Chapter VI: Hawk and Pigeon

by Bram Stoker

　　At breakfast-time next morning Sir Nathaniel and Mr. Salton wereseated when Adam came hurriedly into the room."Any news?" asked his uncle mechanically."Four.""Four what?" asked Sir Nathaniel."Snakes," said Adam, helping himself to a grilled kidney."Four snakes. I don't understand.""Mongoose," said Adam, and then added explanatorily: "I was outwith the mongoose just after three.""Four snakes in one morning! Why, I didn't know there were so manyon the Brow"--the local name for the western cliff. "I hope thatwasn't the consequence of our talk of last night?""It was, sir. But not directly.""But, God bless my soul, you didn't expect to get a snake like theLambton worm, did you? Why, a mongoose, to tackle a monster likethat--if there were one--would have to be bigger than a haystack.""These were ordinary snakes, about as big as a walking-stick.""Well, it's pleasant to be rid of them, big or little. That is agood mongoose, I am sure; he'll clear out all such vermin roundhere," said Mr. Salton.Adam went quietly on with his breakfast. Killing a few snakes in amorning was no new experience to him. He left the room the momentbreakfast was finished and went to the study that his uncle hadarranged for him. Both Sir Nathaniel and Mr. Salton took it that hewanted to be by himself, so as to avoid any questioning or talk ofthe visit that he was to make that afternoon. They saw nothingfurther of him till about half-an-hour before dinner-time. Then hecame quietly into the smoking-room, where Mr. Salton and SirNathaniel were sitting together, ready dressed."I suppose there is no use waiting. We had better get it over atonce," remarked Adam.His uncle, thinking to make things easier for him, said: "Get whatover?"There was a sign of shyness about him at this. He stammered alittle at first, but his voice became more even as he went on."My visit to Mercy Farm."Mr. Salton waited eagerly. The old diplomatist simply smiled."I suppose you both know that I was much interested yesterday in theWatfords?" There was no denial or fending off the question. Boththe old men smiled acquiescence. Adam went on: "I meant you to seeit--both of you. You, uncle, because you are my uncle and thenearest of my own kin, and, moreover, you couldn't have been morekind to me or made me more welcome if you had been my own father."Mr. Salton said nothing. He simply held out his hand, and the othertook it and held it for a few seconds. "And you, sir, because youhave shown me something of the same affection which in my wildestdreams of home I had no right to expect." He stopped for aninstant, much moved.Sir Nathaniel answered softly, laying his hand on the youth'sshoulder."You are right, my boy; quite right. That is the proper way to lookat it. And I may tell you that we old men, who have no children ofour own, feel our hearts growing warm when we hear words likethose."Then Adam hurried on, speaking with a rush, as if he wanted to cometo the crucial point."Mr. Watford had not come in, but Lilla and Mimi were at home, andthey made me feel very welcome. They have all a great regard for myuncle. I am glad of that any way, for I like them all--much. Wewere having tea, when Mr. Caswall came to the door, attended by thenegro. Lilla opened the door herself. The window of the living-room at the farm is a large one, and from within you cannot helpseeing anyone coming. Mr. Caswall said he had ventured to call, ashe wished to make the acquaintance of all his tenants, in a lessformal way, and more individually, than had been possible to him onthe previous day. The girls made him welcome--they are very sweetgirls those, sir; someone will be very happy some day there--witheither of them.""And that man may be you, Adam," said Mr. Salton heartily.A sad look came over the young man's eyes, and the fire his unclehad seen there died out. Likewise the timbre left his voice, makingit sound lonely."Such might crown my life. But that happiness, I fear, is not forme--or not without pain and loss and woe.""Well, it's early days yet!" cried Sir Nathaniel heartily.The young man turned on him his eyes, which had now grownexcessively sad."Yesterday--a few hours ago--that remark would have given me newhope--new courage; but since then I have learned too much."The old man, skilled in the human heart, did not attempt to argue insuch a matter."Too early to give in, my boy.""I am not of a giving-in kind," replied the young man earnestly."But, after all, it is wise to realise a truth. And when