BOOK IV: UNDER THE FLAGSTAFF

by Bram Stoker

　　RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.May 1, 1907.For some days after the last adventure I was in truth in a half-dazedcondition, unable to think sensibly, hardly coherently. Indeed, it wasas much as I could do to preserve something of my habitual appearance andmanner. However, my first test happily came soon, and when I was oncethrough it I reacquired sufficient self-confidence to go through with mypurpose. Gradually the original phase of stupefaction passed, and I wasable to look the situation in the face. I knew the worst now, at anyrate; and when the lowest point has been reached things must begin tomend. Still, I was wofully sensitive regarding anything which mightaffect my Lady of the Shroud, or even my opinion of her. I even began todread Aunt Janet's Second-Sight visions or dreams. These had a fatalhabit of coming so near to fact that they always made for a danger ofdiscovery. I had to realize now that the Lady of the Shroud might indeedbe a Vampire--one of that horrid race that survives death and carries ona life-in-death existence eternally and only for evil. Indeed, I beganto expect that Aunt Janet would ere long have some prophetic insight tothe matter. She had been so wonderfully correct in her propheticsurmises with regard to both the visits to my room that it was hardlypossible that she could fail to take cognizance of this last development.But my dread was not justified; at any rate, I had no reason to suspectthat by any force or exercise of her occult gift she might cause meconcern by the discovery of my secret. Only once did I feel that actualdanger in that respect was close to me. That was when she came early onemorning and rapped at my door. When I called out, "Who is that? What isit?" she said in an agitated way:"Thank God, laddie, you are all right! Go to sleep again."Later on, when we met at breakfast, she explained that she had had anightmare in the grey of the morning. She thought she had seen me in thecrypt of a great church close beside a stone coffin; and, knowing thatsuch was an ominous subject to dream about, came as soon as she dared tosee if I was all right. Her mind was evidently set on death and burial,for she went on:"By the way, Rupert, I am told that the great church on time top of thecliff across the creek is St. Sava's, where the great people of thecountry used to be buried. I want you to take me there some day. Weshall go over it, and look at the tombs and monuments together. I reallythink I should be afraid to go alone, but it will be all right if you arewith me." This was getting really dangerous, so I turned it aside:"Really, Aunt Janet, I'm afraid it won't do. If you go off to weird oldchurches, and fill yourself up with a fresh supply of horrors, I don'tknow what will happen. You'll be dreaming dreadful things about me everynight and neither you nor I shall get any sleep." It went to my heart tooppose her in any wish; and also this kind of chaffy opposition mightpain her. But I had no alternative; the matter was too serious to beallowed to proceed. Should Aunt Janet go to the church, she would surelywant to visit the crypt. Should she do so, and there notice theglass-covered tomb--as she could not help doing--the Lord only knew whatwould happen. She had already Second-Sighted a woman being married tome, and before I myself knew that I had such a hope. What might she notreveal did she know where the woman came from? It may have been that herpower of Second Sight had to rest on some basis of knowledge or belief,and that her vision was but some intuitive perception of my ownsubjective thought. But whatever it was it should be stopped--at allhazards.This whole episode set me thinking introspectively, and led me graduallybut imperatively to self-analysis--not of powers, but of motives. Ifound myself before long examining myself as to what were my realintentions. I thought at first that this intellectual process was anexercise of pure reason; but soon discarded this as inadequate--evenimpossible. Reason is a cold manifestation; this feeling which swayedand dominated me is none other than passion, which is quick, hot, andinsistent.As for myself, the self-analysis could lead to but one result--theexpression to myself of the reality and definiteness of an already-formedthough unconscious intention. I wished to do the woman good--to serveher in some way--to secure her some benefit by any means, no matter howdifficult, which might be within my power. I knew that I lovedher--loved her most truly and fervently; there was no need forself-analysis to tell me that. And, moreover, no self-analysis, or anyother mental process that I knew of, could help my one doubt: whether shewas an ordinary woman (or an extraordinary woman, for the matter of that)in some sore and terrible straits; or else one who lay under somedreadful condition, only partially alive, and not mistress of herself orher acts. Whichever her condition might be, there was in my own feelinga superfluity of affection for her. The self-analysis taught me onething, at any rate--that I had for her, to start with, an infinite pitywhich had softened towards her my whole being, and had already masteredmerely selfish desire. Out of it I began to find excuses for her everyact. In the doing so I knew now, though perhaps I did not at the timethe process was going on, that my view in its true inwardness was of heras a living woman--the woman I loved.In the forming of our ideas there are different methods of work, asthough the analogy with material life holds good. In the building of ahouse, for instance, there are many persons employed; men of differenttrades and occupations--architect, builder, masons, carpenters, plumbers,and a host of others--and all these with the officials of each guild ortrade. So in the world of thought and feelings: knowledge andunderstanding come through various agents, each competent to its task.How far pity reacted with love I knew not; I only knew that whatever herstate might be, were she living or dead, I could find in my heart noblame for the Lady of the Shroud. It could not be that she was dead inthe real conventional way; for, after all, the Dead do not walk the earthin corporal substance, even if there be spirits which take the corporalform. This woman was of actual form and weight. How could I doubt that,at all events--I, who had held her in my arms? Might it not be that shewas not quite dead, and that it had been given to me to restore her tolife again? Ah! that would be, indeed, a privilege well worth the givingmy life to accomplish. That such a thing may be is possible. Surely theold myths were not absolute inventions; they must have had a basissomewhere in fact. May not the world-old story of Orpheus and Eurydicehave been based on some deep-lying principle or power of human nature?There is not one of us but has wished at some time to bring back thedead. Ay, and who has not felt that in himself or herself was power inthe deep love for our dead to make them quick again, did we but know thesecret of how it was to be done?For myself, I have seen such mysteries that I am open to convictionregarding things not yet explained. These have been, of course, amongstsavages or those old-world people who have brought unchecked traditionsand beliefs--ay, and