Keeping His Promise
It was eleven o'clock at night, and young Marriott was locked into hisroom, cramming as hard as he could cram. He was a "Fourth Year Man" atEdinburgh University and he had been ploughed for this particularexamination so often that his parents had positively declared they couldno longer supply the funds to keep him there.His rooms were cheap and dingy, but it was the lecture fees that tookthe money. So Marriott pulled himself together at last and definitelymade up his mind that he would pass or die in the attempt, and for someweeks now he had been reading as hard as mortal man can read. He wastrying to make up for lost time and money in a way that showedconclusively he did not understand the value of either. For no ordinaryman--and Marriott was in every sense an ordinary man--can afford todrive the mind as he had lately been driving his, without sooner orlater paying the cost.Among the students he had few friends or acquaintances, and these fewhad promised not to disturb him at night, knowing he was at last readingin earnest. It was, therefore, with feelings a good deal stronger thanmere surprise that he heard his door-bell ring on this particular nightand realised that he was to have a visitor. Some men would simply havemuffled the bell and gone on quietly with their work. But Marriott wasnot this sort. He was nervous. It would have bothered and pecked at hismind all night long not to know who the visitor was and what he wanted.The only thing to do, therefore, was to let him in--and out again--asquickly as possible.The landlady went to bed at ten o'clock punctually, after which hournothing would induce her to pretend she heard the bell, so Marriottjumped up from his books with an exclamation that augured ill for thereception of his caller, and prepared to let him in with his own hand.The streets of Edinburgh town were very still at this late hour--it waslate for Edinburgh--and in the quiet neighbourhood of F---- Street,where Marriott lived on the third floor, scarcely a sound broke thesilence. As he crossed the floor, the bell rang a second time, withunnecessary clamour, and he unlocked the door and passed into thelittle hallway with considerable wrath and annoyance in his heart at theinsolence of the double interruption."The fellows all know I'm reading for this exam. Why in the world dothey come to bother me at such an unearthly hour?"The inhabitants of the building, with himself, were medical students,general students, poor Writers to the Signet, and some others whosevocations were perhaps not so obvious. The stone staircase, dimlylighted at each floor by a gas-jet that would not turn above a certainheight, wound down to the level of the street with no pretence at carpetor railing. At some levels it was cleaner than at others. It depended onthe landlady of the particular level.The acoustic properties of a spiral staircase seem to be peculiar.Marriott, standing by the open door, book in hand, thought every momentthe owner of the footsteps would come into view. The sound of the bootswas so close and so loud that they seemed to travel disproportionatelyin advance of their cause. Wondering who it could be, he stood readywith all manner of sharp greetings for the man who dared thus to disturbhis work. But the man did not appear. The steps sounded almost underhis nose, yet no one was visible.A sudden queer sensation of fear passed over him--a faintness and ashiver down the back. It went, however, almost as soon as it came, andhe was just debating whether he would call aloud to his invisiblevisitor, or slam the door and return to his books, when the cause of thedisturbance turned the corner very slowly and came into view.It was a stranger. He saw a youngish man short of figure and very broad.His face was the colour of a piece of chalk and the eyes, which werevery bright, had heavy lines underneath them. Though the cheeks and chinwere unshaven and the general appearance unkempt, the man was evidentlya gentleman, for he was well dressed and bore himself with a certainair. But, strangest of all, he wore no hat, and carried none in hishand; and although rain had been falling steadily all the evening, heappeared to have neither overcoat nor umbrella.A hundred questions sprang up in Marriott's mind and rushed to his lips,chief among which was something like "Who in the world are you?" and"What in the name of heaven do you come to me for?" But none of thesequestions found time to express themselves in words, for almost at oncethe caller turned his head a little so that the gas light in the hallfell upon his features from a new angle. Then in a flash Marriottrecognised him."Field! Man alive! Is it you?" he gasped.The Fourth Year Man was not lacking in intuition, and he perceived atonce that here was a case for delicate treatment. He divined, withoutany actual process of thought, that the catastrophe often predicted hadcome at last, and that this man's father had turned him out of thehouse. They had been at a private school together years before, andthough they had hardly met once since, the news had not failed to reachhim from