beautifulpanorama of sloping wine-lands, of river and rich pastures spread beforeme, while behind lay the long open road to Lyons, fringed on each sideby high poplars planted at regular intervals and running straight as anarrow across the blue distant plain to old-world Macon.
Over that road we sped two hours later at a speed which would never beallowed in England, and raising a perfect wall of dust behind us. Asta,seated between Shaw and myself, seemed unusually bright and happy, forshe laughed merrily, and declared herself delighted with the novelty andchange of the journey.
"What was the matter with you early this morning, Kemball?" inquired myhost presently with a laugh.
"You woke me up suddenly, and I believed that you were unwell!"
"No," I said. "On the contrary, I was awake, and I heard you sigh andgroan, therefore I believed you were ill."
"You were awake?" he echoed, regarding me sharply through his darkspectacles. "Then--then I must have had the nightmare or something,eh?"
"Probably you had," I said. Then I added, "I didn't pass a verygood-night myself."
"I hate sleeping in strange beds," Asta declared.
"One has to get used to them on a motor-tour," remarked Shaw, leaningback again, his face set straight before him.
I was half inclined to relate my weird experience, yet I felt that if Idid Asta might only regard me as a frightened fool.
Therefore the subject dropped when next moment, as the road ran over thehillside, we burst forth into admiration of the wide and magnificentpanorama with a splendid old chateau with numberless round-slatedturrets, perched upon a huge rock rising from the valley in theforeground--a huge, mediaeval fortress, yet still inhabited. Belowclustered the sloping roofs of a small village within the ponderouswalls of the chateau, entrance to which was by two ancient gates, withguard-houses built above them--a place which long ago had been thestronghold of one of the robber-barons of the Yonne.
Truly the Lyons road is full of variety and picturesqueness, running, asit does, through those rich vinelands and mountains of the Cote d'Or,before descending to the valley where the broad Saone flows south tojoin the mighty Rhone.
Passing through the beautiful Saussey forest, where the thick trees metin many places overhead, we shot through Ivry village, and, fiftykilometres after leaving Arnay-le-Duc, were compelled to slow down onentering the busy agricultural town of Chalons-sur-Saone. There we cameto the river-bank, following it through a number of villages well-knownin the wine-country, St Loup, Beaumont, Tournus, and Fleurville, untilat last we found ourselves passing slowly over the uneven cobbles andamong the curious high-gabled houses of old-world Macon.
There, at the Hotel Terminus, we lunched, and afterwards, while Shaw satsmoking, I went forth with Asta to an antiquarian, to whom we wererecommended, in order to buy antique crosses.
In the musty old shop, down in the older part of the town, kept by ashort, bald-headed, but urbane Frenchman, we found several treasures,beautiful old crucifixes of carved ivory and mother-of-pearl which Astaat once purchased in great delight and at moderate prices.
I bought an old thumb-ring and a couple of other trifles, and havingplenty of time at our disposal we strolled into the old cathedral andhad a look round the market-place.
Ah! how delightful it was to be her escort; how sweet to have her evenfor one single hour alone!
As we retraced our way to the hotel with halting steps, I resolved totell her of my weird experience of the previous night.
"A curious thing happened to me last night--or rather very early thismorning," I said, turning to her as we walked.
She looked quickly into my face and her lips were pressed together. Butonly for a second.
"What was that? Tell me," she said.
"Well. Do you see upon my left cheek a long red mark? It's going awaynow, but it was very plain this morning," I said.
"Yes," she replied. "I noticed it when we started. It hardly shows atall now."
"Well, its cause is quite inexplicable--a mystery," I said. "I am in noway superstitious, and I am no believer in the supernatural, but in thatinn at Arnay-le-Duc there is a Something--something uncanny. I wassound asleep when, just before night gave place to day, a cold handtouched my cheek--a phantom hand that left the mark which you see?"
"A hand?" she gasped, staring at me, her lips pale and cheeks suddenlyblanched. "Explain it. I--I can't understand."
