The Spider and the Fly

The captain did so.

"Got it? Pull it down and climb."

The captain, without hesitation, did as he was commanded, and as his feet left the tomb felt the wire drawn up.

Slowly and carefully, for it was a perilous undertaking, he ascended, helped thereto by the knots and projections which had been made in the slender rope.

When he had reached what seemed to him a terrific height, he heard Job's voice below.

"Hold tight, and when your feet touch, give way."

Then the rope, moved by some agency over which Job had control below, commenced to swing to and fro, and the captain, with one leg extended, felt his feet touch the narrow ledge.

Presently he heard Job beside him, and the man's cool, audacious grin in his ears.

"It bean't a lady's staircase, be it?" he said; "but it answers the purpose, and cuts off the communication. Now follow me, steady, and remember that a false step is death."

At last, by the glimmer of the lantern which Job had now unmasked, the captain saw among the ivy a small door.

"Here we go in," said Job. "Stand back a bit; it opens outward."

"But," said the captain, now driven to desperation, "it is impossible. A step back is death."

"Cling to the ivy, then, and don't look down," retorted Job, coolly.

The captain took the advice, and Job opened the door.

With a spring, the captain landed beyond the threshold beside Job, and wiped the cold sweat from his brow.

Job grinned.

"A hard bit, bean't it? But it's nothing when you are used to it. I've done it, off and on, three times a week, for the last three years. Now see: In front of ye is the master's study. This old door, by a whim of his, was left behind the bookcase; the bookcase opens out to it, and it was through that, ye see, we came t'other night. Look'ee here."

He touched a spring as he spoke, and passed through the opening bookcase into the study.

The change of scene from the dark horror of the narrow ledge and its abyss below to the dust-covered room with its modern furniture was striking and extraordinary.

"Now step carefully," said Job.

The captain, who had practiced that maneuver, obeyed, and the two men cleared as narrow a strip of dust as possible.

"That will be all right when we come back," said Job.

As he spoke he diverted the captain's attention for a moment, and in that moment touched the spring of the opposite bookcase.

The bookcase drew back, and a gust of air, damp and chilly, rose from the aperture.

It was that chilly, moist atmosphere which the captain had noticed when the ghost disappeared.

"Subterranean," he said.

"Ay," said Job.

He threw the light down the dark deep hole.

"A rope ladder," said the captain.

"Ay," said Job. "Get down."

Job closed the door carefully, and stepped on to the ladder, following close upon the captain.

"Careful!" he warned. "Some of the steps be gone."

The warning was not unneeded, for as he spoke the captain's feet slipped through one of the missing links, and the ladder swayed to and fro.

After a silent descent for some moments he felt his feet touch the ground once more. He waited until Job came with the light, and then saw that he was standing in a small apartment cut out of the solid rock, and with only two means of egress apparent – the one by the ladder down which he had descended, and the other by a round hole just large enough to admit the body of a full-grown man.

"We are now just under the house, captain," said Job, turning the lantern. "Up above us they be comfortably asleep in their beds – rum, bean't it?"

With the lantern suspended to his neck, he commenced crawling through the hole, and the captain, whose courage was pretty severely tested, followed.

Dark and dank, the way seemed interminable.

At last the roof gradually widened.

The men raised their heads and so eased their rigid necks, and presently Job stood upright and threw the light upon a large cavern.

Their way lay now over the natural bed of a series of caverns, and as they proceeded the boom of the sea came plainly to their ears.

At last a gust of exquisite fresh, briny air blew upon them, and Job, as he masked the lantern, said:

"We're close upon the open sea. Give us your hand, captain."

So guided, the captain passed over the slippery rocks, and presently heard Job's feet plash into the water.

He was himself the next moment in the sea up to his knees; but though the shock was so sudden that it took away his breath it was grateful and refreshing.

"Not a word! Don't move," said Job.

They walked in silence, and as they walked there came before the captain's eye another scene.

Another high, dreary cliff, with two men hand-in-hand looking out upon the mighty ocean and waiting!

Presently Job bent down his ear.

"Crouch," he said. "I can see the coast guard's lantern. It's old Bolt. He's getting on in years and does his beat with a light. Ha! ha! There's an advantage, captain. When he's passed, we've got a clear half hour."

"He's gone," he added, "and now for the signal."