time to time with considerable detail, for the family livednear his own and between certain of the sisters there was greatintimacy. Young Field had gone wild later, he remembered hearing aboutit all--drink, a woman, opium, or something of the sort--he could notexactly call to mind."Come in," he said at once, his anger vanishing. "There's been somethingwrong, I can see. Come in, and tell me all about it and perhaps I canhelp--" He hardly knew what to say, and stammered a lot more besides.The dark side of life, and the horror of it, belonged to a world thatlay remote from his own select little atmosphere of books and dreamings.But he had a man's heart for all that.He led the way across the hall, shutting the front door carefully behindhim, and noticed as he did so that the other, though certainly sober,was unsteady on his legs, and evidently much exhausted. Marriott mightnot be able to pass his examinations, but he at least knew the symptomsof starvation--acute starvation, unless he was much mistaken--when theystared him in the face."Come along," he said cheerfully, and with genuine sympathy in hisvoice. "I'm glad to see you. I was going to have a bite of something toeat, and you're just in time to join me."The other made no audible reply, and shuffled so feebly with his feetthat Marriott took his arm by way of support. He noticed for the firsttime that the clothes hung on him with pitiful looseness. The broadframe was literally hardly more than a frame. He was as thin as askeleton. But, as he touched him, the sensation of faintness and dreadreturned. It only lasted a moment, and then passed off, and he ascribedit not unnaturally to the distress and shock of seeing a former friendin such a pitiful plight."Better let me guide you. It's shamefully dark--this hall. I'm alwayscomplaining," he said lightly, recognising by the weight upon his armthat the guidance was sorely needed, "but the old cat never doesanything except promise." He led him to the sofa, wondering all the timewhere he had come from and how he had found out the address. It must beat least seven years since those days at the private school when theyused to be such close friends."Now, if you'll forgive me for a minute," he said, "I'll get supperready--such as it is. And don't bother to talk. Just take it easy on thesofa. I see you're dead tired. You can tell me about it afterwards, andwe'll make plans."The other sat down on the edge of the sofa and stared in silence, whileMarriott got out the brown loaf, scones, and huge pot of marmalade thatEdinburgh students always keep in their cupboards. His eyes shone with abrightness that suggested drugs, Marriott thought, stealing a glance athim from behind the cupboard door. He did not like yet to take a fullsquare look. The fellow was in a bad way, and it would have been so likean examination to stare and wait for explanations. Besides, he wasevidently almost too exhausted to speak. So, for reasons ofdelicacy--and for another reason as well which he could not exactlyformulate to himself--he let his visitor rest apparently unnoticed,while he busied himself with the supper. He lit the spirit lamp to makecocoa, and when the water was boiling he drew up the table with the goodthings to the sofa, so that Field need not have even the trouble ofmoving to a chair."Now, let's tuck in," he said, "and afterwards we'll have a pipe and achat. I'm reading for an exam, you know, and I always have somethingabout this time. It's jolly to have a companion."He looked up and caught his guest's eyes directed straight upon his own.An involuntary shudder ran through him from head to foot. The faceopposite him was deadly white and wore a dreadful expression of pain andmental suffering."By Gad!" he said, jumping up, "I quite forgot. I've got some whiskysomewhere. What an ass I am. I never touch it myself when I'm workinglike this."He went to the cupboard and poured out a stiff glass which the otherswallowed at a single gulp and without any water. Marriott watched himwhile he drank it, and at the same time noticed something else aswell--Field's coat was all over dust, and on one shoulder was a bit ofcobweb. It was perfectly dry; Field arrived on a soaking wet nightwithout hat, umbrella, or overcoat, and yet perfectly dry, even dusty.Therefore he had been under cover. What did it all mean? Had he beenhiding in the building? . . .It was very strange. Yet he volunteered nothing; and Marriott had prettywell made up his mind by this time that he would not ask any questionsuntil he had eaten and slept. Food and sleep were obviously what thepoor devil needed most and first--he was pleased with his powers ofready diagnosis--and it would not be fair to press him till he hadrecovered a bit.They ate their supper together while the host carried on a runningone-sided conversation, chiefly about himself and his exams and his "oldcat" of a landlady, so that the guest need not utter a single wordunless he really wished to--which he evidently did not! But, while hetoyed with his food, feeling no desire to eat, the other atevoraciously. To see a hungry man devour cold scones, stale