powers too--down the ages from the dim days when theworld was young; when forces were elemental, and Nature's handiwork wasexperimental rather than completed. Some of these wonders may have beenolder still than the accepted period of our own period of creation. Maywe not have to-day other wonders, different only in method, but not moresusceptible of belief? Obi-ism and Fantee-ism have been exercised in myown presence, and their results proved by the evidence of my own eyes andother senses. So, too, have stranger rites, with the same object and thesame success, in the far Pacific Islands. So, too, in India and China,in Thibet and in the Golden Chersonese. On all and each of theseoccasions there was, on my own part, enough belief to set in motion thepowers of understanding; and there were no moral scruples to stand in theway of realization. Those whose lives are so spent that they achieve thereputation of not fearing man or God or devil are not deterred in theirdoing or thwarted from a set purpose by things which might deter othersnot so equipped for adventure. Whatever may be before them--pleasant orpainful, bitter or sweet, arduous or facile, enjoyable or terrible,humorous or full of awe and horror--they must accept, taking them in theonward course as a good athlete takes hurdles in his stride. And theremust be no hesitating, no looking back. If the explorer or theadventurer has scruples, he had better give up that special branch ofeffort and come himself to a more level walk in life. Neither must therebe regrets. There is no need for such; savage life has this advantage:it begets a certain toleration not to be found in conventional existence.RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.May 2, 1907.I had heard long ago that Second Sight is a terrible gift, even to itspossessor. I am now inclined not only to believe, but to understand it.Aunt Janet has made such a practice of it of late that I go in constantdread of discovery of my secret. She seems to parallel me all the time,whatever I may do. It is like a sort of dual existence to her; for sheis her dear old self all the time, and yet some other person with a sortof intellectual kit of telescope and notebook, which are eternally usedon me. I know they are for me, too--for what she considers my good.But all the same it makes an embarrassment. Happily Second Sight cannotspeak as clearly as it sees, or, rather, as it understands. For thetranslation of the vague beliefs which it inculcates is both nebulous anduncertain--a sort of Delphic oracle which always says things which no onecan make out at the time, but which can be afterwards read in any one ofseveral ways. This is all right, for in my case it is a kind of safety;but, then, Aunt Janet is a very clever woman, and some time she herselfmay be able to understand. Then she may begin to put two and twotogether. When she does that, it will not be long before she knows morethan I do of the facts of the whole affair. And her reading of them andof the Lady of the Shroud, round whom they circle, may not be the same asmine. Well, that will be all right too. Aunt Janet loves me--God knowsI have good reason to know that all through these years--and whateverview she may take, her acts will be all I could wish. But I shall comein for a good lot of scolding, I am sure. By the way, I ought to thinkof that; if Aunt Janet scolds me, it is a pretty good proof that I oughtto be scolded. I wonder if I dare tell her all. No! It is too strange.She is only a woman, after all: and if she knew I loved . . . I wish Iknew her name, and thought--as I might myself do, only that I resistit--that she is not alive at all. Well, what she would either think ordo beats me. I suppose she would want to slipper me as she used to dowhen I was a wee kiddie--in a different way, of course.May 3, 1907.I really could not go on seriously last night. The idea of Aunt Janetgiving me a licking as in the dear old days made me laugh so much thatnothing in the world seemed serious then. Oh, Aunt Janet is all rightwhatever comes. That I am sure of, so I needn't worry over it. A goodthing too; there will be plenty to worry about without that. I shall notcheck her telling me of her visions, however; I may learn something fromthem.For the last four-and-twenty hours I have, whilst awake, been lookingover Aunt Janet's books, of which I brought a wheen down here. Geewhizz! No wonder the old dear is superstitious, when she is filled up tothe back teeth with that sort of stuff! There may be some truth in someof those yarns; those who wrote them may believe in them, or some ofthem, at all events. But as to coherence or logic, or any sort ofreasonable or instructive deduction, they might as well have been writtenby so many hens! These occult book-makers seem to gather only a lot ofbare, bald facts, which they put down in the most uninteresting waypossible. They go by quantity only. One story of the kind, wellexamined and with logical comments, would be more convincing to a thirdparty than a whole hecatomb of them.RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.May 4, 1907.There is evidently something up in the country. The mountaineers aremore uneasy than they have been as yet. There is constant going to andfro amongst them, mostly at night and in the grey of the morning. Ispend many hours in my room in the eastern tower, from which I can watchthe woods, and gather from signs the passing to and fro. But with allthis activity no one has said to me a word on the subject. It isundoubtedly a disappointment to me. I had hoped that the mountaineershad come to trust me; that gathering at which they wanted to fire theirguns for me gave me strong hopes. But now it is apparent that they donot trust me in full--as yet, at all events. Well, I must not complain.It is all only right and just. As yet I have done nothing to prove tothem the love and devotion that I feel to the country. I know that suchindividuals as I have met trust me, and I believe like me. But the trustof a nation is different. That has to be won and tested; he who wouldwin it must justify, and in a way that only troublous times can allow.No nation will--can--give full meed of honour to a stranger in times ofpeace. Why should it? I must not forget that I am here a stranger inthe land, and that to the great mass of people even my name is unknown.Perhaps they will know me better when Rooke comes back with that store ofarms and ammunition that he has bought, and the little warship he has gotfrom South America. When they see that I hand over the whole lot to thenation without a string on them, they may begin to believe. In themeantime all I can do is to wait. It will all come right in time, I haveno doubt. And if it doesn't come right, well, we can only die once!Is that so? What about my Lady of the Shroud? I must not think of thator of her in this gallery. Love and war are separate, and may notmix--cannot mix, if it comes to that. I must be wise in the matter; andif I have got the hump in any degree whatever, must not show it.But one thing is certain: something is up, and it must be the Turks.From what the Vladika said at that meeting they have some intention of anattack on the Blue Mountains. If that be so, we must be ready; andperhaps I can help there. The forces must be organized; we must havesome method of