“What is ‘it?’” said the Baby.
“I do not know, Ba,” she answered. “I wish I did. There it comes now;” for just at that moment a great angry Tiger bounded over the tops of the highest trees, and stood glaring at them out of its great green flaming eyes.
May looked on this terrible thing with her eyes distended with terror; but still she clasped the Baby closer and closer. She kept looking at the Tiger, and saw that he was eyeing not her nor Sibold, but the Baby. This made her more frightened than ever, and she clasped him closer. As she looked, however, she saw that the Tiger’s eyes got less and less angry every moment, till at last they were as gentle and tame as those of her own favourite tabby.
Then the Tiger began to purr. The purring was like a cat’s purr, but so loud that it sounded like drums. However, she did not mind it, for although loud it seemed as if it meant to be gentle and caressing. Then the Tiger came close, and crouched before the Wondrous Child, and licked his little fat hands with its great rough red tongue, but very gently. The Baby laughed, and patted the Tiger’s great nose, and pulled the long bristling whiskers, and said:
“Gee, gee.”
The Tiger went on behaving most funnily. It lay down on its back, and rolled over and over, and then stood up and purred louder than ever. Its great tail rose straight into the air, with the top moving about and knocking to and fro a great bunch of grapes that hung down from the tree above. It seemed overwhelmed with joy, and came and crouched again before the Child, and purred round him in the greatest state of happiness. Finally it lay down, smiling and purring, and watching over the Child as if on guard.
Presently there came from the distance another terrible Sound. It was like a great Giant hissing; and was louder than steam, and more multitudinous than a flock of geese. There was also the sound of breaking branches, of the crushing of the undergrowth; and there was a terrible dragging noise like nothing else they had ever heard.
Again Sibold stood out between the sound and May, who once more held the Baby to protect him from harm.
The Tiger rose and arched his back like an angry cat, and got ready to spring on whatsoever should come.
Then there appeared over the tops of the trees the head of an enormous Serpent, with small eyes that shone like sparks of fire, and two great open jaws. These jaws were so big that it really seemed as if the beast’s whole head opened in two; and between them appeared a great forked tongue which seemed to spit venom. Behind this monstrous head appeared enormous coils of the Serpent’s body moving endlessly. The Tiger growled as if about to spring; but suddenly the Serpent lowered its head submissively. It was gazing at the Wondrous Child; and May looking, also saw that the wee Baby was pointing down as if commanding the Serpent to his feet. Then the Tiger, with a low growl and afterwards a contented purr, went back to its place to watch and guard; the great Serpent came gently and coiled itself in the glade, and it also seemed as if keeping watch and guard over the Wondrous Child.
Again there came another terrible sound. This time it was in the air. Great wings seemed to flap louder than thunder; and from far away the air was darkened by a mighty Bird of Prey that made a shadow over the land with its outspread wings.
As the Bird of Prey swooped down, the Tiger rose again and arched his back as though about to spring to meet it, and the Serpent raised his mighty coils and opened his great jaws as if about to strike.
But when the Bird saw the Child it too became less fierce, and hung in mid air with its head drooped as though making submission. Presently the Serpent coiled itself and lay as before, the Tiger went back to watch and guard, and the Bird of Prey alit in the glade and watched and guarded too.
May and Sibold began to look with wonder on the Beautiful Boy, before whom these monsters made obeisance; but they could not see anything strange.
Again there was another terrible sound—this time out to sea—a rushing and swishing as if some giant thing was lashing the water.
Looking round, the children saw two monsters coming. These were a Shark and a Crocodile. They rose out of the sea and came up on land. The Shark was jumping along, with its tail beating about and its triple rows of great teeth grinding together. The Crocodile was crawling along with its big feet and short bent legs; and its terrible mouth was opening and shutting, snapping its big teeth together.
When these two got near, the Tiger and the Serpent and the Bird of Prey all rose to guard the Child; but when the newcomers saw the Baby, they too made submission, and they also kept watch and guard—the Crocodile crawling on the beach, and the Shark moving up and down in the water—just like sentries.
