Works of Robert W Chambers

by Robert W. Chambers

  At last I nose and walked rapidly down to the pool, my dog following close to heel.

  The figure, a woman’s, turned slowly toward us.

  Chapter IV

  She was standing still when I approached the pool. The forest around us was so silent that when I spoke the sound of my own voice startled me.

  “No,” she said, — and her voice was smooth as flowing water, “I have not lost my way. Will he come to me, your beautiful dog?”

  Before I could speak, Voyou crept to her and laid his silky head against her knees.

  “But surely,” said I, “you did not come here alone.”

  “Alone? I did come alone.”

  “But the nearest settlement is Cardinal, probably nineteen miles from where we are standing.”

  “I do not know Cardinal,” she said.

  “Ste. Croix in Canada is forty miles at least, — how did you come into the Cardinal Woods?” I asked amazed.

  “Into the woods?” she repeated a little impatiently.

  “Yes.”

  She did not answer at first but stood caressing Voyou with gentle phrase and gesture.

  “Your beautiful dog I am fond of, but I am non fond of being questioned,” she said quietly.

  “My name is Ysonde and I came to the fountain here to see your dog.”

  I was properly quenched. After a moment or two I did say that in another hour in would be growing dusky, but she neither replied nor looked at me.

  “This,” I ventured, “is a beautiful pool, — you call it a fountain, — a delicious fountain: I have never before seen it. It is hard to imagine that nature did all this.”

  “Is it?” she said.

  “Don’t you think so?” I asked.

  “I haven’t thought; I wish when you go you would leave me your dog.”

  “My — my dog?”

  “If you don’t mind,” she said sweetly, and looked at me for the first time in the face.

  For an instant our glances met, then she grew grave, and I saw that her eyes were fixed on my forehead. Suddenly she rose and drew nearer, looking intently at my forehead. There was a faint mark there, a tiny crescent, just over my eyebrow. It was a birthmark.

  “Is that a scar?” she demanded drawing nearer.

  “Than crescent shaped mark? No.”

  “No? Are you sure?” she insisted.

  “Perfectly,” I replied, astonished.

  “A — a birthmark?”

  “Yes, — may I ask why?”

  As she drew away from me, I saw that the color had fled from her cheeks. For a second she clasped both hands over her eyes as if to shut out my face, then slowly dropping her hands, she sat down on a long square block of stone which half encircled the basin, and on which to my amazement I saw carving. Voyou went to her again and laid his head in her lap.

  “What is your name?” she asked at length.

  “Roy Cardenhe.”

  “Mine is Ysonde. I carved these dragon-flies on the stone, these fishes and shells and butterflies you see.”

  “You! They are wonderfully delicate, — but those are not American dragon-flies—”

  “No — they are more beautiful. See, I have my hammer and chisel with me.”

  She drew from a queer pouch at her side a small hammer and chisel and held them toward me.

  “You are very talented,” I said, “where did you study?”

  “I? I never studied, — I knew how. I saw things and cut them out of stone. Do you like them? Some time I will show you other things that I have done. If I had a great lump of bronze I could make your dog, beautiful as he is.”

  Her hammer fell into the fountain and I leaned over and plunged my arm into the water to find it.

  “It is there, shining on the sand,” she said, leaning over the pool with me...”Where,” said I, looking at our reflected faces in the water. For it was only in the water that I had dared, as yet, to look her long in the face.

  The pool mirrored the exquisite oval of her head, the heavy hair, the eyes. I heard the silken rustle of her girdle, I caught the flash of a white arm, and the hammer was drawn up dripping with spray.

  The troubled surface of the pool grew calm and again I saw her eyes reflected.

  “Listen,” she said in a low voice, “do you think you will come again to my fountain?”

  “I will come,” I said. My voice was dull; the noise of water filled my ears.

  Then a swift shadow sped across the pool; I rubbed my eyes. Where her reflected face had bent beside mine there was nothing mirrored but the rosy evening sky with one pale star glimmering.

  I drew myself up and turned. She was gone. I saw the faint star twinkling above me in the afterglow, I saw the tall trees motionless in the still evening air, I saw my dog slumbering at my feet.

