the captives-第88部分

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〃No；〃　said　Maggie。　〃Cardinal。〃

〃I'll　go　and　see。〃　The　woman　disappeared；　whilst　the　old　man　brushed　past　Maggie　as　though　she　were　a　piece　of　furniture；　he　departed　on　some　secret　purpose　of　his　own。

〃What　a　horrible　place！〃　thought　Maggie。　〃Uncle　must　be　in　a　bad　way　if　he　comes　here。　I　never　should　sleep　for　the　noise　of　the　sea。〃

The　woman　returned。　〃Yes。　'E's　here。　No。　5。　Come　this　afternoon。　Up　the　stairs　and　second　door　on　the　right。〃

The　stairs　to　which　she　pointed　offered　a　gulf　of　darkness。　The　woman　was　gone。　The　noises　from　the　bar　had　ceased。　The　only　sound　in　the　place　was　the　thundering　of　the　sea；　roaring；　as　it　seemed；　at　the　very　foot　of　the　house。

Maggie　climbed　the　stairs。　Half…way　up　she　was　compelled　to　pause。　The　darkness　blinded　her；　she　had　lost　the　reflection　from　the　lamp　below　and；　above　her；　there　was　no　light　at　all。　She　advanced　slowly；　step　by　step；　feeling　her　way　with　a　hand　on　the　rickety　bannisters。　At　the　top　of　the　stair　there　was　a　gleam　of　light　and；　turning　to　the　right；　she　knocked　on　the　second　door。　There　was　no　answer　and　she　knocked　again。　Listening；　the　noise　of　the　sea　was　now　so　violent　that　she　fancied　that　she　might　not　have　heard　the　answer　so　she　turned　the　handle　of　the　door　and　pushed　it　open。　She　was　met　then　by　a　gale　of　wind；　a　rush　of　the　sea　that　seemed　as　imminent　as　though　she　were　on　the　shore　itself　and　a　dim　grey　light　that　revealed　nothing　in　the　room　to　her　but　only　shapes　and　shadows。

She　knew　at　once　that　the　windows　must　be　wide　open；　she　could　hear　some　papers　rustling　and　something　on　the　wall　tapped　monotonously。

〃Uncle　Mathew！〃　she　whispered；　and　then　she　called　more　loudly。

〃Uncle　Mathew！　Uncle　Mathew！〃

There　was　no　answer　and　suddenly　a　strange；　quite　unreasoning　terror　caught　her　by　the　throat。　It　was　all　that　she　could　do　not　to　cry　out　and　run　down　to　the　gas…lit　passage。　She　held　herself　there　by　sheer　force；　the　smell　of　the　sea　was　now　very　strong；　there　was　a　tang　of　rotten　seaweed　in　it。

As　she　remained　there　she　could　see　more　clearly；　but　it　seemed　that　the　room　was　full　of　some　dim　obscuring　mist。　She　moved　forward　into　the　room；　knocked　her　knee　against　a　table；　and　then　as　the　panic　gained　upon　her　called　more　loudly；　〃Uncle。　。　。　Uncle。　Are　you　in？　Where　are　you？　It's　I；　Maggie。〃

〃Oh　well。　。　。　of　course　he　isn't　here；〃　she　said　to　herself。　〃He's　downstairs。〃　And　yet；　strangely；　something　seemed　to　persuade　her　that　he　was　there；　it　was　as　though　he　were　maliciously　hiding　from　her　to　tease　her。

Feeling　her　way　cautiously；　her　hands　before　her　face；　she　moved　forward　to　close　the　windows；　thinking　that　she　must　shut　out　that　abominable　sound　of　the　sea　and　the　stale　stink　of　the　seaweed。　She　was　suddenly　caught　by　a　sweep　of　rain　that　wetted　her　hair　and　face　and　neck。　She　started　back　and　touched　a　piece　of　damp　cloth。　She　turned；　and　there；　very　close　to　her　but　above　her　and　staring　over　her　head；　was　Uncle　Mathew's　face。　It　was　so　close　to　her　that　she　could　have　touched　it　by　putting　up　her　hand。　It　was　white…grey　and　she　would　not　have　seen　it　at　all　had　she　not　been　very　near　to　it。

She　realised　nothing；　but　she　felt　that　her　knees　were　trembling　and　that　she　would　fall　if　she　did　not　steady　herself。　She　put　out　her　hand　and　clutched　damp　heavy　thick　cloth；　cloth　that　enwrapped　as　it　seemed　some　weighty　substance　like　stone　or　brick。