Again May and Sibold looked at the Beautiful Child and wondered.
Once more there was a terrible noise, more awful than had yet been.
The earth seemed to shake, and a deep rumbling sound came from far below. Then, a little way off, a mountain suddenly rose; its top opened, and forth burst, with a sound louder than a storm, fire and smoke. Great volumes of black vapour rose and hung, a dark cloud, overhead. Red-hot stones of enormous size were shot aloft and fell again into the crater, and were lost. Down the sides of the mountain rolled torrents of burning lava, and springs of fiercely-boiling water burst forth on every side.
Sibold and May were more frightened than ever, and May clasped the dear Baby closer to her breast.
The thunder of the burning mountain grew louder and louder, the fiery lava poured thick and fast, and from the crater rose the head of a fiery Dragon, with eyes like burning coals and teeth like tongues of flame.
Then the Tiger and the Serpent and the Bird of Prey, and the Crocodile and the Shark, all prepared to defend the Wondrous Child.
But when the fiery Dragon saw the Boy it, too, was quelled; and it crawled humbly out from the burning crater.
Then the fiery mountain sunk again into the earth, the burning lava disappeared; and the Dragon remained with the others to watch and guard.
Sibold and May were more amazed than ever, and looked at the Baby more curiously still. Suddenly May said to her brother:
“Sibold, I want to whisper you something.”
Sibold bent his head, and she whispered very softly into his ear:
“I think the Ba is an Angel!”
Sibold looked at him in awe as he answered:
“I think so, too, dear. What are we to do?”
“I do not know,” said May; “I hope he will not be angry with us for calling him ‘Ba.’”
“I hope not,” said Sibold.
May thought for a moment, and then her face lit up with a glad smile as she said:
“He will not be angry, Sibold. You know we entertained him unawares.”
“Quite true,” said Sibold.
Whilst they were talking, all sorts of animals and birds and fishes were coming into the glade, walking arm in arm, as well as they could—for none of them had arms. A Lion and a Lamb came first, and these two bowed to the Child, and then went and lay down together. Then came a Fox and a Goose; and then a Hawk and a Pigeon; and then a Wolf and another Lamb; then a Dog and a Cat; and then another Cat and a Mouse; and then another Fox and a Stork; and a Hare and a Tortoise; and a Pike and a Trout; and a Sparrow and a Worm; and many, many others, till all the glade was full of living things all at peace with one another.
They all sat round the glade in pairs, and they all looked at the Wondrous Child.
May whispered again to Sibold:
“I think if he is an Angel we ought to be very respectful to him.”
Sibold nodded, slowing that he agreed with her; so she cuddled up the Baby closer and said:
“Please, Mister Ba, do not they all look nice and pretty sitting around like that?”
The Beautiful Child smiled sweetly as he answered:
“Beautiful and sweet they look.”
May said again:
“I wish they would always be like that, and never fight nor disagree at all, dear Ba. Oh! I beg your pardon. I mean, Mister Ba.”
The Child asked her:
“Why do you beg my pardon?”
“Because I called you Ba, instead of Mister Ba.”
The Boy asked again:
“Why should you call me Mister Ba?”
May did not like to say, “Because you are an Angel,” as she would like to have said, so she cuddled the Child closer and whispered into his little pink ear:
“You know.”
The Child put his little arms round her neck and kissed her, and said, very low and very sweetly, words that all her life long she never forgot:
“I do know. Be always loving and sweet, dear child, and even the Angels will know your thoughts and will listen to your words.”
May felt very happy. She looked at Sibold, who bent over and kissed her, and called her “sweet little sister;” and all the animals in pairs, and all the terrible ones on guard, said all together like a cheer:
“Right!”
Then they stopped and made all together each of the noises in turn that any of them used to show they were happy. First they all purred, and then they all crowed, and then cackled, and squeaked, and flapped their wings and wagged their tails.
