches in the table-drawer up-stairs.”

They pushed on, Tom closing the gate, which was nearly torn from his hand, while, as they ascended to the mill, the wind came with redoubled violence, and they had quite a struggle to get, to the door.

“It is terrible,” panted Uncle Richard, as soon as they were inside with the door closed, and the wind shrieking and roaring around the tall building as if seeking to sweep it away.

They mounted in profound darkness to the laboratory, where the matches were found, and all the time the trap-door overhead was being lifted a few inches every minute, and fell with a clap, while the shrieking of the wind, and the rattling and banging of the woodwork in the observatory, sounded ominous of danger to the work of many, many months.

“Time we came, Tom,” said Uncle Richard grimly, as the lantern was lit, and the broken pane replaced by the covers torn from an old book just about the size.

“Yes, quite,” replied Tom. “Come on.”

He stepped quickly to the ladder-like stairs, sprang up, threw open the trap-door, and was about to enter the room, when the trap-door was flung back upon him violently.

“Hurt?” shouted Uncle Richard.

“Yes; not much,” cried Tom, and thrusting the trap-door open again, he forced it back, and, aware now of the danger, held it firmly as he got up; and then, while his uncle followed with the light, closing it again directly and securing it with a bolt.

Tom’s heart beat as the dim light of the lantern was thrown upon the great telescope, for fear that it should have met with injury, but to his great delight the top was directed right away from the open shutter, which now gave evidence of its loose state by yielding to the pressure of the wind, and giving a tremendous bang.

“Now, Tom, how are we to stop that?” shouted Uncle Richard, for the roar through the opening, mingled with hissing and shrieking, was deafening.

“Don’t know,” yelled the boy, as he crept to the opening and found that the wind had wrenched it open, and turned it right over upon the roof. “Must do something,” he shouted again, as he drew in his head.

“If we don’t the wind will end by lifting off this roof, and destroying my glass.”

“Cord’s broke,” said Tom in a momentary lull of the wind. Then the roar began again, and the building quivered, while the shutter was lifted and beaten down again with a bang.

Then, from somewhere out in the darkness, came a tremendous roaring crash, apparently very near.

“What’s that?” cried Tom; “house blown down?”

“One of the big elms on the green for certain. Hark!”

Tom was hearkening, for directly after there was another crash, and another.

“No doubt about it,” said Uncle Richard. “One has struck the other, and the great elms have gone down like skittles.”

“There goes another,” cried Tom, as there was a fresh crash, which sounded louder than either of those which preceded it. “But I don’t want our observatory to go, uncle. You put the light down on the other side, where it’ll be sheltered from the wind, and I’ll get out into the gallery and try if I can drag the shutter over, and then we must nail it in its place.”

“Impossible, my lad. You could not stand out there without being blown off.”

“But I must, uncle. – If the wind comes in – ”

Whoo!

A tremendous squall struck the place, the shutter banged, the wooden dome roof rattled, and in the midst of the deafening din the wind drove in upon them with such force that they felt as if in the open air, and believed for the time that the round wooden top had been lifted off to go sailing away.

“That was a rum one, uncle,” cried Tom breathlessly. “Now then, I must go, before another comes.”

“No, no, my lad; life is of more consequence than observatories; it is not safe for you to go.”

“But I shall be all right if you hold me tightly,” cried Tom. “Come on.”

Uncle Richard gave way, and took a firm grip of the boy’s jacket as he climbed out through the shutter opening into the little gallery, where he reached over to get to the far edge of the shutter, to draw it to him, but the next moment he had crouched down and held on for dear life.

For, as if the storm had pounced upon him to tear him off the high building and sweep him away, down came the wind with a savage roar, and when for a few moments there was a slight lull, Tom yielded to the drag put on him by his uncle, and half climbed, half allowed himself to be lifted into the observatory.

“I never thought the wind could be so strong,” he panted breathlessly.

“It is terrible to-night. I must go myself.”

“You – uncle? Why, the place would hardly bear a man of your weight, and I couldn’t hold you up if you slipped.”

“Could you reach the edge of the shutter?”

“No, uncle, not by far enough.”

“That was as far as I could reach, too. We must give it up and risk everything.”

Tom gave his uncle a droll look, the light from the lantern shining dimly on his face.

“We can’t give it up, uncle. I’ll try again when the wind is not so strong.”

“But you could not reach, boy, and I dare not loose my hold even for a minute.”

“’Tis awkward,” shouted Tom; “but we must do something. Stop a minute: I know. Rope.”

“Yes, of course, the new strong rope in the bottom of the tool-chest.”

Tom took the lantern, and as his uncle held up the trap-door, the boy went down, to return in two or three minutes with a small coil of thin, thoroughly trustworthy new rope, and a hammer and some strong nails; and as soon as the lantern and trap-door were secured, he began to knot the rope round his waist.

“I don’t like letting you go, Tom,” said Uncle Richard, with his lips to the boy’s ear.

“And I don’t like to go, uncle; but this knot can’t slip, and you won’t loose me.”

“No; you may depend upon that, my lad.”

“Very well, then: look here. I’ve brought the hammer and some nails. We can’t fasten the shutter safely here, it would only break away again.”

“Then it is of no use, boy; we must let the place take its chance.”

“We won’t, uncle,” screamed Tom, to make himself heard. “Look here: I know. Where I touched the nearest corner of the shutter it’s broken-away, so I shall get out in the gallery, turn it over into its place, and nail it down from outside.”

“Are you mad?” cried Uncle Richard. “How are you going to get in?”

“Shan’t get in. You’ll let me down outside.”

“Absurd, boy! The rope would be shut in the door, even if I would harbour such a wild scheme for a moment.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” shouted Tom; “the rope would run through the broken-away corner.”

“Nonsense, it is impossible. The place must go.”

Whoo! came the wind again; and once more it seemed as if the roof was to be lifted off like a gigantic umbrella, and carried far away by the storm.

“I must go and do it,” cried Tom.

“No, no, no!” shouted Uncle Richard. “Let’s go down – we may be hurt.”

“Uncle, the telescope! – all our work! Oh, I can’t come away.”

“But it is risking your life, boy.”

“’Tisn’t, uncle,” cried Tom desperately. “You can hold me tightly with the rope. I should put some nails in my pocket – so, and stick the hammer handle down inside my jacket – so, and then climb out quickly while you held tightly by the rope, and – Just like this, uncle.”

And before he could be checked, Tom stepped to the opening, and with the rapidity born of habit lifted himself out, and then holding on by the sill, lowered his legs into the little gallery.

Uncle Richard darted forward to seize him, but another terrific blast struck the mill, pinning Tom against the woodwork, and literally driving his uncle back from the opening, while the telescope swung round upon its pivot, and various objects were blown to the far side.

For the full space of a minute it seemed as if the dome-like roof must be torn off, while, to add to the confusion and horror, the lantern was blown over and went out, leaving them in utter darkness.