Part 5

In one of the corners there was a rude hearth with a few old pots; opposite was a shelf bending beneath the weight of many old volumes bound in shabby leather; a tiny aperture gave a very faint light somewhere near the roof, otherwise the door was the only opening; it was shut by a thick woollen curtain hung on a string.

Against one of the walls stood a large wooden chest covered with an old shawl, once of fine bright texture, now so mellowed by age that its curious design was hardly discernible; a few low stools and a big heavy table completed the whole furnishing of this primitive dwelling.

"Well," asked the hermit, "what sayest thou to my sumptuous apartment?"

Smiling down upon his host Eric rejoined:

"Somewhat gloomy it seems to me--and too near the edge of the precipice on dark nights. In very truth the thought makes me shudder, that if one had not a care one could step from the door over the brink!"

The old man laughed softly, but with the sound of some one who for many a year had no more been accustomed to mirth.

"Come and sit thee by me, for I still have much to tell thee. Take yonder stool, bring it close to my side that I need not raise my tired old voice."

As Eric sat down he saw that two covered objects lay upon the table. The hermit stretched out his trembling hand and drew the smaller of the two towards him, raising the dark cloth that covered it.

As he did so, a round ball, cut out of a stone the colour of smouldering ashes, became visible; it was resting on a small three-legged stand carved in old ivory.

"I shall now look into this magic ball to see thy future, dear wanderer. Give me thy hand whilst I concentrate my mind upon the polished surface; thou must think with all thy might of that which is thy greatest desire, and thou must not speak or the charm will be broken."

Eric laid his hand confidently within the dry wrinkled palm, and remained silent, as he had been bid, his face near to that of the old man, his fair locks resting against the silvery ones.

With breathless intensity he watched the magic ball, and saw with wonder how it began to glow as if a fire were burning inside.

The curious light became always more intense till the ball was one burning flame upon which he could hardly keep his eyes.

He felt an unwonted drowsiness come over him, but with all his might he kept his mind fixed upon the eyes of his dream, and then out of the silence came the voice of his companion, inexplicably changed and musical, like far-off bells.

"I see a great picture on a wall--in the middle of which there sits a woman on a throne, the woman has no face.... I see eager questioning all around thee, but there are tears in thy eyes.... I see a long road on which thou art wandering mostly in the brilliant sunshine, but sometimes it is the moon that lights thy way. Thy tears have dried, but thou knowest not where thou goest and thou singest like a bird. Many other faces cross thy road and mostly they smile on thee....

"But somewhere there is a shadow that falls over thy path and thou art afraid--something there is that thou dost not understand and that contains sore temptations for thee ... then.... Yes, if I rightly see ... there is blood, it drips slowly to the ground, but thy own hands are without stain, yet thou art full of fear and fleest as quickly as thou canst.

"Then again there is sunshine, and round thee all is blue, the sky as well as the ground--then once more there are tears, warm and wet, but this time they are not thine.... And now thou wanderest where the air is rarer and thy breath comes in gasps--thou mountest ever higher and higher ... there comes a moment's rest and again thou art wandering, and always thy road is steeper and thy step more weary.... All around thee there are shapes that make thee afraid.

"And now I hear the voice of a child crying, crying ... again a shadow falls over thee ... this time like to the shadow of death."

The chanting voice paused and the grey head bent closer down upon the fiery ball; the pressure upon the young man's hand became an iron grip. Drops of perspiration stood upon the wrinkled brow as if an enormous effort were being made. Then the voice spoke again:

"What I now see is a long road through a country of sunshine and riches--it is evening, sweet music rises in the air, a haze of dust lies over the horizon; then all I see, at the end, is a face of wonderful sweetness, yet sad and full of yearning--and I see two eyes ... strange and wonderful, and somehow thy heart is at peace.... That is all."

The voice had ceased; the grip upon the young man's hand had relaxed, a heavy silence lay over them.

The glow in the magic ball died down till only the smouldering colour remained. Then Eric spoke like one in a dream:

"Thou sawest the eyes! deep, grey, unblinking, sad, and yearning? So I shall reach them in the end! Canst thou not tell me whose they are?"

The old man's head had fallen on his breast as if overcome by fatigue; now he raised it very slowly and looked long and lovingly at the young eager face.