“Oh, how pretty!” said May again, “look, dear Ba!” She was just going to say Mister when the Child held up its finger, so she only said “Ba.”
The Child smiled and said:
“Right, you must call me only Ba.”
Again all the animals said together like a shout:
“Right, you must say only Ba,” and then they all went through the same ways of showing their joy as before.
May said to the Child—and somehow her voice seemed very, very loud although she did not mean it, but only to whisper.
“Oh, dear Ba, I do so wish they would always continue happy and at peace like this. Is there no way of doing it?”
The Beautiful Child opened its mouth to speak, and all the living things put up their claws, or their wings, or their fins to their cars, to listen attentively.
He spake, and his words seemed full of sound but very soft, like the echo of distant thunder coming over far waters on the wings of music.
“Know, dear children, and know ye all that list—there shall be peace on earth between all living things when the children of men are for one hour in perfect love and harmony with each other. Strive, oh! strive, each and all of you, that it may be so.”
As he spoke there came over all a solemn hush, and they were very still.
Then the Wondrous Child seemed to float out of May’s arms and to move down toward the sea. All the living things instantly hurried to make a great double line between which he passed.
May and Sibold followed him hand in hand. He waited for them at the marge of the sea and then kissed them both.
Whilst he was kissing them, the boat came close to shore; the anchor climbed on board; the white sails ran aloft, and a fresh breeze began to blow towards home.
The Wondrous Child moved on to the prow, and there rested. Sibold and May went on board, and took their old place; and after kissing their hands to all the living things—who were by this time dancing all together in the glade—they kept their eyes fixed on the Beautiful Boy.
As they sat hand in hand, the boat moved along gently, but very swiftly. The shore, with its many beautiful places, seemed gliding into a dim mist as they swept along.
Presently they saw their own creek, and the great Willow towering over all the other trees on shore.
The boat came to land. The Wondrous Child, floating in the air, moved onward towards the Willow Bower.
Sibold and May followed.
He entered the Bower; they came close after.
As the leafy curtain fell behind them, the figure of the Wondrous Child got dimmer and dimmer; till at last, looking at them lovingly, and waving his tiny hands, as if blessing them, he seemed to melt away into the air.
Sibold and May sat for a long time, hand in hand, thinking. Then both feeling sleepy, they put their arms round each other, and lay down to rest.
In this position they again fell asleep, with the Poppies all around them.
THE JEWEL OF SEVEN STARS
CHAPTER I
A Summons in the Night
It all seemed so real that I could hardly imagine that it had ever occurred before; and yet each episode came, not as a fresh step in the logic of things, but as something expected. It is in such a wise that memory plays its pranks for good or ill; for pleasure or pain; for weal or woe. It is thus that life is bittersweet, and that which has been done becomes eternal.
Again, the light skiff, ceasing to shoot through the lazy water as when the oars flashed and dripped, glided out of the fierce July sunlight into the cool shade of the great drooping willow branches—I standing up in the swaying boat, she sitting still and with deft fingers guarding herself from stray twigs or the freedom of the resilience of moving boughs. Again, the water looked golden-brown under the canopy of translucent green; and the grassy bank was of emerald hue. Again, we sat in the cool shade, with the myriad noises of nature both without and within our bower merging into that drowsy hum in whose sufficing environment the great world with its disturbing trouble, and its more disturbing joys, can be effectually forgotten. Again, in that blissful solitude the young girl lost the convention of her prim, narrow upbringing, and told me in a natural, dreamy way of the loneliness of her new life. With an undertone of sadness she made me feel how in that spacious home each one of the household was isolated by the personal magnificence of her father and herself; that there confidence had no altar, and sympathy no shrine; and that there even her father’s face was as distant as the old country life seemed now. Once more, the wisdom of my manhood and the experience of my years laid themselves at the girl’s feet. It was seemingly their own doing; for the individual “I” had no say in the matter, but only just obeyed imperative orders. And once again the flying seconds multiplied themselves endlessly. For it is in the arcana of dreams that existences merge and renew themselves, change and yet keep the same—like the soul of a musician in a fugue. And so memory swooned, again and again, in sleep.
