the clock was striking the hour of ten at night as beatrice ravengar rose to put away the embroidery with which she had been occupied.
save for the companionship of her faithful st. bernard she was alone. godfrey was out visiting his patients. idris had been absent since noon, and beatrice wondered what had become of him, little thinking that he was passing his time in a moonlit cave, tête-à-tête with mademoiselle rivière. the page-boy, who was accustomed to sleep at his own home, had taken his departure: and as for the housemaid, well, every one knows that when housemaids promise to be home punctually by nine p. m., they mean any time up to eleven, and beatrice's little domestic was no exception to this rule.
methodical in all her ways beatrice was in the habit of mapping out beforehand a certain amount of work to be done during the day. her self-allotted tasks being now completed she was ready for bed, but could not think of retiring before the return of the absentees.
with a little yawn she wondered what she should do to fill up the gap of time, and seeing a book lying upon the table, one that idris had been reading earlier in the day, she took it up and found it to be a novel.
beatrice as a rule avoided fiction, but on the present occasion she felt herself unequal to anything but the lightest kind of literary confectionery, and, accordingly, settling herself comfortably in her armchair, she began to read the novel, which bore the title of "the fair orientalist."[pg 166] it was of the nightmare order, and dealt with the doings of an eastern lady, gifted with occult powers.
after the first chapter beatrice glanced down to make sure that the faithful leo was lying at her feet: when reading a story of the supernatural at night it is good to have a companion with us, though that companion be but a dog.
having finished the second chapter she threw a glance at the windows, and was glad to observe that the blinds were drawn, since at night-time panes of glass are sometimes apt to reflect the gaslight in such a way as to create the impression that there are eyes on the outside watching us.
at the end of the third chapter beatrice had become positively alarmed at the clairvoyance and occult powers ascribed to the oriental lady: and yet, so fascinated was she by the story that, despite her growing fears, she found it impossible to lay down the book.
hark! what was that?
a sound, coming apparently from the upper storey, echoed through the lonely house. with a beating heart beatrice ceased reading, and listened. the sound was repeated, and she smiled at her fears. the latticed window at the head of the staircase was open, and flapping idly on its hinges. that was all!
this thought, however, was quickly followed by another that revived her uneasiness. since the casement had been ajar all the evening why had it not flapped before?
"the wind must be rising," thought beatrice: and with this reasonable explanation she resumed her reading.
o, that window!
it persisted in flapping to and fro at intervals, the irregularity of which was the most annoying part of the matter.
[pg 167]
sometimes the sound was so faint as to be scarcely audible: then, after a lapse of silence so long as to promise that the torment had altogether ceased, the casement would give a rattle louder than ever, and more startling by contrast with the previous stillness. a little more force on the part of the wind would result in the shattering of those diamond panes.
"i must go up and shut it!"
sensible resolve! but it was not carried out. the incident, trifling though it was, combined with the effect of the novel, had reduced her to a state of nervousness so great that she durst not ascend the staircase to close the window. despising herself for her cowardice she remained in her armchair, neglecting the only effectual way of ending the annoyance.
she glanced again at the dog, and derived some assurance from his quiet air. though wideawake he did not display any signs of alarm.
"one advantage brute creatures have over the human," thought she. "they never frighten themselves with ghostly fears."
she again fixed her eyes upon the book, endeavouring to ignore the real terror by a forced attention to an imaginary one, a literary hom?opathy that was scarcely likely to be successful.
one of the powers possessed by the fair orientalist was that of enduing inanimate objects with her own magnetism by virtue of which they became gifted for the time being with sentience and motion.
the fancy now seized beatrice, so deeply had she fallen under the spell of the weird romance, that the restless casement above was moved by similar means, and that its flapping was designed to call her attention to—she knew not what. a strange idea! but it grew upon her, and increased till it filled her mind to the exclusion[pg 168] of everything else. the book, neglected, slid from her knees, and she sat listening to the swinging of the casement. and as it is possible to tell the mood of a musician by the notes he plays, so beatrice fancied she could detect a meaning in each variation of sound.
first, there was a sharp slam intended primarily to arrest attention, like the ting-ting of the telegraph operator: next, a low plaintive swing beseeching her to ascend the stairs and come to the rescue, followed by a remonstratory flap censuring her for delaying. then ensued a slow solemn sound suggestive of the gravity of the situation: finally, there came a loud rattle that echoed through the house as if threatening penalties for her negligence.
