CHAPTER XIV.

A BIRD OF ILL OMEN.

Stanislas de Güldenfeldt, the subject of so much heart burning, was meanwhile, in the scorching heat of Tokyo, striving as speedily as possible to accomplish the business that had called him to the Capital. It was a tiresome affair that compelled appointments with Ministers and endless interviews with men of business, the latter frequently necessitating the presence of an interpreter--at the best of times a wearisome and tedious performance, and especially so when the thermometer marks, as it frequently did during that torrid summer--97° in the shade. In spite of his somewhat dreary occupations, there were many weary hours of enforced idleness, and the time had to be killed as best it could, a difficult operation with scarcely a creature--much less an acquaintance or a colleague--left in town.

Stanislas' love of reading and research seemed to be a thing of the past. His own life's drama struck him at this time as being so far more thrilling and absorbing than the perusal of any treatise or romance, or even the study of his favourite scientific authors who--until now--had proved the great resource and stand-by of his lonely hours. He no longer had taste for these former delights, and though a once beloved volume might be taken from the bookshelves adorned by the work of many an ancient and distinguished author, instead of being dipped into, studied, or perused, it would remain for hours unopened on his knees.

Thoughts of Pearl, plans for the future, hopes for the future and--on frequent occasions--fears for the future, engrossed instead his mind. Mrs. Nugent's recent and fairly constant fits of irritability had by no means escaped the observation of de Güldenfeldt. Though, so far, he had hardly succeeded in fathoming the true cause of this strange and uncomfortable deviation in a disposition which--he was wont to flatter himself--he had after three years' study thoroughly solved--he, nevertheless, genuinely lamented the existence of these--until now--concealed and undreamt-of traits of character. More than once had he been brought into intimate contact with these uncertain and capricious moods. More than once had he suffered from these fits of nervous excitement, indulged in by one whom he hitherto had considered not only the sweetest and the best, but, above all, an unusually just and reasonable specimen of her sex.

He at times consoled himself with the thought that once married, once leading the daily routine of a calm and settled existence--Pearl would regain that former buoyancy of spirits, that previous equanimity of temperament which in his eyes, had constituted the greater part of her fascination and her charm.

He felt he had indeed achieved much in getting fixed the approximate date of the wedding. He recalled the sweet face which he had kissed so ardently when Pearl had summoned him back on the mountain pass, and the delicious words of love and repentance that in the fulness of her heart, with her arms encircling his neck, she then had uttered,--and his pulses beat, and once more his heart throbbed with joyful anticipation at the thought of that happiness which--he flattered himself--must surely one day be his lot.

He longed with an indescribable longing to be back to her. And it was with genuine relief that he saw the termination of his business approaching, and knew that those dreary days of enforced absence from her side must soon be reckoned as among the dark chronicles of the past.

It was the beginning of September and a most unusual season for the visit of the ubiquitous globe-trotter. Stanislas was therefore considerably, but none the less most agreeably, surprised, when one morning, just at the time he was feeling his dullest and forlornest, a note was brought him from the Imperial Hotel, announcing the arrival--accompanied by a young son and daughter--of a former London friend, and a connection of his English mother's, a certain Mrs. Millward-Fraser.

"We arrived in Japan by the last 'Empress' a fortnight ago" she wrote, "and have since been hard at work doing the sights of this most fascinating city. We called at the Legation, but were told that you were ruralising in the hills. Now we hear that you have returned to Town, so we allow ourselves to hope that you will look in upon us one day soon. It will be so pleasant to meet again, and to talk over family news," etc., etc., etc.

Stanislas went promptly, that same day, to see his old friend. And an invitation to lunch at the Swedish Legation for the following morning was the outcome of the visit.

Mrs. Millward-Fraser had been reckoned a beauty in her day, and was still a very good looking woman. She was a widow, having lost her husband, an energetic and well-known M.P., a few years previously. Stanislas had known the family intimately during the years he was posted in London, and in those days was not only a valued friend of the elders, but an equal favourite with both boy and girl. Since those jolly days of romps and fun, Alfred, the son, had emerged from Eton a cheerful, fairly well mannered, and fairly well educated, though somewhat raw stripling--while the daughter Muriel had developed into a bright and extremely pretty young woman, of which beauty she had indeed given full promise in her juvenile days.

"You bring it forcibly before my mind into what a regular old buffer I am degenerating," de Güldenfeldt remarked to the latter as they strolled into lunch, "and yet it only seems the other day since I nursed you on my knee."

"Nevertheless, it is ten years ago at the very least," laughed the girl. "I am seventeen now, and I am firmly convinced that I never permitted such a liberty after the age of seven or eight."

"And a nice fat lump you must have been even at that age. I pity poor cousin Stanny if he often indulged in the amusement of dancing you up and down on his knee," chaffed young Millward-Fraser, with brotherly politeness and candour.