It seems that there is never to be any perfect rest. Even in Eden the snake rears its head among the laden boughs of the Tree of Knowledge. The silence of the dreamless night is broken by the roar of the avalanche; the hissing of sudden floods; the clanging of the engine bell marking its sweep through a sleeping American town; the clanking of distant paddles over the sea.… Whatever it is, it is breaking the charm of my Eden. The canopy of greenery above us, starred with diamond-points of light, seems to quiver in the ceaseless beat of paddles; and the restless bell seems as though it would never cease.…
All at once the gates of Sleep were thrown wide open, and my waking ears took in the cause of the disturbing sounds. Waking existence is prosaic enough—there was somebody knocking and ringing at someone’s street door.
I was pretty well accustomed in my Jermyn Street chambers to passing sounds; usually I did not concern myself, sleeping or waking, with the doings, however noisy, of my neighbours. But this noise was too continuous, too insistent, too imperative to be ignored. There was some active intelligence behind that ceaseless sound; and some stress or need behind the intelligence. I was not altogether selfish, and at the thought of someone’s need I was, without premeditation, out of bed. Instinctively I looked at my watch. It was just three o’clock; there was a faint edging of grey round the green blind which darkened my room. It was evident that the knocking and ringing were at the door of our own house; and it was evident, too, that there was no one awake to answer the call. I slipped on my dressing-gown and slippers, and went down to the hall door. When I opened it there stood a dapper groom, with one hand pressed unflinchingly on the electric bell whilst with the other he raised a ceaseless clangour with the knocker. The instant he saw me the noise ceased; one hand went up instinctively to the brim of his hat, and the other produced a letter from his pocket. A neat brougham was opposite the door, the horses were breathing hea
vily as though they had come fast. A policeman, with his night lantern still alight at his belt, stood by, attracted to the spot by the noise.
“Beg pardon, sir, I’m sorry for disturbing you, but my orders was imperative; I was not to lose a moment, but to knock and ring till someone came. May I ask you, sir, if Mr. Malcolm Ross lives here?”
“I am Mr. Malcolm Ross.”
“Then this letter is for you, sir, and the bro’am is for you too, sir!”
I took, with a strange curiosity, the letter which he handed to me. As a barrister I had had, of course, odd experiences now and then, including sudden demands upon my time; but never anything like this. I stepped back into the hall, closing the door to, but leaving it ajar; then I switched on the electric light. The letter was directed in a strange hand, a woman’s. It began at once without “dear sir” or any such address:
“You said you would like to help me if I needed it; and I believe you meant what you said. The time has come sooner than I expected. I am in dreadful trouble, and do not know where to turn, or to whom to apply. An attempt has, I fear, been made to murder my Father; though, thank God, he still lives. But he is quite unconscious. The doctors and police have been sent for; but there is no one here whom I can depend on. Come at once if you are able to; and forgive me if you can. I suppose I shall realise later what I have done in asking such a favour; but at present I cannot think. Come! Come at once! MARGARET TRELAWNY.”
Pain and exultation struggled in my mind as I read; but the mastering thought was that she was in trouble and had called on me—me! My dreaming of her, then, was not altogether without a cause. I called out to the groom:
“Wait! I shall be with you in a minute!” Then I flew upstairs.
A very few minutes sufficed to wash and dress; and we were soon driving through the streets as fast as the horses could go. It was market morning, and when we got out on Piccadilly there was an endless stream of carts coming from the west; but for the rest the roadway was clear, and we went quickly. I had told the groom to come into the brougham with me so that he could tell me what had happened as we went along. He sat awkwardly, with his hat on his knees as he spoke.
The Bram Stoker Megapack Page 81