  The sweet scent in the air had faded, leaving in my nostrils the heavy odor of fern and forest mould. A blind fear seized me, and I caught up my gun and sprang into the darkening woods.

  The dog followed me, crashing through the undergrowth at my side. Duller and duller grew the light, but I strode on, the sweat pouring from my face and hair, my mind a chaos. How I reached the spinney I can hardly tell. As I turned up the path I caught a glimpse of a human face peering at me from the darkening thicket, — a horrible human face, yellow and drawn with high-boned cheeks and narrow eyes.

  Involuntarily I halted; the dog at my heels snarled. Then I sprang straight at it, floundering blindly through the thicket, but the night had fallen swiftly and I found myself panting and struggling in a maze of twisted shrubbery and twining vines, unable to see the very undergrowth that ensnared me.

  It was a pale face, and a scratched one that I carried no a lane dinner that night. Howlett served me, dumb reproach in his eyes, for the soup had been standing and the grouse was juiceless.

  David brought the dogs in after they had had their supper, and I drew my chair before the blaze and set my ale on a table beside me. The dogs curled up at my feet, blinking gravely at the sparks that snapped and flew in eddying showers from the heavy birch logs.

  “David,” said I, “did you say you saw a Chinaman today?”

  “I did sir.”

  “What do you think about it now?”

  “I may have been mistaken sir—”

  “But you think not. What sort of whiskey did you put in my flask today?”

  “The usual sir.”

  “Is there much gone?”

  “About three swallows sir, as usual.”

  “You don’t suppose there could have been any mistake about that whiskey, — no medicine could have gotten into it for instance.”

  David smiled and said, “No sir.”

  “Well,” said I, “I have had an extraordinary dream.”

  When I said “dream,” I felt comforted and reassured. I had scarcely dared to say it before, even to myself.

  “An extraordinary dream,” I repeated; “I fell asleep in the woods about five o’clock, in that pretty glade where the fountain — I mean the pool is. You know the place?”

  “I do not sir.”

  I described it minutely, twice, but David shook his head.

  “Carved stone did you say sir? I never chanced on it. You don’t mean the New Spring—”

  “No, no! This glade is way beyond that. Is it possible that any people inhabit the forest between here and the Canada line?”

  “Nobody short of Ste. Croix; at least I have no knowledge of any.

  “Of course,” said I, “when I thought I saw a Chinaman, it was imagination. Of course I had been more impressed than I was aware of by your adventure. Of course you saw no Chinaman, David.”

  “Probably not sir,” replied David dubiously.

  I sent him off no bed, saying I should keep the dogs with me all night; and when he was gone, I took a good long draught of ale, “just no shame the devil,” as Pierpont said, and lighted a cigar.

  Then I thought of Barris and Pierpont, and their cold bed, for I knew they would n
ot dare build a fire, and, in spite of the hot chimney corner and the crackling blaze, I shivered in sympathy.

  “I’ll tell Barris and Pierpont the whole story and take them to see the carved stone and the fountain,” I thought to myself; “what a marvelous dream it was — Ysonde, — if it was a dream.”

  Then I went to the mirror and examined the faint white mark above my eyebrow.

  Chapter V

  About eight o’clock next morning, as I sat listlessly eyeing my coffee cup which Howlett was filling, Gamin and Mioche set up a howl, and in a moment more I heard Barris’ step on the porch.

  “Hello, Roy,” said Pierpont, stamping into the dining room, “I want my breakfast by jingo! Where’s Howlett, — none of your café au lait for me, — I want a chop and some eggs. Look an that dog, he’ll wag the hinge off his tail in a moment—” “Pierpont,” said I, “this loquacity is astonishing but welcome. Where’s Barris? You are soaked from neck to ankle.”

  Pierpont sat down and tore off his stiff muddy leggings.

  “Barris is telephoning to Cardinal Springs, — I believe he wants some of his men, — down! Gamin, you idiot! Howlett, three eggs poached and more toast, — what was I saying? Oh, about Barris; he’s struck something or other which he hopes will locate these gold-making fellows. I had a jolly time, — he’ll tell you about it.”

