The House on the Borderland (8 page)

To this, she replied nothing; only trembled, violently, gasping and
sobbing, as though in the last extremity of fear.

Through some minutes, I reasoned with her; pointing out the need for
caution, and asking her to be brave. There was little to be afraid of
now, I explained—and, I tried to believe that I spoke the truth—but
she must be sensible, and not attempt to leave the house for a few days.

At last, I ceased, in despair. It was no use talking to her; she was,
obviously, not quite herself for the time being. Finally, I told her she
had better go to her room, if she could not behave rationally.

Still, she took not any notice. So, without more ado, I picked her up
in my arms, and carried her there. At first, she screamed, wildly; but
had relapsed into silent trembling, by the time I reached the stairs.

Arriving at her room, I laid her upon the bed. She lay there quietly
enough, neither speaking nor sobbing—just shaking in a very ague of
fear. I took a rug from a chair near by, and spread it over her. I could
do nothing more for her, and so, crossed to where Pepper lay in a big
basket. My sister had taken charge of him since his wound, to nurse him,
for it had proved more severe than I had thought, and I was pleased to
note that, in spite of her state of mind, she had looked after the old
dog, carefully. Stooping, I spoke to him, and, in reply, he licked my
hand, feebly. He was too ill to do more.

Then, going to the bed, I bent over my sister, and asked her how she
felt; but she only shook the more, and, much as it pained me, I had to
admit that my presence seemed to make her worse.

And so, I left her—locking the door, and pocketing the key. It seemed
to be the only course to take.

The rest of the day, I spent between the tower and my study. For food,
I brought up a loaf from the pantry, and on this, and some claret, I
lived for that day.

What a long, weary day it was. If only I could have gone out into the
gardens, as is my wont, I should have been content enough; but to be
cooped in this silent house, with no companion, save a mad woman and a
sick dog, was enough to prey upon the nerves of the hardiest. And out in
the tangled shrubberies that surrounded the house, lurked—for all I
could tell—those infernal Swine-creatures waiting their chance. Was
ever a man in such straits?

Once, in the afternoon, and again, later, I went to visit my sister.
The second time, I found her tending Pepper; but, at my approach, she
slid over, unobtrusively, to the far corner, with a gesture that
saddened me beyond belief. Poor girl! her fear cut me intolerably, and I
would not intrude on her, unnecessarily. She would be better, I trusted,
in a few days; meanwhile, I could do nothing; and I judged it still
needful—hard as it seemed—to keep her confined to her room. One thing
there was that I took for encouragement: she had eaten some of the food
I had taken to her, on my first visit.

And so the day passed.

As the evening drew on, the air grew chilly, and I began to make
preparations for passing a second night in the tower—taking up two
additional rifles, and a heavy ulster. The rifles I loaded, and laid
alongside my other; as I intended to make things warm for any of the
creatures who might show, during the night. I had plenty of ammunition,
and I thought to give the brutes such a lesson, as should show them the
uselessness of attempting to force an entrance.

After that, I made the 'round of the house again; paying particular
attention to the props that supported the study door. Then, feeling that
I had done all that lay in my power to insure our safety, I returned to
the tower; calling in on my sister and Pepper, for a final visit, on the
way. Pepper was asleep; but woke, as I entered, and wagged his tail, in
recognition. I thought he seemed slightly better. My sister was lying on
the bed; though whether asleep or not, I was unable to tell; and thus I
left them.

Reaching the tower, I made myself as comfortable as circumstances would
permit, and settled down to watch through the night. Gradually, darkness
fell, and soon the details of the gardens were merged into shadows.
During the first few hours, I sat, alert, listening for any sound that
might help to tell me if anything were stirring down below. It was far
too dark for my eyes to be of much use.

Slowly, the hours passed; without anything unusual happening. And the
moon rose, showing the gardens, apparently empty, and silent. And so,
through the night, without disturbance or sound.