She　passed　her　hand　upwards　and　suddenly　the　damp　cloth　gave　way　beneath　her　fingers；　sinking　inwards　against　something　soft　and　flabby。　She　sprang　away。　She　stood　for　one　shuddering　moment；　then　she　screamed　again　and　again；　shrieking　and　running；　as　it　were　for　her　life；　out　of　the　room；　down　the　passage。　She　could　not　find　the　staircase。　Oh！　she　could　not　find　the　staircase！　She　stood　there；　leaning　against　the　damp　wall；　crying：　〃Oh　help！　Help！　Quickly！〃

There　were　steps　and　voices；　then　the　woman　whom　she　had　seen　before　appeared　at　the　turn　of　the　stair　holding　a　lamp。

〃What　is　it？〃　she　asked；　raising　the　light　high。　Maggie　did　not　answer；　only　leaning　there　and　staring　down。

〃You'd　better　come；　Bill；〃　the　woman　said。　〃There's　something　wrong　up　'ere。〃

The　woman　came　up　the　stairs　followed　by　two　men；　they　moved　cautiously　as　though；　they　expected　to　find　something　terrible　round　the　next　corner。

〃What　is　it？〃　said　the　woman　again　when　she　came　up　to　Maggie。　But　Maggie　made　no　answer。　They　pushed　past　her　and　went　into　the　room。　Maggie　followed　them。　She　saw　the　room　obscured　by　mist；　she　heard　some　whispering　and　fumbling；　then　a　match　was　struck；　there　was　a　bead…like　flare　followed　suddenly　by　the　flaming　of　a　candle。　In　the　quick　light　the　room　was　bright。　Maggie　saw　her　uncle　hanging　from　some　projection　in　the　rough　ceiling。　A　chair　was　overturned　at　his　feet。　His　body　was　like　a　bag　of　old　clothes；　his　big　boots　turning　inwards　towards　one　another。　His　face　was　a　dull　grey　and　seemed　cut　off　from　the　rest　of　his　body　by　the　thick　blue　muffler　that　encircled　his　neck。　He　was　grinning　at　her；　the　tip　of　his　tongue　protruded　at　her　between　his　teeth。　She　noticed　his　hands　that　hung　heavily　like　dead　fish。

After　that　she　knew　no　more　save　that　the　sea　seemed　to　rush　in　a　great　flood；　with　a　sudden　vindictive　roar；　into　the　room。




CHAPTER　IX

SOUL　OF　PAUL


Nothing　so　horrible　had　ever　happened　to　Paul　before；　nothing　。　。　。

He　felt　as　though　he　had　committed　a　murder；　it　was　as　though　he　expected　arrest　and　started　at　every　knock　on　the　door。　Nothing　so　horrible　。　。　。

It　was；　of　course；　in　all　the　Skeaton　papers。　At　the　inquest　it　appeared　that　Mathew　Cardinal　had　imitated　the　signature　of　a　prosperous　City　friend；　had　he　not　chosen　his　own　way　out　he　would　have　discovered　the　arduous　delights　of　hard　labour。　But　he　had　chosen　suicide　and　not　〃while　of　unsound　mind。〃　Yes；　the　uncle　of　the　Rector's　wife　。　。　。　Yes；　The　Rector's　Wife's　Uncle　。　。　。　Yes；　The　Rector's　Wife's　Uncle！

Sho　discovered　him；　bumped　right　into　him　in　the　dark。　What　a　queer　storylike　a　novel。　Oh；　but　she　had　always　been　queerTrenchard　had　picked　her　up　somewhere　in　a　London　slum；　well；　perhaps　not　a　slum　exactly　but　something　very　like　it。　Why　did　he　marry　her？　Perhaps　he　had　to。　Who　knows？　These　clergymen　are　sly　dogs。　Always　the　worst　if　the　truth　were　known　。　。　。

So　it　went　on。　For　nine　whole　days　（and　nights）　it　was　the　only　topic　in　Skeaton。　Paul　caught　the　fringe　of　it。　He　had　never　known　very　much　about　his　fellow…beings。　He　had　always　taken　the　things　that　they　said　to　him　as　the　true　things；　when　they　smiled　he　had　thought　that　they　meant　their　smiles。　And　why　not？　。　。　。　since　he　always　meant　his。　He　had　always　been　too　lazy　to　dislike　people；　and　his　digestion　had　been　too　good　and　his　ambition　too　slender　to　urge　him　towards　spite　and　malice。　He　had　believed　that　he　was　on　excellent　terms　with　all　the　world。