oatcake, andbrown bread laden with marmalade was a revelation to this inexperiencedstudent who had never known what it was to be without at least threemeals a day. He watched in spite of himself, wondering why the fellowdid not choke in the process.But Field seemed to be as sleepy as he was hungry. More than once hishead dropped and he ceased to masticate the food in his mouth. Marriotthad positively to shake him before he would go on with his meal. Astronger emotion will overcome a weaker, but this struggle between thesting of real hunger and the magical opiate of overpowering sleep was acurious sight to the student, who watched it with mingled astonishmentand alarm. He had heard of the pleasure it was to feed hungry men, andwatch them eat, but he had never actually witnessed it, and he had noidea it was like this. Field ate like an animal--gobbled, stuffed,gorged. Marriott forgot his reading, and began to feel something verymuch like a lump in his throat."Afraid there's been awfully little to offer you, old man," he managedto blurt out when at length the last scone had disappeared, and therapid, one-sided meal was at an end. Field still made no reply, for hewas almost asleep in his seat. He merely looked up wearily andgratefully."Now you must have some sleep, you know," he continued, "or you'll go topieces. I shall be up all night reading for this blessed exam. You'remore than welcome to my bed. To-morrow we'll have a late breakfastand--and see what can be done--and make plans--I'm awfully good atmaking plans, you know," he added with an attempt at lightness.Field maintained his "dead sleepy" silence, but appeared to acquiesce,and the other led the way into the bedroom, apologising as he did so tothis half-starved son of a baronet--whose own home was almost apalace--for the size of the room. The weary guest, however, made nopretence of thanks or politeness. He merely steadied himself on hisfriend's arm as he staggered across the room, and then, with all hisclothes on, dropped his exhausted body on the bed. In less than a minutehe was to all appearances sound asleep.For several minutes Marriott stood in the open door and watched him;praying devoutly that he might never find himself in a like predicament,and then fell to wondering what he would do with his unbidden guest onthe morrow. But he did not stop long to think, for the call of his bookswas imperative, and happen what might, he must see to it that he passedthat examination.Having again locked the door into the hall, he sat down to his books andresumed his notes on materia medica where he had left off when thebell rang. But it was difficult for some time to concentrate his mind onthe subject. His thoughts kept wandering to the picture of thatwhite-faced, strange-eyed fellow, starved and dirty, lying in hisclothes and boots on the bed. He recalled their schooldays togetherbefore they had drifted apart, and how they had vowed eternalfriendship--and all the rest of it. And now! What horrible straits to bein. How could any man let the love of dissipation take such hold uponhim?But one of their vows together Marriott, it seemed, had completelyforgotten. Just now, at any rate, it lay too far in the background ofhis memory to be recalled.Through the half-open door--the bedroom led out of the sitting-room andhad no other door--came the sound of deep, long-drawn breathing, theregular, steady breathing of a tired man, so tired that, even to listento it made Marriott almost want to go to sleep himself."He needed it," reflected the student, "and perhaps it came only just intime!"Perhaps so; for outside the bitter wind from across the Forth howledcruelly and drove the rain in cold streams against the window-panes, anddown the deserted streets. Long before Marriott settled down againproperly to his reading, he heard distantly, as it were, through thesentences of the book, the heavy, deep breathing of the sleeper in thenext room.A couple of hours later, when he yawned and changed his books, he stillheard the breathing, and went cautiously up to the door to look round.At first the darkness of the room must have deceived him, or else hiseyes were confused and dazzled by the recent glare of the reading lamp.For a minute or two he could make out nothing at all but dark lumps offurniture, the mass of the chest of drawers by the wall, and the whitepatch where his bath stood in the centre of the floor.Then the bed came slowly into view. And on it he saw the outline of thesleeping body gradually take shape before his eyes, growing up strangelyinto the darkness, till it stood out in marked relief--the long blackform against the white counterpane.He could hardly help smiling. Field had not moved an inch. He watchedhim a moment or two and then returned to his books. The night was fullof the singing voices of the wind and rain. There was no sound oftraffic; no hansoms clattered over the cobbles, and it was still tooearly for the milk carts. He worked on steadily and conscientiously,only stopping now and again to change a book, or to sip some of thepoisonous stuff that kept him awake and made his brain