Toward morning, I began to grow stiff and cold, with my long vigil;
also, I was getting very uneasy, concerning the continued quietness on
the part of the creatures. I mistrusted it, and would sooner, far, have
had them attack the house, openly. Then, at least, I should have known
my danger, and been able to meet it; but to wait like this, through a
whole night, picturing all kinds of unknown devilment, was to jeopardize
one's sanity. Once or twice, the thought came to me, that, perhaps, they
had gone; but, in my heart, I found it impossible to believe that it
was so.

At last, what with being tired and cold, and the uneasiness that
possessed me, I resolved to take a walk through the house; first calling
in at the study, for a glass of brandy to warm me. This, I did, and,
while there, I examined the door, carefully; but found all as I had left
it the night before.

The day was just breaking, as I left the tower; though it was still too
dark in the house to be able to see without a light, and I took one of
the study candles with me on my 'round. By the time I had finished the
ground floor, the daylight was creeping in, wanly, through the barred
windows. My search had shown me nothing fresh. Everything appeared to be
in order, and I was on the point of extinguishing my candle, when the
thought suggested itself to me to have another glance 'round the
cellars. I had not, if I remember rightly, been into them since my hasty
search on the evening of the attack.

For, perhaps, the half of a minute, I hesitated. I would have been very
willing to forego the task—as, indeed, I am inclined to think any man
well might—for of all the great, awe-inspiring rooms in this house, the
cellars are the hugest and weirdest. Great, gloomy caverns of places,
unlit by any ray of daylight. Yet, I would not shirk the work. I felt
that to do so would smack of sheer cowardice. Besides, as I reassured
myself, the cellars were really the most unlikely places in which to
come across anything dangerous; considering that they can be entered,
only through a heavy oaken door, the key of which, I carry always on
my person.

It is in the smallest of these places that I keep my wine; a gloomy
hole close to the foot of the cellar stairs; and beyond which, I have
seldom proceeded. Indeed, save for the rummage 'round, already
mentioned, I doubt whether I had ever, before, been right through
the cellars.

As I unlocked the great door, at the top of the steps, I paused,
nervously, a moment, at the strange, desolate smell that assailed my
nostrils. Then, throwing the barrel of my weapon forward, I descended,
slowly, into the darkness of the underground regions.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I stood for a minute, and listened.
All was silent, save for a faint drip, drip of water, falling,
drop-by-drop, somewhere to my left. As I stood, I noticed how quietly
the candle burnt; never a flicker nor flare, so utterly windless was
the place.

Quietly, I moved from cellar to cellar. I had but a very dim memory of
their arrangement. The impressions left by my first search were blurred.
I had recollections of a succession of great cellars, and of one,
greater than the rest, the roof of which was upheld by pillars; beyond
that my mind was hazy, and predominated by a sense of cold and darkness
and shadows. Now, however, it was different; for, although nervous, I
was sufficiently collected to be able to look about me, and note the
structure and size of the different vaults I entered.

Of course, with the amount of light given by my candle, it was not
possible to examine each place, minutely, but I was enabled to notice,
as I went along, that the walls appeared to be built with wonderful
precision and finish; while here and there, an occasional, massive
pillar shot up to support the vaulted roof.

Thus, I came, at last, to the great cellar that I remembered. It is
reached, through a huge, arched entrance, on which I observed strange,
fantastic carvings, which threw queer shadows under the light of my
candle. As I stood, and examined these, thoughtfully, it occurred to me
how strange it was, that I should be so little acquainted with my own
house. Yet, this may be easily understood, when one realizes the size of
this ancient pile, and the fact that only my old sister and I live in
it, occupying a few of the rooms, such as our wants decide.

Holding the light high, I passed on into the cellar, and, keeping to
the right, paced slowly up, until I reached the further end. I walked
quietly, and looked cautiously about, as I went. But, so far as the
light showed, I saw nothing unusual.

At the top, I turned to the left, still keeping to the wall, and so
continued, until I had traversed the whole of the vast chamber. As I
moved along, I noticed that the floor was composed of solid rock, in
places covered with a damp mould, in others bare, or almost so, save for
a thin coating of light-grey dust.