communication. In this country, where are neither roadsnor railways nor telegraphs, we must establish a signalling system ofsome sort. That I can begin at once. I can make a code, or adapt onethat I have used elsewhere already. I shall rig up a semaphore on thetop of the Castle which can be seen for an enormous distance around. Ishall train a number of men to be facile in signalling. And then, shouldneed come, I may be able to show the mountaineers that I am fit to livein their hearts . . .And all this work may prove an anodyne to pain of another kind. It willhelp, at any rate, to keep my mind occupied whilst I am waiting foranother visit from my Lady of the Shroud.RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.May 18, 1907.The two weeks that have passed have been busy, and may, as time goes on,prove eventful. I really think they have placed me in a differentposition with the Blue Mountaineers--certainly so far as those in thispart of the country are concerned. They are no longer suspicious ofme--which is much; though they have not yet received me into theirconfidence. I suppose this will come in time, but I must not try tohustle them. Already they are willing, so far as I can see, to use me totheir own ends. They accepted the signalling idea very readily, and arequite willing to drill as much as I like. This can be (and I think is,in its way) a pleasure to them. They are born soldiers, every man ofthem; and practice together is only a realization of their own wishes anda further development of their powers. I think I can understand thetrend of their thoughts, and what ideas of public policy lie behind them.In all that we have attempted together as yet they are themselves inabsolute power. It rests with them to carry out any ideas I may suggest,so they do not fear any assumption of power or governance on my part.Thus, so long as they keep secret from me both their ideas of high policyand their immediate intentions, I am powerless to do them ill, and Imay be of service should occasion arise. Well, all told, this is much.Already they accept me as an individual, not merely one of the mass. Iam pretty sure that they are satisfied of my personal bona fides. Itis policy and not mistrust that hedges me in. Well, policy is a matterof time. They are a splendid people, but if they knew a little more thanthey do they would understand that the wisest of all policies istrust--when it can be given. I must hold myself in check, and never bebetrayed into a harsh thought towards them. Poor souls! with a thousandyears behind them of Turkish aggression, strenuously attempted by bothforce and fraud, no wonder they are suspicious. Likewise every othernation with whom they have ever come in contact--except one, my own--hasdeceived or betrayed them. Anyhow, they are fine soldiers, and beforelong we shall have an army that cannot be ignored. If I can get so thatthey trust me, I shall ask Sir Colin to come out here. He would be asplendid head for their army. His great military knowledge and tacticalskill would come in well. It makes me glow to think of what an army hewould turn out of this splendid material, and one especially adapted forthe style of fighting which would be necessary in this country.If a mere amateur like myself, who has only had experience of organizingthe wildest kind of savages, has been able to advance or compact theirindividual style of fighting into systematic effort, a great soldier likeMacKelpie will bring them to perfection as a fighting machine. OurHighlanders, when they come out, will foregather with them, asmountaineers always do with each other. Then we shall have a force whichcan hold its own against any odds. I only hope that Rooke will bereturning soon. I want to see those Ingis-Malbron rifles either safelystored in the Castle or, what is better, divided up amongst themountaineers--a thing which will be done at the very earliest moment thatI can accomplish it. I have a conviction that when these men havereceived their arms and ammunition from me they will understand mebetter, and not keep any secrets from me.All this fortnight when I was not drilling or going about amongst themountaineers, and teaching them the code which I have now got perfected,I was exploring the side of the mountain nearest to here. I could notbear to be still. It is torture to me to be idle in my present conditionof mind regarding my Lady of the Shroud . . . Strange I do not mindmentioning the word to myself now. I used to at first; but thatbitterness has all gone away.RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.May 19, 1907.I was so restless early this morning that before daylight I was outexploring on the mountain-side. By chance I came across a secret placejust as the day was breaking. Indeed, it was by the change of light asthe first sun-rays seemed to fall down the mountain-side that myattention was called to an opening shown by a light behind it. It was,indeed, a secret place--so secret that I thought at first I should keepit to myself. In such a place as this either to hide in or to be able toprevent anyone else hiding in might on occasion be an asset of safety.When, however, I saw indications rather than traces that someone hadalready used it to camp in, I changed my mind, and thought that wheneverI should get an opportunity I would tell the Vladika of it, as he is aman on whose discretion I can rely. If we ever have a war here or anysort of invasion, it is just such places that may be dangerous. Even inmy own case it is much too near the Castle to be neglected.The indications were meagre--only where a fire had been on a little shelfof rock; and it was not possible, through the results of burningvegetation or scorched grass, to tell how long before the fire had beenalight. I could only guess. Perhaps the mountaineers might be able totell or even to guess better than I could. But I am not so sure of this.I am a mountaineer myself, and with larger and more varied experiencethan any of them. For myself, though I could not be certain, I came tothe conclusion that whoever had used the place had done so not many daysbefore. It could not have been quite recently; but it may not have beenvery long ago. Whoever had used it had covered up his tracks well. Eventhe ashes had been carefully removed, and the place where they had lainwas cleaned or swept in some way, so that there was no trace on the spot.I applied some of my West African experience, and looked on the roughbark of the trees to leeward, to where the agitated air, howeverdirected, must have come, unless it was wanted to call attention to theplace by the scattered wood-ashes, however fine. I found traces of it,but they were faint. There had not been rain for several days; so thedust must have been blown there since the rain had fallen, for it wasstill dry.The place was a tiny gorge, with but one entrance, which was hiddenbehind a barren spur of rock--just a sort of long fissure, jagged andcurving, in the rock, like a fault in the stratification. I could juststruggle through it with considerable effort, holding my breath here andthere, so as to reduce my depth of chest. Within it was tree-clad, andfull of possibilities of concealment.As I came away I marked well its direction and approaches, noting anyguiding mark which might aid in finding it by day or night. I exploredevery