"Nay! that I cannot tell thee, but this I know: Happiness cometh not there where we seek it; it cometh like a breath out of the unknown, and then the heart is glad and a great light is spread over all that our eyes rest upon. Then we are full of strength and courage, and each man is our friend.

"But the thing we clasp to our heart is never ours to keep, for thus it is in this world. Joy and pain lie so close side by side that there seems no line to cross between the two--and yet when crossed.... Well, my son, I shall show thee what no other eye but mine own has ever looked upon; it is all that remains to me of what was on the other side of the line...."

The trembling hand removed the cover from the second object that lay on the table, and there, revealed to Eric's astonished gaze, was a face the like of which he had never seen before.

It lay, the head thrown back, the eyes closed, the lips slightly parted as if asking for a last caress.

The hair waved away from the delicate, somewhat sunken temples, forming the pillow on which it rested.

A calm expression of peace lay over the angelically pure features that had the soft whiteness of ivory.

There was no colour save a faint tint of pink on the beseeching mouth. Yes, it was peace that was the principal expression of that face, and yet there was also a sad yearning in it, as if the closed eyes longed to raise their lids a last time to look upon a face they loved....

The old man's head now lay on the hard table upon his outstretched arms; he was overwhelmed by some tremendous emotion, unable to look at those silent features.

The youth knew not what force moved him, but he knelt down beside the emaciated old figure and, taking it into his strong young arms, he drew the bowed head towards him, and held it long against his heart in a silent embrace.

After a while both looked up and the grey hermit pressed one of his shaking hands on the young man's head; the other he laid with a caressing movement against the marble face.

"I have worked at this with the last strength of my feeble old hands. And each day for many years I laboured to create the fairness of this face which I loved, but which never was mine!

"I will not weary thee with the story of my life; it is dark and ugly, but this thou shalt know: I loved her, and she gave me all the passion of her pure heart. She knew not who I was, and when she found it out she could not bear the truth, so she searched a cold grave in the deep, dark floods. Thus she lay when last I looked upon her; the vision burnt itself deep into my brain for ever. For long, long years after she had crossed my path I continued to live a wicked life, full of dark deeds, full of treachery, keeping faith with none.

"But when, old and bent, I came to these solitudes her face alone was always with me. Then I began to carve upon the snowy marble the features I had loved the most in this world.

"Day by day I toiled, for my fingers were stiff and trembling, but I felt I could not die before I had completed this work of love. I felt that if I could conjure into life the marvel of her face as it was that day when they took her out of the cruel water and laid her, for ever silent, before me, her murderer, I would find forgiveness before that God I had always mocked but had learnt to believe in here in this vast solitude so near His sky!

"It is but a short while ago that I completed my work; thou seest thyself how surpassing fair it is, and since that day peace at last seems to be spreading very slowly over my soul...."

The old man paused, then drawing the youth quite near to him, he took his head in both his hands, bent it gently back, saying in a solemn voice:

"Remember the words of a very old man, who has known all of pain and joy, who also has lived through the hell of remorse though it came too late ... too late.... Mayest thou never learn how sad is the word: Too late! Go thy way, my son. Search for the treasure thou dreamest of, and when it is thine hold it fast. It may come to thee in quite unexpected form--at first even thou mayest not realize that thou art so near; it may not come in splendid raiment with a crown on its head, but keep thy heart open as well as thy eyes; turn not away from the humblest call, never leave undone a deed of love.

"I, in my solitude, well know what it is to bitterly regret. All the wisdom I have acquired is but ashes to me because never did I understand how to use my riches,--I cherished what was of brass, and what was pure gold, in my vanity, I trampled underfoot. Thou hast within thee something that makes me believe thou art of those who win! Now I have said enough, and thou must continue thy road; but that thou shouldst not forget the grey hermit of the hills, I have for thee a gift, which, in the days of my youth, was my most trusted friend. In thy hands it will have greater power than ever it had in mine."

So saying the old man rose, went to the bed, and drew something out of the dark. When he came back he held within his hand a shining sword.

"This sword have I loved in the pride of my youth, and even now, in my bitter old age, it was ever at my side. Whilst I worked at the cold, hard marble, it lay on the table near my hand; it alone felt my hot tears of gratitude on the day I had completed my work.

"A legend is attached to it: it is said that if carried by hands that are clean of all sin it has unknown powers that reveal themselves in time of need. It may be true ..." the old man bowed his head.... "But my hands ... were never clean ... so no miracle shone on my road.

