“And this little isle, which for so long has been the dwelling-place of God His servants, shall become an abode of demons, an ante-room of hell; foul fiends from the nether-most pit shall wander in this dark sanctuary; and no human head, least of all a Lovel’s, shall rest in peace upon this soil. Yet wilt thou dwell here, and thine heirs, never at peace, but bound by the iron chains of destiny.”
At which saying, enraged beyond measure, Sir Anthony smote the abbott with his sword, and slew him, and so —
Fascinated, Tony had not heard the door open, and shut the book quickly, almost in terror, as he heard Gaunt’s voice:
“Tony, old boy, I am very sorry to have to tell you, but your father is dying. He is still unconscious, but he may be able to speak to you just before the last.”
Lorrimer, standing near by, caught his breath and turned away. Tony said huskily:
“When will that be, Doctor?”
“Probably in a few hours’ time. It is a miracle that he is still alive, but nothing can save him. I will stay with him; you had better rest. I will call you if there is any change.”
Tony nodded silently, and Gaunt went back to his patient. As the door closed behind him Tony spoke to Lorrimer.
“You may go now. I shall be here if you want me.”
The old servant went out with the tears he did not attempt to conceal trickling down his wrinkled cheeks.
Tony sat down by the table and reopened the book. So far as he could make out in a perfunctory examination, it merely went on to tell, with a wealth of superfluous detail, the story of his family’s misfortunes, which he already knew too well. There was a passage concerning the infamous James Lovell which interested him, however:
Then came James Lovel, nephew to Anthony. He had learned the black art in Florence in his youth, and was not dismayed, nay, was delighted even, by the evil which dwelt on Kestrel. It is said that he and his associates turned the ancient crypt into a pagan temple, and celebrated the blasphemous mysteries of the black mass on God’s altar there. Many helpless infants were stolen away from their cradles in that time, and perished at his hands, sacrifices to the Demon.
During his lifetime, the curse, from a formless cloud of evil, grew into a monstrous thing having material shape, which at length overthrew his dominion, and destroyed him.
And now it dwells in the bowels of the abbey rock, drawing its life from the accursed family which dwells there, until one shall be found strong enough to overcome it, and drive this monster from the fair face of earth.
When the fading light at last rendered the crabbed writing illegible Tony closed the book and sat staring into the dusk.
Was it true? he asked himself. Since his father’s recovery, and during the happy weeks they had spent together, the story of the curse had been relegated to the lumber-room at the back of his mind; but now it sprang out again, panoplied in all its hellish significance. Once more he asked himself the age-old question: can such things be?
Presently Lorrimer came in and lit the lamp, but neither spoke, each respecting the other’s sorrow. Later Mrs. Lorrimer entered, her eyes red with weeping, and quietly set a tray, with sandwiches and decanter, on the table; but Tony could not eat, and only drank a little wine.
The hours crept by and outside the wind began to rise, wailing mournfully in the chimneys and spattering drops of rain upon the glass. Upstairs a Lovell lay a-dying, and it seemed that all Kestrel wept for him.
During those sad hours of waiting a great resolve was born in Tony’s heart. When his father died, and he himself was lord of Kestrel, he told himself that he would not rest until the ancient mystery was settled, once for all. Gaunt would help him, with his wide knowledge, which, once or twice during their friendship, had hinted at things not known to ordinary men.
It there were nothing in the hidden parts of the Abbey but dust and shadows, and the unquiet wind, then the horrid fable must be exploded. It there were more — and Tony’s mind balked at the possibility — then it must be utterly cast out. For a moment he saw himself and Gaunt, like knights of old chivalry, clad in shining armour, riding out to fight the dragon. So the hours crept by.
The pile of cigarette-ends and ash was overflowing the tray at Tony’s elbow when at last he heard a quick step outside, and the door opened. Gaunt, haggard and brilliant-eyed, stood on the threshold.
“Come, Tony, he is going.”
As if in a dream, Tony followed him along the passage to the hall, mounted the staircase, and passed down the gallery to his father’s room. He had a swift vision of the servants clustered around the door; then he was inside and on his knees by the great bed.
The old man lay very still, his grey hair hidden by the swathing bandages, his eyes closed. He hardly seemed to breathe.
Outside the wind howled like a soul in torment, and the rain lashed the window-panes.
Tony watched his father’s face with breathless attention. Would he pass out so into the unknown, without a word? No, the pale lips parted with a little moan, and the eyelids fluttered. With something of a shock Tony found himself gazing into the faded blue eyes, full of intelligence, which were immediately fixed upon him. A thin hand crept out over the coverlet, and he caught it in his own warm grasp. Faintly, as from a great distance, came his father’s voice:
“My boy. Don’t worry… everything is all right… I have remembered… the good doctor made me forget… but that book… in the library… I remembered again… everything went black… I suppose I fainted… and fell… Silly of me! But I’m not afraid any more… I’m going now… out of reach of that dark thing down there… in the crypt… the crypt, Tony… the altar… inside… steps… down… down… and then… the Thing! It is our responsibility, Tony… never forget that… ours. We brought it into the world… and we must keep it here… safe… away from everybody. Keep it… safe… safe…”
His voice trailed away into silence. Tony’s face was only a few inches from his father’s, the amazing likeness of the two, one old, the other young, standing out with a significance almost awful.
Gaunt stood at the foot of the bed, his hands gripping the posts on either side, trembling from head to foot. His eyes, glowing with a strange radiance of their own, were fixed on the old man with an intensity which was truly terrific. Small drops of sweat stood on his brow. Tony never looked at him.
Suddenly Sir Anthony opened his eyes again, gripped his son’s hand with surprising strength, and sat up, staring full at Gaunt. Loud and strong his voice came:
“Tony! I see it all — I see it now — the whole abominable thing. Beware! Beware of — But his voice was strangled in his throat, his free hand clawed the air, and he fell back in the last agony. He gave a great sigh, and his limbs relaxed. Gently Tony disengaged himself and folded the thin waxen hands on the still breast. Gaunt turned away with a sigh, which, in any other place, might have been taken for one of relief.
At that moment the whole Abbey, from foundation stone to turret-top, quivered as if from a tremendous blow, and a dreadful yelling sound, deep-throated and inhuman, came bellowing up from some great depth below.
Tony felt as though an icy hand had closed about his heart. White to the lips, he sprang up, crying:
“In Heaven’s name, what was that?”
But the doctor replied quietly:
“Only the wind; the wind and the waves.”
Chapter VI
I
The wretched business of the inquest was soon over, the coroner finding that Sir Anthony had died from misadventure, and on a beautiful June morning he was laid to rest in the family vault in the little churchyard on the hillside above Pentock.