so active, and onthese occasions Field's breathing was always distinctly audible in theroom. Outside, the storm continued to howl, but inside the house all wasstillness. The shade of the reading lamp threw all the light upon thelittered table, leaving the other end of the room in comparativedarkness. The bedroom door was exactly opposite him where he sat. Therewas nothing to disturb the worker, nothing but an occasional rush ofwind against the windows, and a slight pain in his arm.This pain, however, which he was unable to account for, grew once ortwice very acute. It bothered him; and he tried to remember how, andwhen, he could have bruised himself so severely, but without success.At length the page before him turned from yellow to grey, and there weresounds of wheels in the street below. It was four o'clock. Marriottleaned back and yawned prodigiously. Then he drew back the curtains. Thestorm had subsided and the Castle Rock was shrouded in mist. Withanother yawn he turned away from the dreary outlook and prepared tosleep the remaining four hours till breakfast on the sofa. Field wasstill breathing heavily in the next room, and he first tip-toed acrossthe floor to take another look at him.Peering cautiously round the half-opened door his first glance fell uponthe bed now plainly discernible in the grey light of morning. He staredhard. Then he rubbed his eyes. Then he rubbed his eyes again and thrusthis head farther round the edge of the door. With fixed eyes he staredharder still, and harder.But it made no difference at all. He was staring into an empty room.The sensation of fear he had felt when Field first appeared upon thescene returned suddenly, but with much greater force. He becameconscious, too, that his left arm was throbbing violently and causinghim great pain. He stood wondering, and staring, and trying to collecthis thoughts. He was trembling from head to foot.By a great effort of the will he left the support of the door and walkedforward boldly into the room.There, upon the bed, was the impress of a body, where Field had lain andslept. There was the mark of the head on the pillow, and the slightindentation at the foot of the bed where the boots had rested on thecounterpane. And there, plainer than ever--for he was closer to it--wasthe breathing!Marriott tried to pull himself together. With a great effort he foundhis voice and called his friend aloud by name!"Field! Is that you? Where are you?"There was no reply; but the breathing continued without interruption,coming directly from the bed. His voice had such an unfamiliar soundthat Marriott did not care to repeat his questions, but he went down onhis knees and examined the bed above and below, pulling the mattress offfinally, and taking the coverings away separately one by one. Butthough the sounds continued there was no visible sign of Field, nor wasthere any space in which a human being, however small, could haveconcealed itself. He pulled the bed out from the wall, but the soundstayed where it was. It did not move with the bed.Marriott, finding self-control a little difficult in his wearycondition, at once set about a thorough search of the room. He wentthrough the cupboard, the chest of drawers, the little alcove where theclothes hung--everything. But there was no sign of anyone. The smallwindow near the ceiling was closed; and, anyhow, was not large enough tolet a cat pass. The sitting-room door was locked on the inside; he couldnot have got out that way. Curious thoughts began to trouble Marriott'smind, bringing in their train unwelcome sensations. He grew more andmore excited; he searched the bed again till it resembled the scene of apillow fight; he searched both rooms, knowing all the time it wasuseless,--and then he searched again. A cold perspiration broke out allover his body; and the sound of heavy breathing, all this time, neverceased to come from the corner where Field had lain down to sleep.Then he tried something else. He pushed the bed back exactly into itsoriginal position--and himself lay down upon it just where his guest hadlain. But the same instant he sprang up again in a single bound. Thebreathing was close beside him, almost on his cheek, and between him andthe wall! Not even a child could have squeezed into the space.He went back into his sitting-room, opened the windows, welcoming allthe light and air possible, and tried to think the whole matter overquietly and clearly. Men who read too hard, and slept too little, heknew were sometimes troubled with very vivid hallucinations. Again hecalmly reviewed every incident of the night; his accurate sensations;the vivid details; the emotions stirred in him; the dreadful feast--nosingle hallucination could ever combine all these and cover so long aperiod of time. But with less satisfaction he thought of the recurringfaintness, and curious sense of horror that had once or twice come overhim, and then of the violent pains in his arm. These were quiteunaccountable.Moreover, now that he began to analyse and examine, there was one otherthing that fell upon him like a sudden revelation: During the wholetime