Instantly, and for scarcely more than an instant, he turned out upon the sea that tiny beam of light. It was only for an instant, but eager, anxious eyes had been watching for that signal, and eager hands acted upon it.

Then the captain fancied that he heard some sound, but before he could distinguish it there glided a dark object close by his side.

It was a boat.

The next instant there was another, followed by another.

Then in the darkness and deep and impressive silence, lusty figures sprang into the water.

Round objects were handed from those in the boat to those wading to the cavern.

One was handed, or, rather, flung into the captain's arms, and with an excitement born of the scene, he fell to work with the others, William, Job and twenty messmates, the work of unloading was soon done.

The men went back in their boats, and Job, the captain and Willie remained behind.

With muffled oars the boats glided off.

In the secure silence the two men groped their way to a smaller cavern farther from the sea, and out of sight of the cliffs.

Then Job turned on the light and glanced with flushed, sweat-beaded face from Willie to the captain, who had thrown himself upon a rock and stood watching keenly.

"Well," said Willie, with a grim smile upon his grimed and sunburned face, "how do you like it, captain?"

"Very well," said the captain, "if it pays."

"Pays," chuckled the huge fisherman, drawing a small parcel from his breast. "Look at that!" and he unfastened the bundle and displayed a lightly-compressed heap of exquisite lace.

The captain's eyes glistened.

"Ah!" he said.

"Ah!" echoed Willie, while Job smiled with deep satisfaction. "Look at that," he continued, pointing to the barrels ranged along the side of the cavern.

"What is it?" asked the captain.

"Spirit," said Job, curtly. "Come, Will, no time for talking. Bear a hand here, captain."

The captain arose with alacrity, and, with quiet admiration at their sagacity, watched the two men scrape the sand away from the crevice of a rock, which, from its weed-grown and sand-filled chinks, looked as if it had stood unmoved or shaken since the time of its creation.

But Job and Willie applied their shoulders and rolled it away, discovering the mouth of a small cavern.

Into that, the captain counting, the barrels were rolled.

When they were all concealed the stone was replaced.

Then Job, glancing at the tide, said:

"In half an hour the sea will fill this place. You wouldn't like to wait, captain? Come along, then. Give me that bundle, Will."

And with the precious bundle in his breast Job led the return journey.

The three men, Job, Willie and the captain, traversed the subterranean passage as far as the cave.

Here Job paused and said:

"I'll let you into another secret, captain. From here there is another outlet, and a more comfortable one. We can't use it, not we rough men, because it's too near the house; but you can, because if you're found near the entrance, why, there'll be no questions asked."

"I see," said the captain. "I can say that I am taking a midnight stroll and a cigar."

"Will you have one?" asked Job, taking a bundle of cigars from a hole in the cave. "They're choice, they are; you can't buy 'em under five pounds a pound," and he paused.

"My share of the booty at present," said the captain. "I will light it when we get outside."

Job went to a corner and scraped some chalk from a small hole. He then inserted his hand in the hole and pulled out an iron rod like a bellpull.

This opened a small door a few feet farther along the chalk road, and Job nodded to it.

"Here you are, captain. It's a better road than the other; not so back-breaking: You'll want a light," and he held out the lantern.

"Thanks," said the captain.

He took the lantern, trimmed it, and passed into the passage.

"Good-night," he said; "you may shut the door."

The door slammed to swiftly, cutting off the sound of the men's voices, and the captain proceeded on his weird and ghostly way.

The passage was wider and higher, and the road not so painfully uncomfortable as that by which they had reached the cliffs.

He hurried on, and found himself more quickly than he had expected at the end of the long passage, which was terminated by a small door.

A bar of iron extending crossways protected it outside, and the long pin projecting inside fastened it.

The captain thrust the pin through and the door opened.

To his surprise, a gush of warm but pure air greeted him, and with a feeling of extreme satisfaction he knew that he was once more above ground.

Before the door was a large round bush, which effectually concealed it from observation.

Pushing the bush aside with some difficulty the captain looked out and saw that he was in a portion of the disused garden nearest the house.

With a thrill of delight he extinguished the flickering flame in the lantern and pushed his way through the bush, taking care to replace the disturbed branches.

