第 八 章 · SURVIVALS

. SURVIVALS

At breakfast Sir Nathaniel noticed that Adam was put out about something,

but he said nothing. The lesson of silence is better remembered in age

than in youth. When they were both in the study, where Sir Nathaniel

followed him, Adam at once began to tell his companion of what had

happened. Sir Nathaniel looked graver and graver as the narration

proceeded, and when Adam had stopped he remained silent for several

minutes, before speaking.

"This is very grave. I have not formed any opinion yet; but it seems to

me at first impression that this is worse than anything I had expected."

"Why, sir?" said Adam. "Is the killing of a mongoose--no matter by

whom--so serious a thing as all that?"

His companion smoked on quietly for quite another few minutes before he

spoke.

"When I have properly thought it over I may moderate my opinion, but in

the meantime it seems to me that there is something dreadful behind all

this--something that may affect all our lives--that may mean the issue of

life or death to any of us."

Adam sat up quickly.

"Do tell me, sir, what is in your mind--if, of course, you have no

objection, or do not think it better to withhold it."

"I have no objection, Adam--in fact, if I had, I should have to overcome

it. I fear there can be no more reserved thoughts between us."

"Indeed, sir, that sounds serious, worse than serious!"

"Adam, I greatly fear that the time has come for us--for you and me, at

all events--to speak out plainly to one another. Does not there seem

something very mysterious about this?"

"I have thought so, sir, all along. The only difficulty one has is what

one is to think and where to begin."

"Let us begin with what you have told me. First take the conduct of the

mongoose. He was quiet, even friendly and affectionate with you. He

only attacked the snakes, which is, after all, his business in life."

"That is so!"

"Then we must try to find some reason why he attacked Lady Arabella."

"May it not be that a mongoose may have merely the instinct to attack,

that nature does not allow or provide him with the fine reasoning powers

to discriminate who he is to attack?"

"Of course that may be so. But, on the other hand, should we not satisfy

ourselves why he does wish to attack anything? If for centuries, this

particular animal is known to attack only one kind of other animal, are

we not justified in assuming that when one of them attacks a hitherto

unclassed animal, he recognises in that animal some quality which it has

in common with the hereditary enemy?"

"That is a good argument, sir," Adam went on, "but a dangerous one. If

we followed it out, it would lead us to believe that Lady Arabella is a

snake."

"We must be sure, before going to such an end, that there is no point as

yet unconsidered which would account for the unknown thing which puzzles

us."

"In what way?"

"Well, suppose the instinct works on some physical basis--for instance,

smell. If there were anything in recent juxtaposition to the attacked

which would carry the scent, surely that would supply the missing cause."

"Of course!" Adam spoke with conviction.

"Now, from what you tell me, the negro had just come from the direction

of Diana's Grove, carrying the dead snakes which the mongoose had killed

the previous morning. Might not the scent have been carried that way?"

"Of course it might, and probably was. I never thought of that. Is

there any possible way of guessing approximately how long a scent will

remain? You see, this is a natural scent, and may derive from a place

where it has been effective for thousands of years. Then, does a scent

of any kind carry with it any form or quality of another kind, either

good or evil? I ask you because one ancient name of the house lived in

by the lady who was attacked by the mongoose was 'The Lair of the White

Worm.' If any of these things be so, our difficulties have multiplied

indefinitely. They may even change in kind. We may get into moral

entanglements; before we know it, we may be in the midst of a struggle

between good and evil."

Sir Nathaniel smiled gravely.

"With regard to the first question--so far as I know, there are no fixed

periods for which a scent may be active--I think we may take it that that

period does not run into thousands of years. As to whether any moral

change accompanies a physical one, I can only say that I have met no

proof of the fact. At the same time, we must remember that 'good' and

'evil' are terms so wide as to take in the whole scheme of creation, and

all that is implied by them and by their mutual action and reaction.

Generally, I would say that in the scheme of a First Cause anything is

possible. So long as the inherent forces or tendencies of any one thing

are veiled from us we must expect mystery."

"There is one other question on which I should like to ask your opinion.

Suppose that there are any permanent forces appertaining to the past,

what we may call 'survivals,' do these belong to good as well as to evil?

For instance, if the scent of the primaeval monster can so remain in

proportion to the original strength, can the same be true of things of

good import?"

Sir Nathaniel thought for a while before he answered.

"We must be careful not to confuse the physical and the moral. I can see

that already you have switched on the moral entirely, so perhaps we had

better follow it up first. On the side of the moral, we have certain

justification for belief in the utterances of revealed religion. For

instance, 'the effectual fervent prayer of a righteous man availeth much'

is altogether for good. We have nothing of a similar kind on the side of

evil. But if we accept this dictum we need have no more fear of

'mysteries': these become thenceforth merely obstacles."

Adam suddenly changed to another phase of the subject.

"And now, sir, may I turn for a few minutes to purely practical things,

or rather to matters of historical fact?"

Sir Nathaniel bowed acquiescence.

"We have already spoken of the history, so far as it is known, of some of

the places round us--'Castra Regis,' 'Diana's Grove,' and 'The Lair of

the White Worm.' I would like to ask if there is anything not

necessarily of evil import about any of the places?"

"Which?" asked Sir Nathaniel shrewdly.

"Well, for instance, this house and Mercy Farm?"

"Here we turn," said Sir Nathaniel, "to the other side, the light side of

things. Let us take Mercy Farm first. When Augustine was sent by Pope

Gregory to Christianise England, in the time of the Romans, he was

received and protected by Ethelbert, King of Kent, whose wife, daughter

of Charibert, King of Paris, was a Christian, and did much for Augustine.