"To me it was simply a good strong sword which I used in my own defence. I used it, too, against my country's foes, and many an evening has it dripped with blood. Gird it round thy waist and go forth with my blessing. I know not if the blessing of a man such as I hath worth in the eyes of God; nevertheless it comes from the deepest depths of my weary soul, and may it follow thee wherever thou goest and help thee to win."

Eric bent his knee, and the hermit laid both his hands on his golden locks, lingering tenderly over them as if loath to take his fingers away.

"One more gift have I for thee, my son, for I know the peril and loneliness of thy road. Here inside this box"--and he drew a small casket from his breast--"thou shalt find some tablets I once learnt to make, and which possess marvellous power to keep the traveller alive when he can find no food on his way; one of these alone is as much as a feast at the table of a king. Neither is this their only magic; for he who tastes of them to him is given command over all languages spoken under the sun."

"But am I not taking thy daily bread from thee?" cried the young man, as he sprang to his feet.

"Be without fear, dear youth; my days are numbered, and enough remains to me to keep my tired old body alive, as long as God still desires me to be of this earth. Go in peace, and have a kindly thought for the old sinner whose last joy has been to look into thy sunny eyes!"

He led Eric to the door of the cave, and pulling the curtain aside, gave a strange, shrill whistle.

As he did so there was a fluttering of wings, and somewhere out of the clouds a milk-white falcon swooped down to his hand.

"This bird of mine will show thee the road. Follow him without faltering, even if he seem to lead thee where no foot can climb. Be of good cheer, may God be with thee!"

Eric bowed his head, kissed the kind old hand, and then turned his face towards the lonely path he had to follow, the hawk flying before him like a white banner floating in the wind.

The old man stood on his threshold casting longing looks after the retreating form. An expression of intense sadness and resignation came over his furrowed countenance; slowly, with all the fatigue of nearly a century's living heavy upon him, he went back into his dark abode. There he stood for a long while beside the rustic table contemplating the pale marble face, and all his soul was in his eyes. The flickering light played on the exquisite visage, throwing over it a living warmth, so that the eyelids appeared to quiver as if they were trying to open once more.

Slowly and painfully the aged recluse bent down till his faded lips rested on the pure brow, the icy coldness of the stone penetrating through all his veins--then with a reluctant movement he laid the dark cloth over that vision of beauty, hiding it out of sight; and it was like the lid of a coffin being shut over the face of the dead.

XIII

And a strange song I have heard By a shadowy stream, And the singing of a snow-white bird On the Hills of Dream.

FIONA MACLEOD.

The white wings of the bird could be seen far overhead. Eric looked up and understood that at whatever cost he must scale those heights towards which it flew. Such had been the decree of the kind old philosopher.

Firm was his resolution to obey him in everything, because never before had human being spoken thus unto him.

Only one fact his mind refused to grasp: how could such a man be a sinner? He thought of the gentle, venerable face, of his wise and beautiful sayings; and dear to his memory was the sound of his voice. His feelings towards the silent ghosts, that still followed him, were quite changed, for the words of the master were ever in his mind.

He felt now a kindly interest in their welfare, and hoped that strength would be given him to lead them to peace. The clouds lay no longer so dense over his road. He could advance with greater rapidity.

Always steeper grew the way, and always higher flew the bird; often its white plumes were lost amongst the floating mist.

Eric was full of courage and hope; whilst he walked he kept thinking of all he had heard. Tears came to his eyes at the remembrance of the silvery head lying so close to the cold hard marble which made no response, the face in its immaculate fairness so serenely unconscious of all the feeling its beauty called forth.

Within the stern silence of that pale stone lay a punishment far greater than human justice could inflict.

Night was coming on, but Eric still advanced with undaunted step, ignoring the fatigue that was again making itself felt through all his supple limbs.

The sword at his side gave him a companionable feeling; his eyes rested upon it with pride, admiring the beautiful hilt that was carved out of a single piece of crystal in the form of a cross. In the centre had been set a large emerald the colour of a deep forest pool, transparent and dark, evoking a feeling of rest amongst glorious solitudes where the foot of man but seldom passes.

The blade was as bright as silver, and flashed like a searchlight when Eric drew it from its sheath. He did so more than once, feeling its edge, with the joy of a child over a new toy.