Then he lit his cigar, and with his hands in his pockets, sauntered on, preoccupied, and was somewhat startled by a footstep and a sudden sensation of some one's hands at his throat.

Before he could realize the situation he was on his back.

With an exclamation deep and low, he threw up his arms and struggled with his assailant.

In a moment he had regained his feet and there the advantage was lost again, for the assailant pinned him to the wall of the house, and, in a stern voice, inquired:

"Who are you, fellow?"

"What!" exclaimed the captain, as the familiar tones smote his ear, "what! Leicester Dodson!"

"Captain Howard Murpoint!" exclaimed Leicester, for it was he, dropping his grasp from the captain's arm and staring in the dim light.

The captain shook himself and glared with an evil hatred at the stalwart figure.

"You are late, Mr. Dodson, and pugilistic."

"You are late," said Leicester, utterly ignoring the latter part of the speech, and speaking in a stern and suspicious tone. "You are out late, and if there is any excuse for my attack, that and the fact of a man's figure prowling round the house at such an unwonted hour must supply it."

"Prowling!" said the captain. "Prowling is a strong term to apply to the stroll a gentleman may take at any hour in the grounds of the house at which he is a guest. It is not so strange or unwarrantable a term to apply to the uninvited and unwelcome presence of a comparative stranger."

There was reason in the retort, but Leicester disregarded it or willfully misunderstood it.

"I saw you come from behind that bush," he said, pointing to the bush which concealed the door and in vain striving to get a clear idea of the expression on the captain's face.

"Not that, but another," said the captain, readily. "I had been to light a cigar, the wind preventing it here in the open. I cannot recognize your right to put these questions, and I cannot understand your ground for doing so. May I ask, and I ask as the friend of Mrs. Mildmay, and as John Mildmay's friend, what business brought you here so late; here in the private grounds of the Park, and so close to the house?"

Leicester remained silent for a moment.

"It is a fair question," he said, at last, "and I will answer it. You cannot be ignorant that an interest attaches to these premises," and he glanced at the ruins. "There is something there to excite the curious. I may have come to see the ghost."

The captain smiled grimly.

"Have you seen it?" he asked.

"I have," said Leicester.

The captain was almost guilty of a start.

"You are more fortunate than I," he said. "I have not seen it. It is true that I have been walking on the wrong side of the house. I am particularly the unfortunate party, for if I am not mistaken, your fingers have left their marks on my arms and chest."

"I am very sorry," said Leicester. "I beg you will impute all you have suffered to my excess of zeal for the protection of Mrs. Mildmay's property. To be candid, I took you for a burglar – "

"Burglars do not go about their work with a cigar," said the captain, quietly.

"Or worse," said Leicester. "Either a burglar or one of the villains who for some purpose of their own are playing the ghost trick."

The captain smiled and eyed Leicester keenly.

"You think, then," he said, "that the ghost is a trick of some of the village boys?"

"Or villains," said Leicester. "I am sure there is some trickery at the bottom of it, and I cannot conceive a man playing it for so long without an end in view. However, this is not the time for a ventilation of the subject. I am sorry I made the mistake, and I apologize."

The captain bowed.

"I am not very much hurt," he said. "Another time, perhaps, when you take your stroll of investigation round the Park you will please to give me warning, and I will keep to my room."

Leicester bowed, as if the words were meant seriously and had no covert sneer.

"By the way," he said, "are you aware that your window is wide open, and that there is a light burning in the room?"

"Perfectly," said the captain, who had quite forgotten the fact, "perfectly. I set it open to air the room, and the light was left to frighten the ghost."

"I will find some more effectual way of doing that," said Leicester, decisively. "Good-night."

"Good-night," said the captain, and Leicester, no nearer the truth as regarded the true character of the man he suspected, strode away.

The captain waited until his firm footstep had died out on the hard road, and then went softly to the back of the house.

With great care and circumspection, he drew his rope from the ivy and climbed to his room.

CHAPTER XIX

A BITTER PARTING

Leicester had spoken the truth when he had said, in answer to the captain's inquiry, that he had been out to see the ghost.

But he had another object.

Since the morning when he had come upon the captain seated in the ruined chapel he could not rid himself of the suspicion that the captain was implicated in the eavesdropping of his servant, Jem, and that the astute and plausible master was the prime mover and director of some plot, while Jem was only the machine or tool.