foot of ground around it--in front, on each side, and above. Butfrom nowhere could I see an indication of its existence. It was averitable secret chamber wrought by the hand of Nature itself. I did notreturn home till I was familiar with every detail near and around it.This new knowledge added distinctly to my sense of security.Later in the day I tried to find the Vladika or any mountaineer ofimportance, for I thought that such a hiding-place which had been used sorecently might be dangerous, and especially at a time when, as I hadlearned at the meeting where they did not fire their guns that theremay have been spies about or a traitor in the land.Even before I came to my own room to-night I had fully made up my mind togo out early in the morning and find some proper person to whom to impartthe information, so that a watch might be kept on the place. It is nowgetting on for midnight, and when I have had my usual last look at thegarden I shall turn in. Aunt Janet was uneasy all day, and especially sothis evening. I think it must have been my absence at the usualbreakfast-hour which got on her nerves; and that unsatisfied mental orpsychical irritation increased as the day wore on.RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.May 20, 1907.The clock on the mantelpiece in my room, which chimes on the notes of theclock at St. James's Palace, was striking midnight when I opened theglass door on the terrace. I had put out my lights before I drew thecurtain, as I wished to see the full effect of the moonlight. Now thatthe rainy season is over, the moon is quite as beautiful as it was in thewet, and a great deal more comfortable. I was in evening dress, with asmoking-jacket in lieu of a coat, and I felt the air mild and mellow onthe warm side, as I stood on the terrace.But even in that bright moonlight the further corners of the great gardenwere full of mysterious shadows. I peered into them as well as Icould--and my eyes are pretty good naturally, and are well trained.There was not the least movement. The air was as still as death, thefoliage as still as though wrought in stone.I looked for quite a long time in the hope of seeing something of myLady. The quarters chimed several times, but I stood on unheeding. Atlast I thought I saw far off in the very corner of the old defending walla flicker of white. It was but momentary, and could hardly haveaccounted in itself for the way my heart beat. I controlled myself, andstood as though I, too, were a graven image. I was rewarded by seeingpresently another gleam of white. And then an unspeakable rapture stoleover me as I realized that my Lady was coming as she had come before. Iwould have hurried out to meet her, but that I knew well that this wouldnot be in accord with her wishes. So, thinking to please her, I drewback into the room. I was glad I had done so when, from the dark cornerwhere I stood, I saw her steal up the marble steps and stand timidlylooking in at the door. Then, after a long pause, came a whisper asfaint and sweet as the music of a distant AEolian harp:"Are you there? May I come in? Answer me! I am lonely and in fear!"For answer I emerged from my dim corner so swiftly that she was startled.I could hear from the quivering intake of her breath that she wasstriving--happily with success--to suppress a shriek."Come in," I said quietly. "I was waiting for you, for I felt that youwould come. I only came in from the terrace when I saw you coming, lestyou might fear that anyone might see us. That is not possible, but Ithought you wished that I should be careful.""I did--I do," she answered in a low, sweet voice, but very firmly. "Butnever avoid precaution. There is nothing that may not happen here.There may be eyes where we least expect--or suspect them." As she spokethe last words solemnly and in a low whisper, she was entering the room.I closed the glass door and bolted it, rolled back the steel grille, andpulled the heavy curtain. Then, when I had lit a candle, I went over andput a light to the fire. In a few seconds the dry wood had caught, andthe flames were beginning to rise and crackle. She had not objected tomy closing the window and drawing the curtain; neither did she make anycomment on my lighting the fire. She simply acquiesced in it, as thoughit was now a matter of course. When I made the pile of cushions beforeit as on the occasion of her last visit, she sank down on them, and heldout her white, trembling hands to the warmth.She was different to-night from what she had been on either of the twoformer visits. From her present bearing I arrived at some gauge of herself-concern, her self-respect. Now that she was dry, and notovermastered by wet and cold, a sweet and gracious dignity seemed toshine from her, enwrapping her, as it were, with a luminous veil. It wasnot that she was by this made or shown as cold or distant, or in any wayharsh or forbidding. On the contrary, protected by this dignity, sheseemed much more sweet and genial than before. It was as though she feltthat she could afford to stoop now that her loftiness was realized--thather position was recognized and secure. If her inherent dignity made animpenetrable nimbus round her, this was against others; she herself wasnot bound by it, or to be bound. So marked was this, so entirely andsweetly womanly did she appear, that I caught myself wondering in flashesof thought, which came as sharp periods of doubting judgment betweenspells of unconscious fascination, how I had ever come to think she wasaught but perfect woman. As she rested, half sitting and half lying onthe pile of cushions, she was all grace, and beauty, and charm, andsweetness--the veritable perfect woman of the dreams of a man, be heyoung or old. To have such a woman sit by his hearth and hold her holyof holies in his heart might well be a rapture to any man. Even an hourof such entrancing joy might be well won by a lifetime of pain, by thebalance of a long life sacrificed, by the extinction of life itself.Quick behind the record of such thoughts came the answer to the doubtthey challenged: if it should turn out that she was not living at all,but one of the doomed and pitiful Un-Dead, then so much more on accountof her very sweetness and beauty would be the winning of her back to Lifeand Heaven--even were it that she might find happiness in the heart andin the arms of another man.Once, when I leaned over the hearth to put fresh logs on the fire, myface was so close to hers that I felt her breath on my cheek. Itthrilled me to feel even the suggestion of that ineffable contact. Herbreath was sweet--sweet as the breath of a calf, sweet as the whiff of asummer breeze across beds of mignonette. How could anyone believe for amoment that such sweet breath could come from the lips of the dead--thedead in esse or in posse--that corruption could send forth fragranceso sweet and pure? It was with satisfied happiness that, as I looked ather from my stool, I saw the dancing of the flames from the beech-logsreflected in her glorious black eyes, and the stars that were hidden inthem shine out with new colours and new lustre as they gleamed, risingand falling like hopes and fears. As the light leaped, so did smiles ofquiet happiness flit over her beautiful face, the merriment of the joyousflames being reflected in ever-changing dimples.At first I was a