She founded a nunnery in memory of Columba, which was named _Sedes

misericordioe_, the House of Mercy, and, as the region was Mercian, the

two names became involved. As Columba is the Latin for dove, the dove

became a sort of signification of the nunnery. She seized on the idea

and made the newly-founded nunnery a house of doves. Someone sent her a

freshly-discovered dove, a sort of carrier, but which had in the white

feathers of its head and neck the form of a religious cowl. The nunnery

flourished for more than a century, when, in the time of Penda, who was

the reactionary of heathendom, it fell into decay. In the meantime the

doves, protected by religious feeling, had increased mightily, and were

known in all Catholic communities. When King Offa ruled in Mercia, about

a hundred and fifty years later, he restored Christianity, and under its

protection the nunnery of St. Columba was restored and its doves

flourished again. In process of time this religious house again fell

into desuetude; but before it disappeared it had achieved a great name

for good works, and in especial for the piety of its members. If deeds

and prayers and hopes and earnest thinking leave anywhere any moral

effect, Mercy Farm and all around it have almost the right to be

considered holy ground."

"Thank you, sir," said Adam earnestly, and was silent. Sir Nathaniel

understood.

After lunch that day, Adam casually asked Sir Nathaniel to come for a

walk with him. The keen-witted old diplomatist guessed that there must

be some motive behind the suggestion, and he at once agreed.

As soon as they were free from observation, Adam began.

"I am afraid, sir, that there is more going on in this neighbourhood than

most people imagine. I was out this morning, and on the edge of the

small wood, I came upon the body of a child by the roadside. At first, I

thought she was dead, and while examining her, I noticed on her neck some

marks that looked like those of teeth."

"Some wild dog, perhaps?" put in Sir Nathaniel.

"Possibly, sir, though I think not--but listen to the rest of my news. I

glanced around, and to my surprise, I noticed something white moving

among the trees. I placed the child down carefully, and followed, but I

could not find any further traces. So I returned to the child and

resumed my examination, and, to my delight, I discovered that she was

still alive. I chafed her hands and gradually she revived, but to my

disappointment she remembered nothing--except that something had crept up

quietly from behind, and had gripped her round the throat. Then,

apparently, she fainted."

"Gripped her round the throat! Then it cannot have been a dog."

"No, sir, that is my difficulty, and explains why I brought you out here,

where we cannot possibly be overheard. You have noticed, of course, the

peculiar sinuous way in which Lady Arabella moves--well, I feel certain

that the white thing that I saw in the wood was the mistress of Diana's

Grove!"

"Good God, boy, be careful what you say."

"Yes, sir, I fully realise the gravity of my accusation, but I feel

convinced that the marks on the child's throat were human--and made by a

woman."

Adam's companion remained silent for some time, deep in thought.

"Adam, my boy," he said at last, "this matter appears to me to be far

more serious even than you think. It forces me to break confidence with

my old friend, your uncle--but, in order to spare him, I must do so. For

some time now, things have been happening in this district that have been

worrying him dreadfully--several people have disappeared, without leaving

the slightest trace; a dead child was found by the roadside, with no

visible or ascertainable cause of death--sheep and other animals have

been found in the fields, bleeding from open wounds. There have been

other matters--many of them apparently trivial in themselves. Some

sinister influence has been at work, and I admit that I have suspected

Lady Arabella--that is why I questioned you so closely about the mongoose

and its strange attack upon Lady Arabella. You will think it strange

that I should suspect the mistress of Diana's Grove, a beautiful woman of

aristocratic birth. Let me explain--the family seat is near my own

place, Doom Tower, and at one time I knew the family well. When still a

young girl, Lady Arabella wandered into a small wood near her home, and

did not return. She was found unconscious and in a high fever--the

doctor said that she had received a poisonous bite, and the girl being at

a delicate and critical age, the result was serious--so much so that she

was not expected to recover. A great London physician came down but

could do nothing--indeed, he said that the girl would not survive the

night. All hope had been abandoned, when, to everyone's surprise, Lady

Arabella made a sudden and startling recovery. Within a couple of days

she was going about as usual! But to the horror of her people, she

developed a terrible craving for cruelty, maiming and injuring birds and

small animals--even killing them. This was put down to a nervous

disturbance due to her age, and it was hoped that her marriage to Captain

March would put this right. However, it was not a happy marriage, and

eventually her husband was found shot through the head. I have always

suspected suicide, though no pistol was found near the body. He may have

discovered something--God knows what!--so possibly Lady Arabella may

herself have killed him. Putting together many small matters that have

come to my knowledge, I have come to the conclusion that the foul White

Worm obtained control of her body, just as her soul was leaving its

earthly tenement--that would explain the sudden revival of energy, the

strange and inexplicable craving for maiming and killing, as well as many

other matters with which I need not trouble you now, Adam. As I said

just now, God alone knows what poor Captain March discovered--it must

have been something too ghastly for human endurance, if my theory is

correct that the once beautiful human body of Lady Arabella is under the

control of this ghastly White Worm."

Adam nodded.

"But what can we do, sir--it seems a most difficult problem."

"We can do nothing, my boy--that is the important part of it. It would

be impossible to take action--all we can do is to keep careful watch,

especially as regards Lady Arabella, and be ready to act, promptly and

decisively, if the opportunity occurs."

Adam agreed, and the two men returned to Lesser Hill.