"Alfred, it was impressed upon our minds by Mamma when we were children that personal remarks were considered particularly odious," retorted his sister. "Do you think me so very fat, cousin Stanislas? Ally is always teasing me, and laughing at me for being what he calls 'rotund.'"

Stanislas, thus appealed to, looked admiringly at the pretty plump girl beside him and laughed.

"You are perfectly enormous," he said; "a female Tichborne in fact. Fortunately there are, however, many men who, like myself, admire 'a little plump partridge.' Wait till you see Carlitti. He'll not hesitate long in falling a slave to your charms."

"Who is Carlitti?" enquired Mrs. Millward-Frazer.

"Count Carlitti is a colleague of mine. A dear fellow, and an immense admirer of your sex, and extremely susceptible in consequence. He is bound to lose his heart to Muriel, when he meets you all, as he will no doubt do later, at Chuzenji."

"Talking of hearts reminds me, Muriel, that we have forgotten the fortune-teller. You know we arranged to go there to-day," exclaimed Alfred.

"My dear children! such nonsense. He will only cram your head with fables," remonstrated Mrs. Millward-Fraser.

"Dearest mother, we have come here to study the habits and customs of the country. No one would dream of leaving Japan without visiting one of its famous soothsayers. Would they, cousin Stan?"

"I blush to confess, Muriel, that during all the years I have lived in the East I have never, so far, penetrated into the sacred precincts of a fortune-teller's house," replied de Güldenfeldt as they seated themselves on the verandah, where coffee was served. "But then, you know, it is always the G.T.'s who see and do everything. We poor ignorant residents are very much behind the times, and are unacquainted with half the sights of Tokyo."

"Better late than never," said Muriel. "Come with us to-day. They are really marvellous people, you know. I have the address of a particularly clever one, much consulted by the Japanese."

"Isn't it rather hot for such exciting interviews?" feebly remonstrated Stanislas, knowing all the time that when once Miss Muriel took it into her pretty head to command, the sole thing was to surrender with a good grace. So, without further discussion, the carriage was promptly ordered.

In spite of the heat the young people were in the highest spirits during their drive, seeming greatly to enjoy the brightness and animation of the crowded streets, as the _betto_,[16] with his peculiar warning cry, cleared the way which led to the picturesque suburbs of the city. It was with regret when, after over an hour's transit, the carriage stopped before a black wooden ancient gateway, and they knew that they had arrived at the entrance to the _Ninso mi's_[17] domain.

[16] Running footman.

[17] The name given to a class of fortune-teller.

"I feel as if I were leaving the Occidental, the modern existence behind me. It is all so old-world and weird," whispered Muriel to her mother, as they proceeded from under the gateway and entered the quaint, well-kept garden.

It was a lovely, poetical little garden, restful and secluded. Its many narrow paths were paved with grey pebbles, and in the centre of a plot of bright green turf was a miniature lake or pond edged with divers shrubs of various sizes and shapes. Uprising from the lake was a tiny island, on which flourished equally tiny and twisted maple, plum and cherry trees, shrined by one gnarled and quaint shaped pine, many centuries old. Floating on the surface of the little pond, and swaying gracefully in the summer breeze, were regal lotus plants, some bearing, amidst their glossy cup-shaped leaves, giant flowers of soft rose-pink, while other plants were crowned with marvellous white blossoms, standing erect on their long stems.

August is the month in which the lotus plants are in full and glorious flower, and the travellers were in raptures at the richness of growth, their delicate loveliness, as their eyes rested on this entrancing and, to them, unknown sight. The party lingered long on the large flat stones that forming a natural bridge, traversed the pond, gazing with unbounded admiration at these unrivalled bell-shaped flowers. The colossal leaves of green almost as striking as the lovely blossoms themselves, were full to overflowing of glistening dewdrops, that sparkled like diamonds in the afternoon sun, as the plants swayed gracefully above the water with every breath of the quiet air.

The Millward-Frazer family at length tore themselves away from admiring these lovely blossoms and left the garden. The party passed through the grotesquely carved porch of the old-fashioned building, with its many gabled, peaked Chinese roof, and were received by a servant, who, after greeting them kneeling and with her forehead touching the threshold of the doorway, rose, assisted in taking off their shoes, and finally ushered them into a fairly sized Japanese room. The _shoji_ were wide open, acting as a simple frame to the picturesque garden without, its gnarled and twisted trees, its ancient stones and lanterns, and its pond of slumbering lotus blooms.