little disconcerted whenever my eyes took note of hershroud, and there came a momentary regret that the weather had not beenagain bad, so that there might have been compulsion for her putting onanother garment--anything lacking the loathsomeness of that pitifulwrapping. Little by little, however, this feeling disappeared, and Ifound no matter for even dissatisfaction in her wrapping. Indeed, mythoughts found inward voice before the subject was dismissed from mymind:"One becomes accustomed to anything--even a shroud!" But the thought wasfollowed by a submerging wave of pity that she should have had such adreadful experience.By-and-by we seemed both to forget everything--I know I did--except thatwe were man and woman, and close together. The strangeness of thesituation and the circumstances did not seem of moment--not worth even apassing thought. We still sat apart and said little, if anything. Icannot recall a single word that either of us spoke whilst we sat beforethe fire, but other language than speech came into play; the eyes toldtheir own story, as eyes can do, and more eloquently than lips whilstexercising their function of speech. Question and answer followed eachother in this satisfying language, and with an unspeakable rapture Ibegan to realize that my affection was returned. Under thesecircumstances it was unrealizable that there should be any incongruity inthe whole affair. I was not myself in the mood of questioning. I wasdiffident with that diffidence which comes alone from true love, asthough it were a necessary emanation from that delightful andoverwhelming and commanding passion. In her presence there seemed tosurge up within me that which forbade speech. Speech under presentconditions would have seemed to me unnecessary, imperfect, and evenvulgarly overt. She, too, was silent. But now that I am alone, andmemory is alone with me, I am convinced that she also had been happy.No, not that exactly. "Happiness" is not the word to describe either herfeeling or my own. Happiness is more active, a more conscious enjoyment.We had been content. That expresses our condition perfectly; and nowthat I can analyze my own feeling, and understand what the word implies,I am satisfied of its accuracy. "Content" has both a positive andnegative meaning or antecedent condition. It implies an absence ofdisturbing conditions as well as of wants; also it implies somethingpositive which has been won or achieved, or which has accrued. In ourstate of mind--for though it may be presumption on my part, I amsatisfied that our ideas were mutual--it meant that we had reached anunderstanding whence all that might come must be for good. God grantthat it may be so!As we sat silent, looking into each other's eyes, and whilst the stars inhers were now full of latent fire, perhaps from the reflection of theflames, she suddenly sprang to her feet, instinctively drawing thehorrible shroud round her as she rose to her full height in a voice fullof lingering emotion, as of one who is acting under spiritual compulsionrather than personal will, she said in a whisper:"I must go at once. I feel the morning drawing nigh. I must be in myplace when the light of day comes."She was so earnest that I felt I must not oppose her wish; so I, too,sprang to my feet and ran towards the window. I pulled the curtain asidesufficiently far for me to press back the grille and reach the glassdoor, the latch of which I opened. I passed behind the curtain again,and held the edge of it back so that she could go through. For aninstant she stopped as she broke the long silence:"You are a true gentleman, and my friend. You understand all I wish.Out of the depth of my heart I thank you." She held out her beautifulhigh-bred hand. I took it in both mine as I fell on my knees, and raisedit to my lips. Its touch made me quiver. She, too, trembled as shelooked down at me with a glance which seemed to search my very soul. Thestars in her eyes, now that the firelight was no longer on them, had goneback to their own mysterious silver. Then she drew her hand from minevery, very gently, as though it would fain linger; and she passed outbehind the curtain with a gentle, sweet, dignified little bow which leftme on my knees.When I heard the glass door pulled-to gently behind her, I rose from myknees and hurried without the curtain, just in time to watch her passdown the steps. I wanted to see her as long as I could. The grey ofmorning was just beginning to war with the night gloom, and by the faintuncertain light I could see dimly the white figure flit between shrub andstatue till finally it merged in the far darkness.I stood for a long time on the terrace, sometimes looking into thedarkness in front of me, in case I might be blessed with another glimpseof her; sometimes with my eyes closed, so that I might recall and hold inmy mind her passage down the steps. For the first time since I had mether she had thrown back at me a glance as she stepped on the white pathbelow the terrace. With the glamour over me of that look, which was alllove and enticement, I could have dared all the powers that be.When the grey dawn was becoming apparent through the lightening of thesky I returned to my room. In a dazed condition--half hypnotized bylove--I went to bed, and in dreams continued to think, all happily, of myLady of the Shroud.RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.May 27, 1907.A whole week has gone since I saw my Love! There it is; no doubtwhatever is left in my mind about it now! Since I saw her my passion hasgrown and grown by leaps and bounds, as novelists put it. It has nowbecome so vast as to overwhelm me, to wipe out all thought of doubt ordifficulty. I suppose it must be what men suffered--suffering need notmean pain--under enchantments in old times. I am but as a straw whirledin the resistless eddies of a whirlpool. I feel that I must see heragain, even if it be but in her tomb in the crypt. I must, I suppose,prepare myself for the venture, for many things have to be thought of.The visit must not be at night, for in such case I might miss her, didshe come to me again here . . .The morning came and went, but my wish and intention still remained; andso in the full tide of noon, with the sun in all its fiery force, I setout for the old church of St. Sava. I carried with me a lantern withpowerful lens. I had wrapped it up secretly, for I had a feeling that Ishould not like anyone to know that I had such a thing with me.On this occasion I had no misgivings. On the former visit I had for amoment been overwhelmed at the unexpected sight of the body of the womanI thought I loved--I knew it now--lying in her tomb. But now I knew all,and it was to see this woman, though in her tomb, that I came.When I had lit my lantern, which I did as soon as I had pushed open thegreat door, which was once again unlocked, I turned my steps to the stepsof the crypt, which lay behind the richly carven wood screen. This Icould see, with the better light, was a noble piece of work of pricelessbeauty and worth. I tried to keep my heart in full courage with thoughtsof my Lady, and of the sweetness and dignity of our last meeting; but,despite all, it sank down, down, and turned to water as I passed withuncertain feet down the narrow, tortuous steps. My concern, I am nowconvinced, was not for myself, but that