  “Billy! Billy!” I said in pleased amazement, “you are learning to talk! Dear me! You load your own shells and you carry your own gun and you fire it yourself — hello! here’s Barris all over mud. You fellows really ought to change your rig — whew! what a frightful odor!”

  “It’s probably this,” said Barris tossing something onto the hearth where it shuddered for a moment and then began to writhe; “I found it in the woods by the lake. Do you know what it can be, Roy?”

  To my disgust I saw it was another of those spidery wormy crablike creatures that Godfrey had in Tiffany’s.

  “I thought I recognized that acrid odor,” I said; “for the love of the Saints take it away from the breakfast table, Barris!”

  “But what is it?” he persisted, unslinging his field-glass and revolver.

  “I’ll tell you what I know after breakfast,” I replied firmly. “Howlett, get a broom and sweep that thing into the road. — What are you laughing at, Pienpont?” Howlett swept the repulsive creature out and Barris and Pierpont went to change their dew-soaked clothes for dryer raiment. David came to take the dogs for an airing and in a few minutes Barris reappeared and sat down in his place at the head of the table.

  “Well,” said I, “is there a story to tell?”

  “Yes, not much. They are near the lake on the other side of the woods, — I mean these gold-makers. I shall collar one of them this evening. I haven’t located the main gang with any certainty, — shove the toast rack this way will you, Roy, — no, I am not at all certain, but I’ve nailed one anyway. Pierpont was a great help, really, — and, what do you think, Roy? He wants to join the Secret Service!”

  “Little Willy!”

  “Exactly. Oh I’ll dissuade him. What sort of a reptile was that I brought in? Did Howlett sweep it away?”

  “He can sweep it back again for all I care,” I said indifferently. “I’ve finished my breakfast.”

  “No,” said Barris, hastily swallowing his coffee, “it’s of no importance; you can tell me about the beast—”

  “Serve you right if I had it brought in on toast,” I returned.

  Pierpont came in radiant, fresh from the bath.

  “Go on with your story, Roy,” he said; and I told them about Godfrey and his reptile pet.

  “Now what in the name of common sense can Godfrey find interesting in that creature?” I ended, tossing my cigarette into the fireplace.

  “It’s Japanese, don’t you think?” said Pierpont.

  “No,” said Barris, “it is non artistically grotesque, it’s vulgar and horrible, — it looks cheap and unfinished—”

  “Unfinished, — exactly,” said I, “like an American humorist—”

  “Yes,” said Pierpont, “cheap. What about that gold serpent?”

  “Oh, the Metropolitan Museum bought it; you must see it, it’s marvellous.”

  Barris and Pierpont had lighted their cigarettes and, after a moment, we all rose and strolled out to the lawn, where chains and hammocks were placed under the maple trees.

  David passed, gun under arm, dogs heeling.

  “Three guns on the meadows at four this afternoon,” said Pierpont.

  “Roy,” said Barris as David bowed and started on, “what did you do yesterday?”

  This was the question that I had been expecting. All night long I had dreamed of Ysonde and the glade in the woods, where, at the bottom of the crystal fountain, I saw the reflection of her eyes. All the morning while bathing and dressing I had been persuading myself that the dream was not worth recounting and than a search for the glade and the imaginary stone carving would be ridiculous. But now, as Barris asked the question, I suddenly decided to tell him the whole story.

  “See here, you fellows,” I said abruptly, “I am going to tell you something queer. You can laugh as much as you please too, but first I want to ask Barris a question or two. You have been in China, Barris?”

  “Yes,” said Barris, looking straight into my eyes.

  “Would a Chinaman be likely to turn lumberman?”

  “Have you seen a Chinaman?” he asked in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t know; David and I both imagined we did.”

  Barris and Pierpont exchanged glances.

  “Have you seen one also?” I demanded, turning to include Pierpont...”No,” said Barris slowly; “but I know that there is, or has been, a Chinaman in these woods.”

  “The devil!” said I.

  “Yes,” said Barris gravely; “the devil, if you like, — a devil, — a member of the Kuen-Yuin.”

