Chapter VII. "The Lamp Is Lighted!"

by Frances Hodgson Burnett

　　On his way home, Marco thought of nothing but the story he musttell his father, the story the stranger who had been to Samaviahad told The Rat's father. He felt that it must be a true storyand not merely an invention. The Forgers of the Sword must bereal men, and the hidden subterranean caverns stacked through thecenturies with arms must be real, too. And if they were real,surely his father was one of those who knew the secret. Histhoughts ran very fast. The Rat's boyish invention of the risingwas only part of a game, but how natural it would be thatsometime--perhaps before long--there would be a real rising!Surely there would be one if the Secret Party had grown sostrong, and if many weapons and secret friends in othercountries were ready and waiting. During all these years, hiddenwork and preparation would have been going on continually, eventhough it was preparation for an unknown day. A party which hadlasted so long--which passed its oath on from generation togeneration--must be of a deadly determination.What might it not have made ready in its caverns and secretmeeting- places! He longed to reach home and tell his father, atonce, all he had heard. He recalled to mind, word for word, allthat The Rat had been told, and even all he had added in hisgame, because-- well, because that seemed so real too, so realthat it actually might be useful.But when he reached No. 7 Philibert Place, he found Loristan andLazarus very much absorbed in work. The door of the backsitting-room was locked when he first knocked on it, and lockedagain as soon as he had entered. There were many papers on thetable, and they were evidently studying them. Several of themwere maps. Some were road maps, some maps of towns and cities,and some of fortifications; but they were all maps of places inSamavia. They were usually kept in a strong box, and when theywere taken out to be studied, the door was always kept locked.Before they had their evening meal, these were all returned tothe strong box, which was pushed into a corner and had newspaperspiled upon it."When he arrives," Marco heard Loristan say to Lazarus, "wecan show him clearly what has been planned. He can see forhimself."His father spoke scarcely at all during the meal, and, though itwas not the habit of Lazarus to speak at such times unless spokento, this evening it seemed to Marco that he looked more silentthan he had ever seen him look before. They were plainly boththinking anxiously of deeply serious things. The story of thestranger who had been to Samavia must not be told yet. But itwas one which would keep.Loristan did not say anything until Lazarus had removed thethings from the table and made the room as neat as possible.While that was being done, he sat with his forehead resting onhis hand, as if absorbed in thought. Then he made a gesture toMarco."Come here, Comrade," he said.Marco went to him."To-night some one may come to talk with me about gravethings," he said. "I think he will come, but I cannot be quitesure. It is important that he should know that, when he comes,he will find me quite alone. He will come at a late hour, andLazarus will open the door quietly that no one may hear. It isimportant that no one should see him. Some one must go and walkon the opposite side of the street until he appears. Then theone who goes to give warning must cross the pavement before himand say in a low voice, `The Lamp is lighted!' and at once turnquietly away."What boy's heart would not have leaped with joy at the mystery ofit! Even a common and dull boy who knew nothing of Samavia wouldhave felt jerky. Marco's voice almost shook with the thrill ofhis feeling."How shall I know him?" he said at once. Without asking atall, he knew he was the "some one" who was to go."You have seen him before," Loristan answered. "He is the manwho drove in the carriage with the King.""I shall know him," said Marco. "When shall I go?""Not until it is half-past one o'clock. Go to bed and sleepuntil Lazarus calls you." Then he added, "Look well at hisface before you speak. He will probably not be dressed as wellas he was when you saw him first."Marco went up-stairs to his room and went to bed as he was told,but it was hard to go to sleep. The rattle and roaring of theroad did not usually keep him awake, because he had lived in thepoorer quarter of too many big capital cities not to beaccustomed to noise. But to-night it seemed to him that, as helay and looked out at the lamplight, he heard every bus and cabwhich went past. He could not help thinking of the people whowere in them, and on top of them, and of the people who werehurrying along on the pavement outside the broken iron railings.He was wondering what they would think if they knew that thingsconnected with the battles they read of in the daily papers weregoing on in one of the shabby houses they scarcely gave a glanceto as they went by them. It must be something connected with thewar, if a man who was a great diplomat and the companion of kingscame in secret to talk alone with a patriot who was a Samavian.Whatever his father was doing was for the good of Samavia, andperhaps the Secret Party knew he was doing it. His heart almostbeat aloud under his shirt as he lay on the lumpy mattressthinking it over. He must indeed look well at the strangerbefore he even moved toward him. He must be sure he was