she whom I adored should have toendure such a fearful place. As anodyne to my own pain I thought what itwould be, and how I should feel, when I should have won for her a way outof that horror, at any rate. This thought reassured me somewhat, andrestored my courage. It was in something of the same fashion which hashitherto carried me out of tight places as well as into them that at lastI pushed open the low, narrow door at the foot of the rock-hewn staircaseand entered the crypt.Without delay I made my way to the glass-covered tomb set beneath thehanging chain. I could see by the flashing of the light around me thatmy hand which held the lantern trembled. With a great effort I steadiedmyself, and raising the lantern, turned its light down into thesarcophagus.Once again the fallen lantern rang on the tingling glass, and I stoodalone in the darkness, for an instant almost paralyzed with surpriseddisappointment.The tomb was empty! Even the trappings of the dead had been removed.I knew not what happened till I found myself groping my way up thewinding stair. Here, in comparison with the solid darkness of the crypt,it seemed almost light. The dim expanse of the church sent a fewstraggling rays down the vaulted steps, and as I could see, be it neverso dimly, I felt I was not in absolute darkness. With the light came asense of power and fresh courage, and I groped my way back into the cryptagain. There, by now and again lighting matches, I found my way to thetomb and recovered my lantern. Then I took my way slowly--for I wishedto prove, if not my own courage, at least such vestiges of self-respectas the venture had left me--through the church, where I extinguished mylantern, and out through the great door into the open sunlight. I seemedto have heard, both in the darkness of the crypt and through the dimnessof the church, mysterious sounds as of whispers and suppressed breathing;but the memory of these did not count for much when once I was free. Iwas only satisfied of my own consciousness and identity when I foundmyself on the broad rock terrace in front of the church, with the fiercesunlight beating on my upturned face, and, looking downward, saw farbelow me the rippled blue of the open sea.RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.June 3, 1907.Another week has elapsed--a week full of movement of many kinds and inmany ways--but as yet I have had no tale or tidings of my Lady of theShroud. I have not had an opportunity of going again in daylight to St.Sava's as I should have liked to have done. I felt that I must not go atnight. The night is her time of freedom, and it must be kept for her--orelse I may miss her, or perhaps never see her again.The days have been full of national movement. The mountaineers haveevidently been organizing themselves, for some reason which I cannotquite understand, and which they have hesitated to make known to me. Ihave taken care not to manifest any curiosity, whatever I may have felt.This would certainly arouse suspicion, and might ultimately causedisaster to my hopes of aiding the nation in their struggle to preservetheir freedom.These fierce mountaineers are strangely--almost unduly--suspicious, andthe only way to win their confidence is to begin the trusting. A youngAmerican attache of the Embassy at Vienna, who had made a journey throughthe Land of the Blue Mountains, once put it to me in this form:"Keep your head shut, and they'll open theirs. If you don't, they'llopen it for you--down to the chine!"It was quite apparent to me that they were completing some fresharrangements for signalling with a code of their own. This was naturalenough, and in no way inconsistent with the measure of friendlinessalready shown to me. Where there are neither telegraphs, railways, norroads, any effective form of communication must--can only be purelypersonal. And so, if they wish to keep any secret amongst themselves,they must preserve the secret of their code. I should have dearly likedto learn their new code and their manner of using it, but as I want to bea helpful friend to them--and as this implies not only trust, but theappearance of it--I had to school myself to patience.This attitude so far won their confidence that before we parted at ourlast meeting, after most solemn vows of faith and secrecy, they took meinto the secret. This was, however, only to the extent of teaching methe code and method; they still withheld from me rigidly the fact orpolitical secret, or whatever it was that was the mainspring of theirunited action.When I got home I wrote down, whilst it was fresh in my memory, all theytold me. This script I studied until I had it so thoroughly by heartthat I could not forget it. Then I burned the paper. However, thereis now one gain at least: with my semaphore I can send through the BlueMountains from side to side, with expedition, secrecy, and exactness, amessage comprehensible to all.RUPERT'S JOURNAL--Continued.June 6, 1907.Last night I had a new experience of my Lady of the Shroud--in so far asform was concerned, at any rate. I was in bed, and just falling asleep,when I heard a queer kind of scratching at the glass door of the terrace.I listened acutely, my heart beating hard. The sound seemed to come fromlow down, close to the floor. I jumped out of bed, ran to the window,and, pulling aside the heavy curtains, looked out.The garden looked, as usual, ghostly in the moonlight, but there was notthe faintest sign of movement anywhere, and no one was on or near theterrace. I looked eagerly down to where the sound had seemed to comefrom.There, just inside the glass door, as though it had been pushed under thedoor, lay a paper closely folded in several laps. I picked it up andopened it. I was all in a tumult, for my heart told me whence it came.Inside was written in English, in a large, sprawling hand, such as mightbe from an English child of seven or eight:"Meet me at the Flagstaff on the Rock!"I knew the place, of course. On the farthermost point of the rock onwhich the Castle stands is set a high flagstaff, whereon in old time thebanner of the Vissarion family flew. At some far-off time, when theCastle had been liable to attack, this point had been strongly fortified.Indeed, in the days when the bow was a martial weapon it must have beenquite impregnable.A covered gallery, with loopholes for arrows, had been cut in the solidrock, running right round the point, quite surrounding the flagstaff andthe great boss of rock on whose centre it was reared. A narrowdrawbridge of immense strength had connected--in peaceful times, andstill remained--the outer point of rock with an entrance formed in theouter wall, and guarded with flanking towers and a portcullis. Its usewas manifestly to guard against surprise. From this point only could beseen the line of the rocks all round the point. Thus, any secret attackby boats could be made impossible.Having hurriedly dressed myself, and taking with me both hunting-knifeand revolver, I went out on the terrace, taking the precaution, unusualto me, of drawing the grille behind me and locking it. Matters aroundthe Castle are in far too disturbed a condition to allow the taking ofany foolish chances, either in the way of being unarmed or of leaving theprivate entrance to the Castle open. I found my way through the rockypassage, and climbed by the Jacob's