Thereupon, not being able to sleep, partly from his unhappiness concerning Violet, and his disquietude born of his suspicion, he had sauntered out and made his way to the Park.

While there he had caught a glimpse of the ghost flitting past the ruins.

He was about to pursue it when he saw the captain emerging from behind the bush.

Instantly suspecting that it was one of the gang, he bore down upon him, as we have seen.

And now he told himself he was as far from the truth as ever.

Like the captain, he sank into a chair and gave himself up to thought, with this result:

"Why should I waste time and energy on a futile object? It is like a horse turning a mill to grind wind! Violet Mildmay will marry Lord Fitz, the intellectual and the talented! She has made up her mind to marry a coronet," he murmured, bitterly, "and she would not marry Leicester Dodson, the tallow-melter's son, if he remained hanging at her apron strings until doomsday. As for Captain Howard Murpoint, he may be an honest man and he may not. I was not born to solve the problem or to bring him to justice. Let the world wag on its way; as for me, I will arise, shake off this infatuation, for it is nothing better, and seek fresh fields and pastures new. I shall have something to do in Africa, and I shall forget her."

He took from the drawers a quantity of necessary articles of clothing and packed them in the portmanteau. When it was filled he locked it and attached a label addressed, "To be taken in the yacht to the Isle of Man, where the skipper will put in until I come."

"I'll go overland," he muttered, "to cut the journey short, and they shall pick me up there."

Then he carried the portmanteau into his dressing-room and placed it where his valet could see it.

The man was used to acting on such curt and sudden instructions, and would convey the portmanteau, with its terse command, to the skipper of the yacht the first thing in the morning.

Having made his arrangements so far, Leicester slowly undressed and got to bed.

"I must wake early," he thought. "Bertie is going to-morrow, and must know of my intended flight or he would feel hurt."

But the morning came and he was sound asleep when Bertie knocked at the door.

"I'm going, old fellow," he called through the keyhole. "Don't get out of bed. Good-by; I shall be back in a couple of days."

"Good-by," said Leicester, drowsily, half asleep and half awake, and Bertie was gone.

Could either have forseen even for twenty hours how different would have been the parting of the friends!

When he came into the breakfast-room he found his mother, fond and thoughtful ever, waiting at the table to see that he had his breakfast comfortably.

"Has Bert gone?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mrs. Dodson, with a little laugh. "He and your father went off together; and I was almost glad to get rid of them, for Mr. Fairfax fidgeted dreadfully."

After breakfast, Leicester, who felt anything but cheerful and high-spirited, strolled out to the cliff.

He looked down at the sea and missed the yacht from the harbor directly.

"Sailed," he thought. "All the better. I will wait until Bert comes back, and then hurrah for Afric's golden sands."

He might say "hurrah!" but he did not feel very jubilant.

With a not altogether unaccountable heaviness he sauntered down to the village.

All was going on as usual, and as he passed the "Blue Lion" he saw the usual little knot of idlers collected at the bar.

Among the voices he could distinguish that of Jem Starling's raised in turbulent tones.

Then he passed down the street to the beach.

The fishermen were busy with their nets, and old Job, the carrier, stood, with pipe in mouth, looking on.

The men touched their caps, and Job gave him a rough, kindly good-day.

Ten minutes afterward, and before he was scarcely out of sight, Captain Murpoint came down the path, sauntering very much after Leicester's fashion, with a Bengal cheroot in his mouth.

With his placid smile upon his face he sauntered down the beach.

"Well, my men," he said, "good night's fishing? Beautiful morning," and then passed on.

But as he passed Job he whispered in his ear:

"Meet me at sunset behind the chapel. There is danger."

Job, by a motion with his pipe, intimated that he heard and would comply, and the captain, in his turn, passed on.

He, too, as he had gone by the "Blue Lion" had heard the strident tones of Jem's harsh voice and had felt rather disgusted.

As he returned he looked in and saw Jem leaning against the bar in a state bordering upon intoxication.

Jem saw him, but instead of welcoming him with a respectful salute scowled fiercely and sullenly.

The captain thought that it was feigned, and with a cool, "Good-morning, my man. So you've not left the village yet," was about to stroll on, but Jem, upon whom a great change had fallen, rendering him suspicious of every one, even of his lord and master, shambled on after him.