theright man. The game he had amused himself with so long--the gameof trying to remember pictures and people and places clearly andin detail--had been a wonderful training. If he could draw, heknew he could have made a sketch of the keen-eyed, clever,aquiline face with the well-cut and delicately close mouth, whichlooked as if it had been shut upon secrets always--always. If hecould draw, he found himself saying again. He could draw, thoughperhaps only roughly. He had often amused himself by makingsketches of things he wanted to ask questions about. He had evendrawn people's faces in his untrained way, and his father hadsaid that he had a crude gift for catching a likeness. Perhapshe could make a sketch of this face which would show his fatherthat he knew and would recognize it.He jumped out of bed and went to a table near the window. Therewas paper and a pencil lying on it. A street lamp exactlyopposite threw into the room quite light enough for him to seeby. He half knelt by the table and began to draw. He worked forabout twenty minutes steadily, and he tore up two or threeunsatisfactory sketches. The poor drawing would not matter if hecould catch that subtle look which was not slyness but somethingmore dignified and important. It was not difficult to get themarked, aristocratic outline of the features. A common-lookingman with less pronounced profile would have been less easy todraw in one sense. He gave his mind wholly to the recalling ofevery detail which had photographed itself on his memory throughits trained habit. Gradually he saw that the likeness wasbecoming clearer. It was not long before it was clear enough tobe a striking one. Any one who knew the man would recognize it.He got up, drawing a long and joyful breath.He did not put on his shoes, but crossed his room as noiselesslyas possible, and as noiselessly opened the door. He made noghost of a sound when he went down the stairs. The woman whokept the lodging-house had gone to bed, and so had the otherlodgers and the maid of all work. All the lights were out exceptthe one he saw a glimmer of under the door of his father's room.When he had been a mere baby, he had been taught to make aspecial sign on the door when he wished to speak to Loristan. Hestood still outside the back sitting-room and made it now. Itwas a low scratching sound--two scratches and a soft tap.Lazarus opened the door and looked troubled."It is not yet time, sir," he said very low."I know," Marco answered. "But I must show something to myfather." Lazarus let him in, and Loristan turned round from hiswriting-table questioningly.Marco went forward and laid the sketch down before him."Look at it," he said. "I remember him well enough to drawthat. I thought of it all at once--that I could make a sort ofpicture. Do you think it is like him?" Loristan examined itclosely."It is very like him," he answered. "You have made me feelentirely safe. Thanks, Comrade. It was a good idea."There was relief in the grip he gave the boy's hand, and Marcoturned away with an exultant feeling. Just as he reached thedoor, Loristan said to him:"Make the most of this gift. It is a gift. And it is true yourmind has had good training. The more you draw, the better. Draweverything you can."Neither the street lamps, nor the noises, nor his thoughts keptMarco awake when he went back to bed. But before he settledhimself upon his pillow he gave himself certain orders. He hadboth read, and heard Loristan say, that the mind can control thebody when people once find out that it can do so. He had triedexperiments himself, and had found out some curious things. Onewas that if he told himself to remember a certain thing at acertain time, he usually found that he did remember it.Something in his brain seemed to remind him. He had often triedthe experiment of telling himself to awaken at a particular hour,and had awakened almost exactly at the moment by the clock."I will sleep until one o'clock," he said as he shut his eyes."Then I will awaken and feel quite fresh. I shall not be sleepyat all."He slept as soundly as a boy can sleep. And at one o'clockexactly he awakened, and found the street lamp still throwing itslight through the window. He knew it was one o'clock, becausethere was a cheap little round clock on the table, and he couldsee the time. He was quite fresh and not at all sleepy. Hisexperiment had succeeded again.He got up and dressed. Then he went down-stairs as noiselesslyas before. He carried his shoes in his hands, as he meant to putthem on only when he reached the street. He made his sign at hisfather's door, and it was Loristan who opened it."Shall I go now?" Marco asked."Yes. Walk slowly to the other side of the street. Look inevery direction. We do not know where he will come from. Afteryou have given him the sign, then come in and go to bed again."Marco saluted as a soldier would have done on receiving an order.Then, without a second's delay, he passed noiselessly out of thehouse.Loristan turned back into the room and stood silently in thecenter of it. The long lines of his handsome body lookedparticularly erect and stately, and his eyes were glowing as ifsomething deeply moved him."There grows a man for Samavia," he said to Lazarus, whowatched him. "God be thanked!"Lazarus's voice was low and hoarse, and he saluted quitereverently."Your--sir!" he said. "God save the Prince!""Yes," Loristan answered, after a moment's