ladder fixed on the rock--a device ofconvenience in time of peace--to the foot of the flagstaff.I was all on fire with expectation, and the time of going seemedexceeding long; so I was additionally disappointed by the contrast when Idid not see my Lady there when I arrived. However, my heart beat freelyagain--perhaps more freely than ever--when I saw her crouching in theshadow of the Castle wall. From where she was she could not be seen fromany point save that alone which I occupied; even from there it was onlyher white shroud that was conspicuous through the deep gloom of theshadow. The moonlight was so bright that the shadows were almostunnaturally black.I rushed over towards her, and when close was about to say impulsively,"Why did you leave your tomb?" when it suddenly struck me that thequestion would be malapropos and embarrassing in many ways. So, betterjudgment prevailing, I said instead:"It has been so long since I saw you! It has seemed an eternity to me!"Her answer came as quickly as even I could have wished; she spokeimpulsively and without thought:"It has been long to me too! Oh, so long! so long! I have asked you tocome out here because I wanted to see you so much that I could not waitany longer. I have been heart-hungry for a sight of you!"Her words, her eager attitude, the ineffable something which conveys themessages of the heart, the longing expression in her eyes as the fullmoonlight fell on her face, showing the stars as living gold--for in hereagerness she had stepped out towards me from the shadow--all set me onfire. Without a thought or a word--for it was Nature speaking in thelanguage of Love, which is a silent tongue--I stepped towards her andtook her in my arms. She yielded with that sweet unconsciousness whichis the perfection of Love, as if it was in obedience to some commanduttered before the beginning of the world. Probably without anyconscious effort on either side--I know there was none on mine--ourmouths met in the first kiss of love.At the time nothing in the meeting struck me as out of the common. Butlater in the night, when I was alone and in darkness, whenever I thoughtof it all--its strangeness and its stranger rapture--I could not but besensible of the bizarre conditions for a love meeting. The place lonely,the time night, the man young and strong, and full of life and hope andambition; the woman, beautiful and ardent though she was, a womanseemingly dead, clothed in the shroud in which she had been wrapped whenlying in her tomb in the crypt of the old church.Whilst we were together, anyhow, there was little thought of the kind; noreasoning of any kind on my part. Love has its own laws and its ownlogic. Under the flagstaff, where the Vissarion banner was wont to flapin the breeze, she was in my arms; her sweet breath was on my face; herheart was beating against my own. What need was there for reason at all?Inter arma silent leges--the voice of reason is silent in the stress ofpassion. Dead she may be, or Un-dead--a Vampire with one foot in Helland one on earth. But I love her; and come what may, here or hereafter,she is mine. As my mate, we shall fare along together, whatsoever theend may be, or wheresoever our path may lead. If she is indeed to be wonfrom the nethermost Hell, then be mine the task!But to go back to the record. When I had once started speaking to her inwords of passion I could not stop. I did not want to--if I could; andshe did not appear to wish it either. Can there be a woman--alive ordead--who would not want to hear the rapture of her lover expressed toher whilst she is enclosed in his arms?There was no attempt at reticence on my part now; I took it for grantedthat she knew all that I surmised, and, as she made neither protest norcomment, that she accepted my belief as to her indeterminate existence.Sometimes her eyes would be closed, but even then the rapture of her facewas almost beyond belief. Then, when the beautiful eyes would open andgaze on me, the stars that were in them would shine and scintillate asthough they were formed of living fire. She said little, very little;but though the words were few, every syllable was fraught with love, andwent straight to the very core of my heart.By-and-by, when our transport had calmed to joy, I asked when I mightnext see her, and how and where I might find her when I should want to.She did not reply directly, but, holding me close in her arms, whisperedin my ear with that breathless softness which is a lover's rapture ofspeech:"I have come here under terrible difficulties, not only because I loveyou--and that would be enough--but because, as well as the joy of seeingyou, I wanted to warn you.""To warn me! Why?" I queried. Her reply came with a bashful hesitation,with something of a struggle in it, as of one who for some ulteriorreason had to pick her words:"There are difficulties and dangers ahead of you. You are beset withthem; and they are all the greater because they are, of grim necessity,hidden from you. You cannot go anywhere, look in any direction, doanything, say anything, but it may be a signal for danger. My dear, itlurks everywhere--in the light as well as in the darkness; in the open aswell as in the secret places; from friends as well as foes; when you areleast prepared; when you may least expect it. Oh, I know it, and what itis to endure; for I share it for you--for your dear sake!""My darling!" was all I could say, as I drew her again closer to me andkissed her. After a bit she was calmer; seeing this, I came back to thesubject that she had--in part, at all events--come to me to speak about:"But if difficulty and danger hedge me in so everlastingly, and if I amto have no indication whatever of its kind or purpose, what can I do?God knows I would willingly guard myself--not on my own account, but foryour dear sake. I have now a cause to live and be strong, and to keepall my faculties, since it may mean much to you. If you may not tell medetails, may you not indicate to me some line of conduct, of action, thatwould be most in accord with your wishes--or, rather, with your idea ofwhat would be best?"She looked at me fixedly before speaking--a long, purposeful, loving lookwhich no man born of woman could misunderstand. Then she spoke slowly,deliberately, emphatically:"Be bold, and fear not. Be true to yourself, to me--it is the samething. These are the best guards you can use. Your safety does not restwith me. Ah, I wish it did! I wish to God it did!" In my inner heartit thrilled me not merely to hear the expression of her wish, but to hearher use the name of God as she did. I understand now, in the calm ofthis place and with the sunlight before me, that my belief as to herbeing all woman--living woman--was not quite dead: but though at themoment my heart did not recognize the doubt, my brain did. And I made upmy mind that we should not part this time until she knew that I had seenher, and where; but, despite my own thoughts, my outer ears listenedgreedily as she went on."As for me, you may not find me, but I shall find you, be sure!And now we must say 'Good-night,' my dear, my dear! Tell me once againthat you love me, for it is a sweetness that one does not wish toforego--even one who wears such a garment as this--and rests where I mustrest." As she spoke she held up part of her cerements for me to see.What could I