the geologist will read history in a cliff: beatrice read a whole tragedy in the varying tones of that casement.
and now, a mysterious influence, emanating from the latticed window, seemed to steal silently down the staircase like a ghost, and entering the apartment where she sat and enwrapping her with an unseen pall of horror, whispered a thought that swept all the warmth from her body and left her icy-cold.
the viking's skull!
at the head of the staircase, on the ledge of the embrasured window, was the grim memorial, taken at midnight from the sepulchral mound. beatrice's mind became impressed with the belief that the casement was flapping in sympathy with the skull, was its mouthpiece, so to speak—nay more, that the dread relic itself was moaning to be taken back to its ancient resting-place. her quickening fancy drew a picture of the skull, whispering, nodding, grinning, its hollow orbs illumined with blue, phosphorescent light.
gazing fearfully at the door she saw that it was open.[pg 169] she must close it ere the horrid object should come gliding down the staircase into the room.
summoning up her small amount of remaining courage beatrice rose, and with timid, staccato steps, approached the door, attended by leo. mute as a statue she stood in the attitude of listening, her fingers on the door-handle.
was it the voice of the breeze sighing through the half-opened casement, or was it the skull whispering and chuckling with ghostly glee? she had but to step forward two paces to be within the corridor, and by looking up the staircase would see the skull at its head.
but this was more than she durst do. to her dismay leo had walked out of the room, and refused to return. she could not shut the door upon the dog: in her present state of mind his presence was an absolute necessity, and yet, to venture out into the passage to bring him back, and by so doing come within sight of the skull, was a feat beyond her courage.
the corridor-lamp had not been lighted. the glory of the full moon shone on the staircase window at such an angle that the outline of the casement was projected upon the floor of the passage directly within view of the door at which she was standing. she could not avoid seeing the oblong patch of spectral white. but that shadow in the centre like a human head, black and still as if nailed to the flooring! it was the silhouette of the skull!
trembling, she averted her eyes from the shadow, and fortunately at that moment leo, having decided that the room was more comfortable than the corridor, reentered the apartment, and beatrice instantly closed the door and turned the key, feeling more at ease now that an inch of oak interposed between herself and the object at the stair head.
[pg 170]
but now came another terror!
leo had taken his place on the hearth-rug where he remained quiet for a few minutes. then, suddenly, he began to grow restive. giving a low growl he started to his feet, and after looking about on all sides began to walk round the room, sniffing suspiciously at the floor, as if he expected danger from the cellar below rather than from the staircase above.
his investigations concluded, the poor brute sat down on his haunches, and lifting up his head gave utterance to one long and plaintive howl. and if ever dog uttered prophecy leo uttered it at that moment, and the tenor of his prediction was that some dire peril was at hand.
beatrice, who had followed the animal from one part of the room to another, repeating "leo, leo, what's the matter?" as if he were capable of speech, knelt by his side and found him quivering in every limb, his hair bristling as if with fear.
hark!
a gust of wind, more forcible than any that had preceded it, slammed the staircase window with a loud bang, shivering its diamond panes: and—more alarming still!—this accident was accompanied by a sound like the fall of some light object.
beatrice doubted not for a moment that the skull had dropped from the ledge and was now coming down the staircase.
nor did she err. a second bump told her that the thing had rolled over one stair. a third fall ensued, and then a fourth. these sounds did not follow instantaneously one upon another, but there was between each a distinct pause, suggestive of the idea that the skull was endowed with a volition and a motion of its own: as if, in fact, it were choosing its way, and descending at leisure.
[pg 171]
awaiting the issue beatrice sat, the very picture of terror, her hands clasped, her dilated eyes riveted on the door of the apartment. it seemed many minutes since the skull had begun its descent, though, perhaps, fifteen seconds had scarcely elapsed. finally, the lowest stair was reached, and the skull, pitching forward, rolled up to the door of the apartment, as if seeking admittance.
at its dread knock the walls and floor of the room seemed to tremble. the lights in the gasalier went out, leaving the chamber in semi-darkness. the dying embers of the fire, flickering strangely and unsteadily, caused weird shapes to spring up from floor to ceiling.
at the same time a vibratory motion was communicated to beatrice's person. she found herself oscillating to and fro, unable to check herself. a mysterious power grasped her ankles with unseen fingers and strove to elevate her in air.
fully believing that her last hour had come beatrice gave one long pealing cry, in which the terrified yelp of the dog mingled. she was shot violently forward: a noise like the rattle produced by a thousand falling plates rang in her ears, and tumbling headlong to the carpet she lost all consciousness.