a man,though he is young, feels as I do--as I have felt ever sinceyesterday, when I first saw Mimi's eyes--his heart jumps. He doesnot need to learn things. He knows."There was silence in the room, during which the twilight stole onimperceptibly. It was Adam who again broke the silence."Do you know, uncle, if we have any second sight in our family?""No, not that I ever heard about. Why?""Because," he answered slowly, "I have a conviction which seems toanswer all the conditions of second sight.""And then?" asked the old man, much perturbed."And then the usual inevitable. What in the Hebrides and otherplaces, where the Sight is a cult--a belief--is called 'the doom'--the court from which there is no appeal. I have often heard ofsecond sight--we have many western Scots in Australia; but I haverealised more of its true inwardness in an instant of this afternoonthan I did in the whole of my life previously--a granite wallstretching up to the very heavens, so high and so dark that the eyeof God Himself cannot see beyond. Well, if the Doom must come, itmust. That is all."The voice of Sir Nathaniel broke in, smooth and sweet and grave."Can there not be a fight for it? There can for most things.""For most things, yes, but for the Doom, no. What a man can do Ishall do. There will be--must be--a fight. When and where and howI know not, but a fight there will be. But, after all, what is aman in such a case?""Adam, there are three of us." Salton looked at his old friend ashe spoke, and that old friend's eyes blazed."Ay, three of us," he said, and his voice rang.There was again a pause, and Sir Nathaniel endeavoured to get backto less emotional and more neutral ground."Tell us of the rest of the meeting. Remember we are all pledged tothis. It is a fight E L'Outrance, and we can afford to throw awayor forgo no chance.""We shall throw away or lose nothing that we can help. We fight towin, and the stake is a life--perhaps more than one--we shall see."Then he went on in a conversational tone, such as he had used whenhe spoke of the coming to the farm of Edgar Caswall: "When Mr.Caswall came in, the negro went a short distance away and thereremained. It gave me the idea that he expected to be called, andintended to remain in sight, or within hail. Then Mimi got anothercup and made fresh tea, and we all went on together.""Was there anything uncommon--were you all quite friendly?" askedSir Nathaniel quietly."Quite friendly. There was nothing that I could notice out of thecommon--except," he went on, with a slight hardening of the voice,"except that he kept his eyes fixed on Lilla, in a way which wasquite intolerable to any man who might hold her dear.""Now, in what way did he look?" asked Sir Nathaniel."There was nothing in itself offensive; but no one could helpnoticing it.""You did. Miss Watford herself, who was the victim, and Mr.Caswall, who was the offender, are out of range as witnesses. Wasthere anyone else who noticed?""Mimi did. Her face flamed with anger as she saw the look.""What kind of look was it? Over-ardent or too admiring, or what?Was it the look of a lover, or one who fain would be? Youunderstand?""Yes, sir, I quite understand. Anything of that sort I should ofcourse notice. It would be part of my preparation for keeping myself-control--to which I am pledged.""If it were not amatory, was it threatening? Where was theoffence?"Adam smiled kindly at the old man."It was not amatory. Even if it was, such was to be expected. Ishould be the last man in the world to object, since I am myself anoffender in that respect. Moreover, not only have I been taught tofight fair, but by nature I believe I am just. I would be astolerant of and as liberal to a rival as I should expect him to beto me. No, the look I mean was nothing of that kind. And so longas it did not lack proper respect, I should not of my own partcondescend to notice it. Did you ever study the eyes of a hound?""At rest?""No, when he is following his instincts! Or, better still," Adamwent on, "the eyes of a bird of prey when he is following hisinstincts. Not when he is swooping, but merely when he is watchinghis quarry?""No," said Sir Nathaniel, "I don't know that I ever did. Why, may Iask?""That was the look. Certainly not amatory or anything of that kind--yet it was, it struck me, more dangerous, if not so deadly as anactual threatening."Again there was a silence, which Sir Nathaniel broke as he stood up:"I think it would be well if we all thought over this by ourselves.Then we can renew the subject."