"What d'ye mean?" he hiccoughed. "Didn't yer tell me to stop here? Why don't yer say what yer mean? What's a man to do to please yer?"

The captain, with an alarmed and passionate frown on his face, turned upon him, and after glancing round to see if any one was near, said, savagely:

"Silence, you idiot! Go home, and come to me to-night, in the chapel."

"No, I don't," returned Jem, with a half-drunken shake of the head. "I don't go near no chapels! I've had enough of them!"

"The cliff, then," said the captain, torn by passion and the fear that some one would overhear them. "The cliff, you miserable hound. Come sober, for there's work to do. Do you understand?"

"I understand," said Jem, sullenly. "I'm sensible enough, ain't I?"

The captain's reply was a look so full of ominous evil that if a look could kill Jem's days would have been ended there and then.

There was no time to say more, for footsteps were approaching.

The captain hurried on, bursting with rage and apprehension.

Lord Fitz rose to meet him as he entered the drawing-room.

On his boyish face there was an anxious, nervous look which would at any other time have greatly amused the captain.

"How do you do, captain?" he said, shaking hands twice in an absent, flustered manner. "I – I came over to see Mrs. Mildmay – I mean Miss Mildmay, but she can't be found. Mrs. Mildmay's gone to look for her. You haven't seen her, I suppose?"

"No," said the captain, smiling. "She won't be found far off, I expect. I know some of her favorite seats. Why don't you go and help to search?"

"Oh, I don't know whether she'd like it, you know," said his lordship, with a wise shake of the head.

"Faint heart never won fair lady," said the captain, significantly.

Lord Fitz flushed and looked at him eagerly.

"What do you mean?" he stammered. "Do you know what I've come about, eh? You don't mean to say – "

Then it flashed upon the captain that Lord Fitz had come to propose for Violet's hand.

Here was another tangle!

With a readiness not to be too much commended, the captain pretended to misunderstand him.

"Ah, ha! some sly plan for an outing or a picnic, eh? Well, well, we must find her. Ah, here is Mrs. Mildmay," he said, quickly, as Mrs. Mildmay entered the room.

"I am so sorry, Lord Boisdale," she said, "but Violet is in her room, with a bad headache, and sent me to ask you to excuse her."

"Cer – tainly," said Lord Fitz, half relieved and half disappointed. "I – I think I'll go now. I'm sorry Vio – I mean Miss Mildmay – has a headache. Can I call at the doctor's as I go back – I mean, can I do anything?"

"Oh, no, thank you," said Mrs. Mildmay.

Then Lord Fitz took up his hat and nervously said good-by.

The midday post brought a letter from Mr. Thaxton.

He would have the honor of waiting upon Miss Mildmay on the morrow.

The letter broke the dreary monotony of the day, for Violet had kept to her rooms and put in no appearance at dinner.

The evening was setting in, cool and pleasant, the air seemed to woo her from her retreat.

She caught up her sun-hat, and with an attempt at gayety ran downstairs onto the lawn.

Opening a side gate, she stepped into the lane.

Still keeping up the effort to appear gay, if she really was not, she tripped along, singing, in a low, sweet voice, a merry refrain, the very refrain which she had sung with Lord Fitz.

The lane was a pretty one, little used, the grass in its center being scarcely trodden, and Violet, in her light muslin, looked like some Pagan pastoral divinity dropped from Paradise to cull earth's flowers. Beautiful, indeed, she looked to Leicester Dodson as, coming round the green, flower-grown corner, he came suddenly upon her.

"What a beautiful evening," he said, scarcely knowing what she said. "I have been gathering some wild flowers."

"So I see," he said, curtly, looking down at them. "It is almost a needless sacrifice, considering the hectacombs of choicer ones offered daily; you have flowers in abundance on your tables. But it is a woman's way to spoil and spare not. It does not matter, Miss Mildmay, flowers are but flowers and of little consequence. But there are other things higher in the scale which a woman gathers with reckless mood, to fling aside with wanton scorn. You ask me what they are?" he continued, standing stern and passionate before her. "I answer – hearts. 'Hearts are only hearts,' you may reply, but I tell you, Miss Mildmay, as one who speaks from sad experience, that a man's heart counts for something in the universe, and that a man's life is too high a thing to be wasted for a woman's toy."