Now　that　was　changed。　He　was　watched；　he　knew；　with　curious；　inquisitive；　critical　glances。　Through　no　fault　of　his　own　he　was　soiled　and　smirched。　That　hearty　confident　laugh　of　his　must　be　checked。　He　was　afraid。　Yes；　he　was　afraid。　He　sat　in　his　study　and　trembled　at　the　thought　of　meeting　his　congregation。　He　had　done　nothing　and　yet　his　reputation　was　no　longer　clean。　But　he　was　afraid；　also；　of　something　else。　He　saw；　desperately　against　his　will；　the　central　picture。　He　saw　the　body　hanging　in　the　dark　room；　Maggie　tumbling　against　it；　the　cries；　the　lights；　the　crowd　。　。　。　He　saw　it　all；　hour　after　hour。　He　was　not　an　imaginative　man；　but　it　seemed　to　him　that　he　had　actually　been　present　at　this　scene。　He　had　to　attend　the　inquest。　That　had　been　horrible。　With　all　eyes　upon　him　he　stood　up　and　answered　their　detestable　questions。　He　had　trembled　before　those　eyes。　Suddenly　the　self…confidence　of　all　his　life　had　left　him。　He　had　stammered　in　his　replies；　his　hands　had　trembled　and　he　had　been　forced　to　press　them　close　to　his　sides。　He　had　given　his　answers　as　though　he　were　a　guilty　man。

He　came　then　slowly；　in　the　silence　of　his　study；　to　the　consideration　of　Grace　and　Maggie。　This　would　kill　Grace。　She　had　altered；　in　a　few　days；　amazingly；　she　would　meet　nobody；　but　shut　herself　into　her　bedroom。　She　would　not　see　the　servants。　She　looked　at　Paul　as　though　she；　like　the　rest　of　the　world；　blamed　him。　Paul　loved　Grace。　He　had　not　known　before　how　much。　They　had　been　together　all　their　lives　and　he　had　taken　her　protection　and　care　of　him　too　much　for　granted。　How　good　she　had　been　to　him　and　for　how　many　years！　When　they　were　happy　it　seemed　natural　that　she　should　look　after　him；　but　now；　in　the　middle　of　this　scandal　he　saw　that　it　should　have　been　he　who　looked　after　her。　He　had　not　looked　after　her。　Of　course；　now　they　would　have　to　leave　Skeaton　and　he　knew　what　that　departure　would　mean　to　Grace。　She　was　suspicious　of　new　places　and　new　people。　Strange　to　think　now　that　almost　the　only　person　of　whom　she　had　not　been　suspicious　was　Maggie。

Maggie！　His　mind　slowly　wheeled　round　to　her。　He　rose　from　his　chair　and　began　clumsily　to　parade　the　room。　He　walked　up　and　down　the　study　as　though　with　closed　eyes；　his　large　body　bumping　against　corners　of　tables　and　chairs。　Maggie！　He　looked　back；　as　of　late　he　had　often　done；　to　those　days　in　his　cousin's　house　in　London。　What　had　happened　to　the　Maggie　whom　he　had　known　there？

He　saw　her　again；　so　quiet；　so　ready　to　listen　and　learn；　so　modest；　and　yet　with　a　humour　and　sense　of　appreciation　that　had　promised　well　for　the　future。　A　childan　ignorant；　charming；　uneducated　child；　that　is　what　she　had　seemed。　He　admitted　now　that　his　heart；　always　too　soft　and　too　gentle　perhaps；　had　been　touched　beyond　wisdom。　She　had　seemed　to　need　just　the　protection　and　advice　that　he　had　been　fitted　to　give　her。　Then；　as　though　in　the　darkness　of　the　night；　the　change　had　been　made；　from　the　moment　of　entering　into　Skeaton　there　had　been　a　new　Maggie。　He　could　not　tell　himself；　because　he　was　not　a　man　clever　at　psychology；　in　what　the　change　consisted。　Had　he　been　pressed　he　would　have　said　perhaps　that　he　had　known　the　old　Maggie　intimately；　that　nothing　that　she　could　say　or　do　astonished　him；　but　that　this　new　Maggie　was　altogether　a　stranger。　Time　had　not　altered　that；　with　the　passi