Field had not actually uttered a single word! Yet, as though inmockery upon his reflections, there came ever from that inner room thesound of the breathing, long-drawn, deep, and regular. The thing wasincredible. It was absurd.Haunted by visions of brain fever and insanity, Marriott put on his capand macintosh and left the house. The morning air on Arthur's Seat wouldblow the cobwebs from his brain; the scent of the heather, and aboveall, the sight of the sea. He roamed over the wet slopes above Holyroodfor a couple of hours, and did not return until the exercise had shakensome of the horror out of his bones, and given him a ravening appetiteinto the bargain.As he entered he saw that there was another man in the room, standingagainst the window with his back to the light. He recognised hisfellow-student Greene, who was reading for the same examination."Read hard all night, Marriott," he said, "and thought I'd drop in hereto compare notes and have some breakfast. You're out early?" he added,by way of a question. Marriott said he had a headache and a walk hadhelped it, and Greene nodded and said "Ah!" But when the girl had setthe steaming porridge on the table and gone out again, he went on withrather a forced tone, "Didn't know you had any friends who drank,Marriott?"This was obviously tentative, and Marriott replied drily that he did notknow it either."Sounds just as if some chap were 'sleeping it off' in there, doesn'tit, though?" persisted the other, with a nod in the direction of thebedroom, and looking curiously at his friend. The two men staredsteadily at each other for several seconds, and then Marriott saidearnestly--"Then you hear it too, thank God!""Of course I hear it. The door's open. Sorry if I wasn't meant to.""Oh, I don't mean that," said Marriott, lowering his voice. "But I'mawfully relieved. Let me explain. Of course, if you hear it too, thenit's all right; but really it frightened me more than I can tell you. Ithought I was going to have brain fever, or something, and you know whata lot depends on this exam. It always begins with sounds, or visions, orsome sort of beastly hallucination, and I--""Rot!" ejaculated the other impatiently. "What are you talking about?""Now, listen to me, Greene," said Marriott, as calmly as he could, forthe breathing was still plainly audible, "and I'll tell you what Imean, only don't interrupt." And thereupon he related exactly what hadhappened during the night, telling everything, even down to the pain inhis arm. When it was over he got up from the table and crossed the room."You hear the breathing now plainly, don't you?" he said. Greene said hedid. "Well, come with me, and we'll search the room together." Theother, however, did not move from his chair."I've been in already," he said sheepishly; "I heard the sounds andthought it was you. The door was ajar--so I went in."Marriott made no comment, but pushed the door open as wide as it wouldgo. As it opened, the sound of breathing grew more and more distinct."Someone must be in there," said Greene under his breath."Someone is in there, but where?" said Marriott. Again he urged hisfriend to go in with him. But Greene refused point-blank; said he hadbeen in once and had searched the room and there was nothing there. Hewould not go in again for a good deal.They shut the door and retired into the other room to talk it all overwith many pipes. Greene questioned his friend very closely, but withoutilluminating result, since questions cannot alter facts."The only thing that ought to have a proper, a logical, explanation isthe pain in my arm," said Marriott, rubbing that member with an attemptat a smile. "It hurts so infernally and aches all the way up. I can'tremember bruising it, though.""Let me examine it for you," said Greene. "I'm awfully good at bones inspite of the examiners' opinion to the contrary." It was a relief toplay the fool a bit, and Marriott took his coat off and rolled up hissleeve."By George, though, I'm bleeding!" he exclaimed. "Look here! What onearth's this?"On the forearm, quite close to the wrist, was a thin red line. There wasa tiny drop of apparently fresh blood on it. Greene came over and lookedclosely at it for some minutes. Then he sat back in his chair, lookingcuriously at his friend's face."You've scratched yourself without knowing it," he said presently."There's no sign of a bruise. It must be something else that made thearm ache."Marriott sat very still, staring silently at his arm as though thesolution of the whole mystery lay there actually written upon the skin."What's the matter? I see nothing very strange about a scratch," saidGreene, in an unconvincing sort of voice. "It was your cuff linksprobably. Last night in your excitement--"But Marriott, white to the very lips, was trying to speak. The sweatstood in great beads on his forehead. At last he leaned forward close tohis friend's face."Look," he said, in a low voice that shook a little. "Do you see thatred mark? I mean underneath what you call the scratch?"Greene admitted he saw something or other, and Marriott wiped the placeclean with his handkerchief