Old Fires and Profitable Ghosts: A Book of StoriesQuiller-Couch, Arthur
General
Old Fires and Profitable Ghosts: A Book of Stories
Quiller-Couch, Arthur
Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Short stories
To this their leader at once consented; and we presently set forth
together, he walking by my horse with an agile step and that graceful
bearing which I had not seen since my days of travel: a bearded swarthy
man, extraordinarily handsome in Moorish fashion and distinguished from
his crew not only by authority as patron of the ship, but by a natural
dignity. I judged him about forty. Me he treated with courtesy, yet
with a reticence which seemed to say he reserved his speech for my
Master. Of the wreck he said nothing except that his ship had been by
many degrees out of her bearings: and knowing that the Moorish disasters
in Spain had thrown many of their chiefs into the trade of piracy I was
contented to smoke such an adventurer in this man, and set him down for
one better at fighting than at navigation.
With no more suspicion than this I reached Pengersick and, bestowing the
stranger in the hall, went off to seek my Master. For the change that
came over my dear lord's face as he heard my errand I was in no way
prepared. It was terrible.
"Paschal," he cried, sinking into a chair and spreading both hands
helplessly on the table before him, "it is _he!_ Her time is come, and
mine!"
It was in vain that I reasoned, protesting (as I believed) that the
stranger was but a chance pirate cast ashore by misadventure; and as
vain that, his fears infecting me, I promised to go down and get rid of
the fellow on some pretence.
"No," he insisted, "the hour is come. I must face it: and what is more,
Paschal, I shall win. Another time I shall be no better prepared.
Bring him to my room and then go and tell my lady that I wish to speak
with her."
I did so. On ushering in the stranger I saw no more than the bow with
which the two men faced each other: for at once my Master signalled me
to run on my further errand. Having delivered my message at my lady's
door, I went down to the hall, and lingering there, saw her pass along
the high gallery above the dais towards my lord's room, with the hound
at her heels.
Thence I climbed the stair to my own room: locked the door and anon
unlocked it, to be ready at sudden need. And there I paced hour after
hour, without food, listening. From the courtyard came the noise of the
grooms chattering and splashing: but from the left wing, where lay my
Master's rooms, no sound at all. Twice I stole out along the
corridors and hung about the stair head: but could hear nothing, and
crept back in fear to be caught eavesdropping.
It was about five in the afternoon (I think), all was still in the
courtyard, when I heard the click of a latch and, running to the window,
saw the porter closing his wicket gate. A minute later, on a rise
beyond the wall, I spied the Moor. His back was towards the castle and
he was walking rapidly towards Market Jew: and after him padded my
lady's hound.
I hurried along the passages and knocked at my Master's door. No one
answered. I could not wait to knock again, but burst it open.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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