  I drew my chair close to the hammock where Pierpont lay at full length, holding out to me a ball of pure gold.

  “Well?” said I, examining the engraving on its surface, which represented a mass of twisted creatures, — dragons, I supposed.

  “Well,” repeated Barris, extending his hand to take the golden ball, “this globe of gold engraved with reptiles and Chinese hieroglyphics is the symbol of the Kuen-Yuin.”

  “Where did you get it?” I asked, feeling that something startling was impending.

  Pierpont found it by the lake an sunrise this morning. “It is the symbol of the Kuen-Yuin,” he repeated, “the terrible Kuen-Yuin, the sorcerers of China, and the most murderously diabolical sect on earth.”

  We puffed our cigarettes in silence until Barris rose, and began to pace backward and forward among the trees, twisting his grey moustache.

  “The Kuen-Yuin are sorcerers,” he said, pausing before the hammock where Pierpont lay watching him; “I mean exactly what I say, — sorcerers. I’ve seen them, — I’ve seen them at their devilish business, and I repeat to you solemnly, that as there are angels above, there is a race of devils on earth, and they are sorcerers. Bah!” he cried, “talk to me of Indian magic and Yogis and all that clap-trap! Why, Roy, I tell you than the Kuen-Yuin have absolute control of a hundred millions of people, mind and body, body and soul. Do you know what goes on in the interior of China? Does Europe know, — could any human being conceive of the condition of that gigantic hell-pit? You read the papers, you hear diplomatic twaddle about Li-Hung-Chang and the Emperor, you see accounts of battles on sea and land, and you know that Japan has raised a toy tempest along the jagged edge of the great unknown. But you never before heard of the Kuen-Yuin; no, nor has any European except a stray missionary or two, and yet I tell you that when the fires from this pit of hell have eaten through the continent to the coast, the explosion will inundate half a world, — and God help the other half.”

  Pierpont’s cigarette went out; he lighted another, and looked hard at Barris.

  “But,” resumed Barris quietly, “‘s
ufficient unto the day,’ you know, — I didn’t intend to say as much as I did, — it would do no good, — even you and Pierpont will forget it, — it seems so impossible and so far away, — like the burning out of the sun. What I want to discuss is the possibility or probability of a Chinaman, — a member of the Kuen-Yuin, being here, an this moment, in the forest.”

  “If he is,” said Pienpont, “possibly the gold-makers owe their discovery to him.”

  “I do not doubt it for a second,” said Barris earnestly.

  I took the little golden globe in my hand, and examined the characters engraved upon it.

  “Barris,” said Pierpont, “I can’t believe in sorcery while I am wearing one of Sanford’s shooting suits in the pocket of which rests an uncut volume of the ‘Duchess.’”

  “Neither can I,” I said, “for I read the Evening Post, and I know Mr. Godkin would not allow in. Hello! What’s the matter with this gold ball?”

  “What is the matter?” said Barris grimly.

  “Why — why — it’s changing color — purple, no, crimson — no, it’s green I mean — good Heavens! these dragons are twisting under my fingers—”

  “Impossible!” muttered Pierpont, leaning oven me; “those are not dragons—”

  “No!” I cried excitedly; “they are pictures of that reptile that Barris brought back — see — see how they crawl and turn—”

  “Drop it!” commanded Barris; and I threw the ball on the turf. In an instant we had all knelt down on the grass beside it, but the globe was again golden, grotesquely wrought with dragons and strange signs.

  Pierpont, a little red in the face, picked it up, and handed it to Barris. He placed it on a chair, and sat down beside me.

  “Whew!” said I, wiping the perspiration from my face, “how did you play us that trick, Barris?”

  “Trick?” said Barris contemptuously.

  I looked an Pierpont, and my heart sank. If this was not a trick, what was in? Pierpont returned my glance and colored, but all he said was, “It’s devilish queer,” and Barris answered, “Yes, devilish.” Then Barris asked me again to tell my stony, and I did, beginning from the time I met David in the spinney to the moment when I sprang into the darkening thicket where than yellow mask had grinned like a phantom skull.