"I awoke quickly at the chill death-like contact, and saw the hand a fewinches from my face--thin, claw-like, and yet a dark shadowy phantomwhich disappeared in an instant, even before I, so suddenly awakened,could realise what it actually was. But it was a hand--of that I amabsolutely positive."
"Yes," she said slowly, in a low, hoarse voice, nodding her head andpausing as though reflecting deeply. "Yes, Mr Kemball, you were notmistaken. I--I, too, strangely enough, had a very similar experienceabout six weeks ago, while staying up at Scarborough with Louise Oliver,an old schoolfellow of mine. I, too, saw the terrible Thing--the Hand!"
"You!" I gasped, staring at her. "You have seen it!"
In response she nodded, her eyes set straight before her, but no wordescaped her white, pent-up lips.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
I MAKE A DISCOVERY.
The Terminus Hotel at Lyons is, as you know, a large, artisticallyfurnished place at the Perrache Station, an hotel with a huge and garishrestaurant below, decorated in the style known as _art nouveau_. It isa busy spot, where rushing travellers are continuously going and coming,and where the excitable Frenchman, fearing to lose his train, is seen athis best.
It was there we arrived about six o'clock, and at seven we sat together,a merry trio, at dinner. The cooking was perfect, the wines excellent,and after dinner Shaw mentioned that he had letters to write. ThereforeI seized the opportunity to stroll out with Asta, for it was pleasant towalk after so many hours in the car.
She was dressed neatly in black coat and skirt, and a small straw hattrimmed with black ribbon--mourning for Guy Nicholson--and as wewandered out our careless footsteps led us across that wide squarecalled the Cours du Midi, and down upon the Quai de la Charite besidethe broad, swiftly flowing Rhone, the water of which ran crimson in thebrilliant afterglow.
A hot, breathless evening, in which half Lyons seemed to be taking anairing along the Quais of that winding river-bank which traverses thehandsome city. We had turned our backs upon the high railway bridgewhich spans the river, and set our faces towards the centre of the city,when I noticed that Asta seemed again very silent and thoughtful.
I inquired the reason, when she replied--
"I've been thinking over your curious experience of last night. I--I'vebeen wondering."
"Wondering what?"
"I've been trying to discern what connection your experience had with myown up in Yorkshire," she said. "I saw the hand distinctly--a thin,scraggy hand just as you saw it. But I have remained silent because--well, because I could not convince myself that such a thing was actuallya reality."
"Describe the whole circumstance," I urged. "On the occasion when yousaw it, was the door of your room locked?"
"Most certainly," was her reply. "Louise, who is married to a solicitorin Scarborough, invited me up to stay a week with her, and I went alone,Dad having gone to London. The house was on the Esplanade, one of therow of big grey houses that face the sea on the South Cliff. The familyconsisted only of Louise, her husband, three maids, and myself, asvisitor. My room was on the second floor, in the front facing the sea,and my experience was almost identical with that of yourself last night.I was awakened just before dawn by feeling a cold touch upon my cheek.And opening my eyes I saw the hand--it seemed to be the horrible hand ofDeath himself!"
"Most extraordinary!" I ejaculated.
"Since then, Mr Kemball, I have wondered whether; that touch was notsent as warning of impending evil--sent to forewarn me of the suddendeath of the man I loved!"
I was silent. The circumstances, so curious
ly identical, were certainlyalarming. Indeed, I could see that the narration of my extraordinaryexperience had terrified her. She seemed to have become suddenly mostsolicitous regarding my welfare, for after a slight pause she exclaimedanxiously--
"Do, Mr Kemball, take every precaution to secure your own safety.Somehow I--well, I don't know how it is, but I feel that the hand isseen as warning--a warning against something which threatens--againstsome evil of which we have no expectation, or--"
"It warned you of the terrible blow which so soon afterwards fell uponyou," I interrupted. "And it has warned me--of what?"
She shook her head.
"How can we tell?" she asked.
In a flash the remembrance of that bronze cylinder and the diremisfortune which had befallen
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