do but take her once again in my arms and hold her close,close. God knows it was all in love; but it was passionate love whichsurged through my every vein as I strained her dear body to mine. Butyet this embrace was not selfish; it was not all an expression of my ownpassion. It was based on pity--the pity which is twin-born with truelove. Breathless from our kisses, when presently we released each other,she stood in a glorious rapture, like a white spirit in the moonlight,and as her lovely, starlit eyes seemed to devour me, she spoke in alanguorous ecstasy:"Oh, how you love me! how you love me! It is worth all I have gonethrough for this, even to wearing this terrible drapery." And again shepointed to her shroud.Here was my chance to speak of what I knew, and I took it. "I know, Iknow. Moreover, I know that awful resting-place."I was interrupted, cut short in the midst of my sentence, not by anyword, but by the frightened look in her eyes and the fear-mastered way inwhich she shrank away from me. I suppose in reality she could not bepaler than she looked when the colour-absorbing moonlight fell on her;but on the instant all semblance of living seemed to shrink and fallaway, and she looked with eyes of dread as if in I some awful way held inthrall. But for the movement of the pitiful glance, she would haveseemed of soulless marble, so deadly cold did she look.The moments that dragged themselves out whilst I waited for her to speakseemed endless. At length her words came in an awed whisper, so faintthat even in that stilly night I could hardly hear it:"You know--you know my resting-place! How--when was that?" There wasnothing to do now but to speak out the truth:"I was in the crypt of St. Sava. It was all by accident. I wasexploring all around the Castle, and I went there in my course. I foundthe winding stair in the rock behind the screen, and went down. Dear, Iloved you well before that awful moment, but then, even as the lanternfell tingling on the glass, my love multiplied itself, with pity as afactor." She was silent for a few seconds. When she spoke, there was anew tone in her voice:"But were you not shocked?""Of course I was," I answered on the spur of the moment, and I now thinkwisely. "Shocked is hardly the word. I was horrified beyond anythingthat words can convey that you--you should have to so endure! I didnot like to return, for I feared lest my doing so might set some barrierbetween us. But in due time I did return on another day.""Well?" Her voice was like sweet music."I had another shock that time, worse than before, for you were notthere. Then indeed it was that I knew to myself how dear you were--howdear you are to me. Whilst I live, you--living or dead--shall always bein my heart." She breathed hard. The elation in her eyes made themoutshine the moonlight, but she said no word. I went on:"My dear, I had come into the crypt full of courage and hope, though Iknew what dreadful sight should sear my eyes once again. But we littleknow what may be in store for us, no matter what we expect. I went outwith a heart like water from that dreadful desolation.""Oh, how you love me, dear!" Cheered by her words, and even more by hertone, I went on with renewed courage. There was no halting, no falteringin my intention now:"You and I, my dear, were ordained for each other. I cannot help it thatyou had already suffered before I knew you. It may be that there may befor you still suffering that I may not prevent, endurance that I may notshorten; but what a man can do is yours. Not Hell itself will stop me,if it be possible that I may win through its torments with you in myarms!""Will nothing stop you, then?" Her question was breathed as softly asthe strain of an AEolian harp."Nothing!" I said, and I heard my own teeth snap together. There wassomething speaking within me stronger than I had ever known myself to be.Again came a query, trembling, quavering, quivering, as though the issuewas of more than life or death:"Not this?" She held up a corner of the shroud, and as she saw my faceand realized the answer before I spoke, went on: "With all it implies?""Not if it were wrought of the cerecloths of the damned!" There was along pause. Her voice was more resolute when she spoke again. It rang.Moreover, there was in it a joyous note, as of one who feels new hope:"But do you know what men say? Some of them, that I am dead and buried;others, that I am not only dead and buried, but that I am one of thoseunhappy beings that may not die the common death of man. Who live on afearful life-in-death, whereby they are harmful to all. Those unhappyUn-dead whom men call Vampires--who live on the blood of the living, andbring eternal damnation as well as death with the poison of theirdreadful kisses!"I know what men say sometimes," I answered. "But I know also what myown heart says; and I rather choose to obey its calling than all thevoices of the living or the dead. Come what may, I am pledged to you.If it be that your old life has to be rewon for you out of the very jawsof Death and Hell, I shall keep the faith I have pledged, and that here Ipledge again!" As I finished speaking I sank on my knees at her feet,and, putting my arms round her, drew her close to me. Her tears raineddown on my face as she stroked my hair with her soft, strong hand andwhispered to me:"This is indeed to be one. What more holy marriage can God give to anyof His creatures?" We were both silent for a time.I think I was the first to recover my senses. That I did so was manifestby my asking her: "When may we meet again?"--a thing I had neverremembered doing at any of our former partings. She answered with arising and falling of the voice that was just above a whisper, as softand cooing as the voice of a pigeon:"That will be soon--as soon as I can manage it, be sure. My dear, mydear!" The last four words of endearment she spoke in a low butprolonged and piercing tone which made me thrill with delight."Give me some token," I said, "that I may have always close to me to easemy aching heart till we meet again, and ever after, for love's sake!"Her mind seemed to leap to understanding, and with a purpose all her own.Stooping for an instant, she tore off with swift, strong fingers afragment of her shroud. This, having kissed it, she handed to me,whispering:"It is time that we part. You must leave me now. Take this, and keep itfor ever. I shall be less unhappy in my terrible loneliness whilst itlasts if I know that this my gift, which for good or ill is a part of meas you know me, is close to you. It may be, my very dear, that some dayyou may be glad and even proud of this hour, as I am." She kissed me asI took it."For life or death, I care not which, so long as I am with you!" I said,as I moved off. Descending the Jacob's ladder, I made my way down therock-hewn passage.The last thing I saw was the beautiful face of my Lady of the Shroud asshe leaned over the edge of the opening. Her eyes were like glowingstars as her looks followed me. That look shall never fade from mymemory.After a few agitating moments of thought I half mechanically took my waydown to the garden. Opening the grille, I entered my lonely room, whichlooked all the more lonely for the memory of the rapturous moments underthe Flagstaff. I went to bed as one in a dream. There I lay tillsunrise--awake and thinking.