In the middle of the matted room, which--with the exception of the little shrine before which the evening and morning prayers are offered up--was almost devoid of furniture, was a square lacquer table that rose about a couple of feet from the floor, and on which was piled a heap of ancient volumes. Before the table, with huge horn spectacles perched on his nose, and with a glistening and entirely shaven pate, was squatting on his heels, a wrinkled and solemn looking Bonze of benign countenance, holding upright in his hand a partly opened fan. He was adorned in the richest vestments of purple silk, which stuck out in stiff, straight lines around his bending body.

As each of the visitors filed in, filling the little room, the old priest from behind his great round spectacles examined them from head to foot with the piercing eye of an eagle. His glance finally fell and rested on the interpreter of the Legation, a young man whom Stanislas had recently appointed to fill the post left empty by poor Suzuki's tragic death.

From studying the impassive face of Ito, the old man's eyes travelled to de Güldenfeldt, on whom they remained, though the latter made vain attempts to keep himself as far as possible in the background.

The Bonze, never once taking his eyes from Stanislas, murmured something to Ito in a low and impressive manner.

"The _Ninsomi-san_ says he wishes to interview you first," Ito said, turning to his master. "He has something of the utmost importance to say to you."

"Nonsense," replied de Güldenfeldt impatiently. "He can have absolutely nothing to say. Why, it is impossible for him to know even who I am. Besides, I pay no attention to such things, and have no intention whatsoever of having my fortune told. Miss Millward-Fraser wishes to hear her fate. He will speak to her."

The message was transmitted, and the old man, mournfully nodding his head, said the _Danna sama_[18] should be obeyed; but that later he would himself be the first to regret the unnecessary delay. He begged humbly to be allowed to say what he had to say to the _Danna sama_ immediately after he had spoken to the _O' Fo-sama_.[19]

[18] The honourable master.

[19] The honourable young lady.

Muriel thereupon knelt on the floor in front of the table, and the old Seer, wrinkling up his face and closing his narrow eyes, devoid of eyelashes, mumbled and muttered incantations between his toothless lips. She held out the palm of her hand. He did not even glance at it, but lifting the divining rods reverentially and solemnly to his forehead, he for a moment leant his forehead in deep thought on-to the table, always muttering and groaning to himself. After this performance he slowly raised his bald old head looking at Muriel with a quick and comprehensive glance. He next enquired her age, and reckoning by the Japanese signs of the Zodiac, he parted the divining rods into two bundles, then taking up the magnifying glass, he examined intently the lines of the face. So intently and so long indeed did he gaze as to considerably embarrass poor Muriel, who blushed furiously under this prolonged examination of her features. He seemed apparently satisfied with this inspection, for a grim smile gleamed from his cunning old eyes, and he proceeded to count the number of twigs in each of the already separated packets of divining rods. Then once more he took the magnifying glass, and carefully re-examining her face he spoke, pausing every now and then to allow the interpreter to translate his prophecies.

"You have," he mumbled in a low monotone, interspersed with various "oh's" and "ah's," and a curious hissing sound between the wrinkled lips, "you have crossed many miles of water"--("I could have told you that," whispered Alfred Millward-Fraser, "without having the honour of being a Japanese soothsayer")--"but you will not cross it again for many months, and perhaps years."--("Why, we are returning home in three months," continued the irrepressible youth.)--"In a few days you will travel to a country high in the hills, a beautiful fertile country, where there is much water and beautiful vegetation, but a dangerous and difficult journey over rocks and fallen trees and broken bridges. You will meet a male, a stranger, on the road, and before two months have passed and gone, you will have told that man that you will become his wife. The ninth month and the tenth month of this year of Meiji will be your most fortunate months. They will bring you much happiness. You will have a long and happy and healthy life, for your pretty face is likewise a lucky face, and much money and many children and good fortune will be your lot. I have spoken."

The young girl's eyes were sparkling with excitement and merriment as she rose from her lowly seat.

"How wonderful it is," she exclaimed. "I am actually to meet my fate in a few days. Do you hear, Ally? you, who are always scoffing and telling me I shall never succeed in securing a husband."

"Bosh! I bet you ten dollars, Muriel, it is all humbug," said Alfred, boy-like, ashamed to show how much impressed he was.

"No doubt. But what delightful humbug, nevertheless. Now, Cousin Stanny, it is your turn. He is looking at you all the time. He evidently finds you by far the most interesting member of the party. I am sure I have suffered by this absorbing interest, and that he has cut my fortune short in consequence."

"Very well, to please you, Muriel," replied de Güldenfeldt with a smile. "But pray don't run away with the notion that I for one instant believe in this nonsense. Alfred is right. It is all humbug from beginning to end. I sacrifice myself on the sole condition that your mother promises to be the next victim."

Mrs. Millward-Fraser smiled rather sadly and shook her head. "I live in the past, not in the future," she said, as de Güldenfeldt, folding up his long legs as best he could, squatted down in front of the little table, and prepared himself to be scrutinized.