and told him to look again more closely."Yes, I see," returned the other, lifting his head after a moment'scareful inspection. "It looks like an old scar.""It is an old scar," whispered Marriott, his lips trembling. "Now itall comes back to me.""All what?" Greene fidgeted on his chair. He tried to laugh, but withoutsuccess. His friend seemed bordering on collapse."Hush! Be quiet, and--I'll tell you," he said. "Field made that scar."For a whole minute the two men looked each other full in the facewithout speaking."Field made that scar!" repeated Marriott at length in a louder voice."Field! You mean--last night?""No, not last night. Years ago--at school, with his knife. And I made ascar in his arm with mine." Marriott was talking rapidly now."We exchanged drops of blood in each other's cuts. He put a drop into myarm and I put one into his--""In the name of heaven, what for?""It was a boys' compact. We made a sacred pledge, a bargain. I rememberit all perfectly now. We had been reading some dreadful book and weswore to appear to one another--I mean, whoever died first swore to showhimself to the other. And we sealed the compact with each other's blood.I remember it all so well--the hot summer afternoon in the playground,seven years ago--and one of the masters caught us and confiscated theknives--and I have never thought of it again to this day--""And you mean--" stammered Greene.But Marriott made no answer. He got up and crossed the room and lay downwearily upon the sofa, hiding his face in his hands.Greene himself was a bit non-plussed. He left his friend alone for alittle while, thinking it all over again. Suddenly an idea seemed tostrike him. He went over to where Marriott still lay motionless on thesofa and roused him. In any case it was better to face the matter,whether there was an explanation or not. Giving in was always the sillyexit."I say, Marriott," he began, as the other turned his white face up tohim. "There's no good being so upset about it. I mean--if it's all anhallucination we know what to do. And if it isn't--well, we know what tothink, don't we?""I suppose so. But it frightens me horribly for some reason," returnedhis friend in a hushed voice. "And that poor devil--""But, after all, if the worst is true and--and that chap has kept hispromise--well, he has, that's all, isn't it?"Marriott nodded."There's only one thing that occurs to me," Greene went on, "and thatis, are you quite sure that--that he really ate like that--I mean thathe actually ate anything at all?" he finished, blurting out all histhought.Marriott stared at him for a moment and then said he could easily makecertain. He spoke quietly. After the main shock no lesser surprise couldaffect him."I put the things away myself," he said, "after we had finished. Theyare on the third shelf in that cupboard. No one's touched 'em since."He pointed without getting up, and Greene took the hint and went over tolook."Exactly," he said, after a brief examination; "just as I thought. Itwas partly hallucination, at any rate. The things haven't been touched.Come and see for yourself."Together they examined the shelf. There was the brown loaf, the plate ofstale scones, the oatcake, all untouched. Even the glass of whiskyMarriott had poured out stood there with the whisky still in it."You were feeding--no one," said Greene "Field ate and drank nothing. Hewas not there at all!""But the breathing?" urged the other in a low voice, staring with adazed expression on his face.Greene did not answer. He walked over to the bedroom, while Marriottfollowed him with his eyes. He opened the door, and listened. There wasno need for words. The sound of deep, regular breathing came floatingthrough the air. There was no hallucination about that, at any rate.Marriott could hear it where he stood on the other side of the room.Greene closed the door and came back. "There's only one thing to do," hedeclared with decision. "Write home and find out about him, andmeanwhile come and finish your reading in my rooms. I've got an extrabed.""Agreed," returned the Fourth Year Man; "there's no hallucination aboutthat exam; I must pass that whatever happens."And this was what they did.It was about a week later when Marriott got the answer from his sister.Part of it he read out to Greene--"It is curious," she wrote, "that in your letter you should haveenquired after Field. It seems a terrible thing, but you know only ashort while ago Sir John's patience became exhausted, and he turned himout of the house, they say without a penny. Well, what do you think? Hehas killed himself. At least, it looks like suicide. Instead of leavingthe house, he went down into the cellar and simply starved himself todeath. . . . They're trying to suppress it, of course, but I heard it allfrom my maid, who got it from their footman. . . . They found the body onthe 14th and the doctor said he had died about twelve hours before. . . .He was dreadfully thin. . . .""Then he died on the 13th," said Greene.Marriott nodded."That's the very night he came to see you."Marriott nodded again.
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