I had halted at the doorway. Now, however, I turned, and made my way up
the center of the place; passing among the pillars, and glancing to
right and left, as I moved. About halfway up the cellar, I stubbed my
foot against something that gave out a metallic sound. Stooping quickly,
I held the candle, and saw that the object I had kicked, was a large,
metal ring. Bending lower, I cleared the dust from around it, and,
presently, discovered that it was attached to a ponderous trap door,
black with age.

Feeling excited, and wondering to where it could lead, I laid my gun on
the floor, and, sticking the candle in the trigger guard, took the ring
in both hands, and pulled. The trap creaked loudly—the sound echoing,
vaguely, through the huge place—and opened, heavily.

Propping the edge on my knee, I reached for the candle, and held it in
the opening, moving it to right and left; but could see nothing. I was
puzzled and surprised. There were no signs of steps, nor even the
appearance of there ever having been any. Nothing; save an empty
blackness. I might have been looking down into a bottomless, sideless
well. Then, even as I stared, full of perplexity, I seemed to hear, far
down, as though from untold depths, a faint whisper of sound. I bent my
head, quickly, more into the opening, and listened, intently. It may
have been fancy; but I could have sworn to hearing a soft titter, that
grew into a hideous, chuckling, faint and distant. Startled, I leapt
backward, letting the trap fall, with a hollow clang, that filled the
place with echoes. Even then, I seemed to hear that mocking, suggestive
laughter; but this, I knew, must be my imagination. The sound, I had
heard, was far too slight to penetrate through the cumbrous trap.

For a full minute, I stood there, quivering—glancing, nervously,
behind and before; but the great cellar was silent as a grave, and,
gradually, I shook off the frightened sensation. With a calmer mind, I
became again curious to know into what that trap opened; but could not,
then, summon sufficient courage to make a further investigation. One
thing I felt, however, was that the trap ought to be secured. This, I
accomplished by placing upon it several large pieces of 'dressed'
stone, which I had noticed in my tour along the East wall.

Then, after a final scrutiny of the rest of the place, I retraced my
way through the cellars, to the stairs, and so reached the daylight,
with an infinite feeling of relief, that the uncomfortable task was
accomplished.

The sun was now warm, and shining brightly, forming a wondrous contrast
to the dark and dismal cellars; and it was with comparatively light
feelings, that I made my way up to the tower, to survey the gardens.
There, I found everything quiet, and, after a few minutes, went down to
Mary's room.

Here, having knocked, and received a reply, I unlocked the door. My
sister was sitting, quietly, on the bed; as though waiting. She seemed
quite herself again, and made no attempt to move away, as I approached;
yet, I observed that she scanned my face, anxiously, as though in doubt,
and but half assured in her mind that there was nothing to fear from me.

To my questions, as to how she felt, she replied, sanely enough, that
she was hungry, and would like to go down to prepare breakfast, if I did
not mind. For a minute, I meditated whether it would be safe to let her
out. Finally, I told her she might go, on condition that she promised
not to attempt to leave the house, or meddle with any of the outer
doors. At my mention of the doors, a sudden look of fright crossed her
face; but she said nothing, save to give the required promise, and then
left the room, silently.

Crossing the floor, I approached Pepper. He had waked as I entered;
but, beyond a slight yelp of pleasure, and a soft rapping with his tail,
had kept quiet. Now, as I patted him, he made an attempt to stand up,
and succeeded, only to fall back on his side, with a little yowl
of pain.

I spoke to him, and bade him lie still. I was greatly delighted with
his improvement, and also with the natural kindness of my sister's
heart, in taking such good care of him, in spite of her condition of
mind. After a while, I left him, and went downstairs, to my study.

In a little time, Mary appeared, carrying a tray on which smoked a hot
breakfast. As she entered the room, I saw her gaze fasten on the props
that supported the study door; her lips tightened, and I thought she
paled, slightly; but that was all. Putting the tray down at my elbow,
she was leaving the room, quietly, when I called her back. She came, it
seemed, a little timidly, as though startled; and I noted that her hand
clutched at her apron, nervously.