* * * * * *
when beatrice next opened her eyes she found herself lying on the sofa with three persons standing beside her: godfrey was sprinkling her face and throat with cold water: the housemaid was applying a bottle of strong salts to her nostrils: and idris was holding a candle, the feeble light of which he strove to steady by shielding it with his hand. the windows and door were wide open, and the cool night air was blowing through the room, laden with a faint odour of escaped gas.
beatrice gave a feeble smile of recognition, and then[pg 172] gazed vacantly around the apartment, unable at first to recall what had preceded the present state of affairs.
the room presented a scene of confusion. all the pictures hung awry: the ornaments of the mantel had fallen, and lay, some shattered to pieces, within the fireplace: fragments of one of the gasalier globes starred the carpet: the doors of the bookcase were open, and many of the volumes had been projected from their shelves to the floor. on the table was the viking's skull, the cause, in some mysterious way, of all this disorder; at least, such was beatrice's opinion.
"i have been horribly frightened!" she said, as soon as she had recovered the use of speech.
"and well you might be!" replied idris. "godfrey and i had just reached the door, when the house shook to its foundations, and out went all the lights. by heaven! i thought the place was coming down. we have had an earthquake shock."
but the imaginative mind of beatrice, still under the spell of "the fair orientalist," was not prepared to accept this rational explanation.
"earthquakes don't happen in england," she declared.
"slight shocks occasionally occur here," said idris, "and the present one is a case in point. why," he added, observing beatrice's dissentient shake of her head, "what else could it have been?"
"i cannot say," she answered, shivering, and glancing at the viking's skull. "but this much i know, that long before the house shook and the gas went out, i was frightened by strange sounds coming from the head of the staircase where the skull was, and so—and so——"
and here beatrice paused, not knowing how to express to others that which was not very clear to herself.
"and so you began to think that the skull was talking[pg 173] and threatening you with mystic oracles? fie, trixie," said her brother, reprovingly. "i did not think you could be so foolish."
but perceiving that it would be useless at this juncture to try to reason her out of her belief, such process being best reserved for the sober light of morning, godfrey turned to give some orders to the housemaid.
"ha!" exclaimed idris, picking up the novel from the floor, "so you have been reading this? then i don't wonder that you have been frightened. 'the fair orientalist' is not a book to be read at night in a lonely house."
"i will not deny that the book frightened me, but what was it that frightened leo? he cannot read ghost-stories, and yet he howled piteously."
"probably with that prevision instinctive in the brute race he discerned the coming of this catastrophe."
beatrice, having now recovered herself, proposed a tour of the house with a view of ascertaining how much damage had been done.
the walls did not exhibit any cracks or fissures, and apparently were as sound as before, but on the floor of every room proofs of the recent earth-tremor were evident in the shape of fallen articles.
breakage was especially triumphant in the kitchen.
"ah me!" sighed beatrice, sorrowfully. "good-bye to my new tea-service! and my pretty majolica bread-plate gone, too! nothing will convince me that this is not the work of the viking. when he was alive i have no doubt that, being a heathen, he took a pleasure in slaying good christian folk: and now that he is dead he shows his malignity by destroying their crockery-ware. a noble viking, one would think, should be above such meanness."
on returning to the sitting-room idris, for the [pg 174]enlightenment of beatrice, began to relate his adventure with mademoiselle rivière; and, as beatrice listened, she became strangely disquieted by the incident. why should this be?
but when idris, in the course of his story, dwelt on the beauty of lorelie, and above all on the heroic light of her eyes when she bade him leave her to save himself, beatrice readily discerned by the warmth of his tone how matters stood with him, and realizing this, her agitation increased. surprised, frightened, trembling, she found herself borne along on the wild wave of her emotion to the certain knowledge that her feelings towards idris were not those of friendship simply, but of love!
and perceiving how deeply enthralled he was by the witchery of lorelie rivière her mind became tortured with exquisite pain.
fearing that idris and godfrey might observe her emotion and divine its cause, she seized a favourable moment to steal from the apartment, without so little as a "good-night," lest her voice should betray her.
and on attaining her dainty bedroom she flung herself upon the bed and gave way to emotion, despising herself as foolish, and yet unable to check her tears.