This time, however, the Seer employed neither magnifying glass nor divining rods. He looked steadily at Stanislas for a few minutes with his penetrating black eyes. Then turning to the interpreter he spoke rapidly, in a low sing-song voice, charging his monologue with many ominous shakings of the head, and with dreary groans and sighs.

"Well, Ito, what does he say?" asked de Güldenfeldt, when the old man, ceasing to speak, leant his head on the table in a state of breathless exhaustion. The interpreter hesitated.

"Pardon me, your Excellency, but he says many bad, many false things. Do you wish me to repeat them?"

"Certainly," and de Güldenfeldt laughed rather uneasily, "let us hear everything. Keep nothing from me, false or true, good or bad."

"In what he says there is no good, no truth, Excellency. It is all bad, all false words. He says that you must hasten away up into the hills. He says the wind is rising, that it is already beginning to sing in the trees, and that there will be a great and terrible storm. The storm in the mountains will be a raging tempest, very, very dreadful and destructive. He says that one whom you love will be in the midst of it, at the mercy of the wind and of the waves, and what is worse, at the mercy of a man who is mad, of a man who hates you with a great and bitter hatred. You must go to her, Excellency, he says, if you ever wish to again see the honourable and gracious lady whom you love. Every moment is precious. There is not a minute to be lost, you must hasten--hasten. Soon it may be too late. For the wind is already beginning to sing drearily in the eaves of the house, and the raindrops are already overflowing from the cups of the lotus leaves."

And truly, as Ito spoke, a violent gust of wind shook the woodwork of the little house, and huge rain drops splashed into the lake outside.

Stanislas had turned pallid at Ito's interpretation of the old soothsayer's mumbled words. For, in spite of all his former professions of incredulity, it was impossible not to be strangely and alarmingly impressed at the unhappy forebodings contained in this ominous prophecy.

The mountains--the woman he loved--the madman, what and who else could they mean but Chuzenji--Pearl--Martinworth? He did not pause to ask himself how the old Bonze, living buried in his little wooden house, miles away from any European, could have obtained knowledge of who he was, or of his intimate concerns. There was a mystery, a weirdness in the whole strange proceedings, that baffled investigation, or defied analysis. Perhaps at some future time he would try and solve the problem. But for the present he was consumed with an unquestionable and confident belief that the Seer's warning permitted of no discussion--that what he foretold was indeed occurring or about to occur, and that Pearl, the being whom he loved most on earth, was in some great danger, was helpless and alone, and what was more, was needing him.

A merciful Providence in the form of a giddy girl had guided his footsteps to this distant neighbourhood and house. By these unforeseen and unexpected means he had been warned of this danger threatening the woman who was to be his wife. And not for one instant did Stanislas, the contemptuous sceptic of half an hour ago--the practical product of a practical age--hesitate, or think of ignoring this warning delivered in so unusual a manner, from so unthought-of and so strange a quarter.

"Ask him," he said to Ito, "if the danger is imminent, and if it can by any possible means be averted?"

Ito put the question.

"He says, Excellency, that you must hasten, hasten with all possible speed if you wish to see the lady again. But he will not, he says--he cannot, say more."

Stanislas glanced at his watch. It was past five o'clock.

"Ito," he said, "is there another train to Nikko to-night?"

"No Excellency, the last one left at three o'clock."

"But there is one I know shortly for Utsunomiya. I will take that, sleep the night there, and get up to Chuzenji early to-morrow. Thank God! I am near the station here. Ito, you will take these ladies and this gentleman back to the hotel, go to the Legation, get me some clothes, and follow me by the first train to-morrow. Now call me a _'ricksha_ at once. I have just time to catch the train."

The Millward-Frasers had been silent and inactive, but deeply interested and distressed spectators of this scene. They saw that their friend, restrained and composed though he was in manner, was possessed not only with the very greatest anxiety, but likewise with an overwhelming dread. They longed to be of help to him, but knew not how.

He turned to the elder lady, "You will forgive me," he said, "leaving you thus unceremoniously. But I look upon that old man's words as a warning sent from heaven. I feel that not only are they not to be ignored, but that they must be obeyed. And what is more, obeyed without delay. One whom I love, who is to be my wife in a few months time, is--according to this old man--in imminent danger, and I must reach her, and go to her assistance as speedily as lies in my power. Listen to the wind and rain! Good God! the first part of his prophecy is already coming true."

"Can we help you, dear friend? Do anything for you at the Legation? Give any message?" asked Mrs. Millward-Fraser with tears of sympathy in her eyes.

"You can do nothing, dear Mrs. Millward-Fraser, but pray for me in this the moment of the greatest distress, the greatest agony of my life. Stay, I will on second thoughts, take the carriage. It is quicker, and the rain is coming down in torrents. I will send it back to you, and also Ito, who will return and see you safely home. Adieu!"

And he was gone!