hesitation,--"whenhe is found." And he went back to his table smiling hisbeautiful smile.The wonder of silence in the deserted streets of a great city,after midnight has hushed all the roar and tumult to rest, is analmost unbelievable thing. The stillness in the depths of aforest or on a mountain top is not so strange. A few hours ago,the tumult was rushing past; in a few hours more, it will berushing past again.But now the street is a naked thing; a distant policeman's trampon the bare pavement has a hollow and almost fearsome sound. Itseemed especially so to Marco as he crossed the road. Had itever been so empty and deadly silent before? Was it so everynight? Perhaps it was, when he was fast asleep on his lumpymattress with the light from a street lamp streaming into theroom. He listened for the step of the policeman on night-watch,because he did not wish to be seen. There was a jutting wallwhere he could stand in the shadow while the man passed. Apoliceman would stop to look questioningly at a boy who walked upand down the pavement at half-past one in the morning. Marcocould wait until he had gone by, and then come out into the lightand look up and down the road and the cross streets.He heard his approaching footsteps in a few minutes, and wassafely in the shadows before he could be seen. When thepoliceman passed, he came out and walked slowly down the road,looking on each side, and now and then looking back. At first noone was in sight. Then a late hansom-cab came tinkling along.But the people in it were returning from some festivity, and werelaughing and talking, and noticed nothing but their own joking.Then there was silence again, and for a long time, as it seemedto Marco, no one was to be seen. It was not really so long as itappeared, because he was anxious. Then a very earlyvegetable-wagon on the way from the country to Covent GardenMarket came slowly lumbering by with its driver almost asleep onhis piles of potatoes and cabbages. After it had passed, therewas stillness and emptiness once more, until the policeman showedhimself again on his beat, and Marco slipped into the shadow ofthe wall as he had done before.When he came out into the light, he had begun to hope that thetime would not seem long to his father. It had not really beenlong, he told himself, it had only seemed so. But his father'sanxiousness would be greater than his own could be. Loristanknew all that depended on the coming of this great man who satside by side with a king in his carriage and talked to him as ifhe knew him well."It might be something which all Samavia is waiting to know-- atleast all the Secret Party," Marco thought. "The Secret Partyis Samavia,"--he started at the sound of footsteps. "Some oneis coming!" he said. "It is a man."It was a man who was walking up the road on the same side of thepavement as his own. Marco began to walk toward him quietly butrather rapidly. He thought it might be best to appear as if hewere some boy sent on a midnight errand--perhaps to call adoctor. Then, if it was a stranger he passed, no suspicion wouldbe aroused. Was this man as tall as the one who had driven withthe King? Yes, he was about the same height, but he was too faraway to be recognizable otherwise. He drew nearer, and Marconoticed that he also seemed slightly to hasten his footsteps.Marco went on. A little nearer, and he would be able to makesure. Yes, now he was near enough. Yes, this man was the sameheight and not unlike in figure, but he was much younger. He wasnot the one who had been in the carriage with His Majesty. Hewas not more than thirty years old. He began swinging his caneand whistling a music-hall song softly as Marco passed himwithout changing his pace.It was after the policeman had walked round his beat anddisappeared for the third time, that Marco heard footstepsechoing at some distance down a cross street. After listening tomake sure that they were approaching instead of receding inanother direction, he placed himself at a point where he couldwatch the length of the thoroughfare. Yes, some one was coming.It was a man's figure again. He was able to place himself ratherin the shadow so that the person approaching would not see thathe was being watched. The solitary walker reached a recognizabledistance in about two minutes' time. He was dressed in anordinary shop-made suit of clothes which was rather shabby andquite unnoticeable in its appearance. His common hat was worn sothat it rather shaded his face. But even before he had crossedto Marco's side of the road, the boy had clearly recognized him.It was the man who had driven with the King!Chance was with Marco. The man crossed at exactly the placewhich made it easy for the boy to step lightly from behind him,walk a few paces by his side, and then pass directly before himacross the pavement, glancing quietly up into his face as he saidin a low voice but distinctly, the words "The Lamp is lighted,"and without pausing a second walk on his way down the road. Hedid not slacken his pace or look back until he was some distanceaway. Then he glanced over his shoulder, and saw that the figurehad crossed the street and was inside the railings. It was allright. His father would not be disappointed. The great man hadcome.He walked for about ten minutes, and then went home and to bed.But he was obliged to tell himself to go to sleep several timesbefore his eyes closed for the rest of the night.