"if he but knew her true character!" she murmured: "if he but knew! but it is not for me to tell him. he will—he must learn it in time. and then—and then—perhaps—it may be—that——"
but beatrice put this hope from her as too delightful ever to be realized.
"now to examine my noble viking," said idris, taking up the skull from the table. "let us see whether he has suffered any injury in his roll down-stairs.—hul-lo!"
shaking the skull as he spoke, his attention was arrested by a faint rattle within it, a sound that he had not heard in his previous handlings of the relic.
[pg 175]
"listen, godfrey!" he cried in a curious tone of voice, and shaking the skull again. "what is this inside?"
he stopped the motion to examine the skull more carefully. strange that till this moment he had not noticed that the occipital bone was pierced by a tiny hole of circular shape!
"do you see this, godfrey?" he said, pointing out the orifice. "this could have been caused only by a sharp-pointed instrument. the thing rattling within must be a fragment of some weapon."
he gave the skull another shake, when, from the vertebral orifice there dropped a piece of rusty steel about two inches in length, slender, rounded, and tapering to a point.
"no one could live with a thing like this in his head," said idris. "so it is clear that we have here a fragment of the identical weapon that gave old orm his coup-de-grace."
a tiny piece of steel publicly exposed, say in a shop-window, will attract little, if any notice: but let it be known that the said steel is the instrument with which a murder has been wrought, and a whole city will come trooping forth to view: and fancy prices will be offered for it by connoisseurs of the gruesome.
deep, therefore, was the interest with which the two friends viewed their latest discovery.
"then this cannot be the skull of orm the viking," remarked godfrey, after a thoughtful pause, "if the tapestry we brought away from the tomb is to be received as an authority, since that represents him as slain by an arrow piercing his breast."
this contradiction between the evidence presented by the skull and that presented by the tapestry, perplexed idris in no small degree. having conceived the somewhat pleasing notion that he was the possessor of the[pg 176] skull of orm the golden, he was loth to relinquish his belief, and prepared to argue the point.
"artists, whether in needlework or in oils, are not always to be accepted as historic authorities. i have no doubt suppressio veri was practised as much in the viking age as in our own. if orm died with a wound in the occiput, what does that seem to show? that he must have turned his back on his foes in defiance of the canons of norse bravery. do you think that the weavers of the tapestry would let posterity know that orm had turned coward? no! therefore they make him die with an arrow in his breast, facing the foe, bold to the last. the tumulus in ravensdale is certainly orm's tomb: the name ormfell and the tapestry prove it, and hence the bones it contains must be those of orm."
"hum! i'm not convinced," replied godfrey. "you believe this steel to be the fragment of a battle-weapon: of what kind of weapon? it is too slender to have formed part of a sword or a dagger: too finely-pointed to have been the barb of a lance or an arrow."
"it may be a spike from that sort of mace which the vikings in their playful way were wont to call their 'morning star.' this is perhaps a stellar ray."
"rather fragile for the spike of a mace, isn't it?"
"true. i confess i am as much puzzled as yourself to name the weapon of which this once formed part."
for a long time idris continued to puzzle over the question, polishing the steel fragment till it gleamed with a silvery-azure light. he suggested its connection with all kinds of impossible weapons, but could come to no satisfactory conclusion. then, vexed by godfrey's scepticism, he said:—
"well, old wiseacre, if this be not orm's skull, tell me whose it is?"
"impossible to say—at present. my opinion is that[pg 177] it is not an ancient skull at all, but a modern one. the future will perhaps show whether i am right. as 'there's a divinity that shapes' human affairs, it may be that the earthquake of to-night has been sent for a purpose. it has had the effect of loosening the fragment of steel hitherto immovably fixed in the cavity of the skull. you will, perhaps, consider me fanciful, idris, but i have a presentiment that we are on the threshold of a startling discovery to which this piece of steel forms a clue."