Never had he possessed so manly an arm, and his pleasure knew no bounds.

Always darker grew the night, more perilous the path. Our valiant wanderer was now obliged to feel the way with his hands, and began to think about where he could lay himself down to rest. It was useless to press onward without seeing where he was going--useless to risk making a false step that might perhaps cost him his life by hurling him into the chasm that yawned at his side.

His only fear was to lose sight of his feathered companion; it would be almost impossible to find it again in this desert of rocks. He stood still to think what he had better do, when out of the darkness, quite close before him, he saw the flash of white wings.

He sprang forward in pursuit, regardless of the danger that gaped around him; and after a moment he found himself on a broad ledge under the protection of a jutting rock. There, just discernible, in the dense obscurity sat the white falcon, motionless, at rest, giving the sign that here they should make a halt.

The great bird turned its head towards the youth, and as it did so something resembling a tiny light gleamed on its breast.

Eric approached it cautiously for fear of frightening it away, but the beautiful creature showed no signs of alarm, and let him lay his hand on its head.

Then Eric saw that around the strange bird's neck a tiny chain was clasped, from which hung a diamond of prodigious size; it radiated a strong bluish light much like that of a shimmering star. Here in this vast wilderness of unknown perils the little light shone brightly like unto a kindly eye that had been placed there to watch over him during the night.

With a sensation of comfort Eric laid himself down close to the quiet guardian, wrapping himself up warmly in the folds of his cloak, for the night was cold.

Indeed the rocks made but a hard and unfriendly bed, but Eric was young, and weary was his body, so it was not long before sleep came down and carried him off into the land of dreams.

Upon the rock near his head sat the motionless, wakeful bird of prey, staring with unblinking eyes into the dark. The whiteness of its feathers was faintly visible, and the blue diamond burned steadily like the lamp of a lighthouse seen from far over the sea.

Now there was a faint movement about the sleeping boy and that silent watcher of the Hills.

A circle of mist seemed to be settling around them, like a giant wreath of grey poppies; but it was not the vapours of the night that were forming a ring round the man and the bird--it was the bodiless army of following ghosts; and there they sat a quiet company, forms out of another world, awaiting in mournful silence that this frail human being should arise to lead them over perilous ways to the height that would be their salvation.

XIV

Far off I hear the strain Of infinite sweet pain, That floats along lonely phantom land.

FIONA MACLEOD.

Eric had not slept many hours before he awoke with a start. All was pitch-black around him, only the form of the white hawk was outlined against the darkness, whilst the precious stone on its neck shone in lonely magnificence.

Eric sat up wondering what had torn him so suddenly out of his restful slumbers; he felt rather stiff from the hardness of his stony couch, so sprang to his feet and stood erect, listening, awaiting any danger that might threaten him out of the unknown. And then, suddenly, a wailing cry broke out of the stillness; it rose like a frightened sob into the air and rang through the night with a sound so full of terrible loneliness that it made the heart stand still.

The bird stretched its neck, its wings expanded ready to take flight, the light of the diamond twinkling on its breast.

Eric waited, trembling with expectancy; there was something weird and heartrending about that helpless cry out of this boundless solitude; again the dismal sound was heard, distinct and piercing like the terrified voice of a very small child in an agony of fear.

Eric could bear it no longer, and sprang in the direction whence the sound came.

At that moment his beautiful winged companion rose in the air, circling close around the path he was on, so that the jewel flashed in moving patterns like a small lantern being swung over his head.

Eric followed the tiny light, grateful for that dwarf spot of brightness, which shone in the thick darkness that hemmed him in on all sides. Many a time he stumbled over the stones that obstructed his road, often bruising his hands and knees, sometimes falling all his length, but always desperately aware how perilous and uncertain was this search in the impenetrable night.

Now the wonderful bird paused in its flight, and Eric saw the small light, suspended in the air, hovering over one particular spot: he groped about, his hands feeling everywhere--what was he to find? All at once, close above his head the pitiful voice was again heard, but this time quite near. With breathless anxiety Eric scaled the rock, quite unable to see where he was going; but his hands were always outstretched, carefully seeking about him, and now his fingers suddenly came in contact with something soft and warm!

With gentle precautions the young man drew the heavy object towards him, balancing himself with surprising agility upon the narrow ledge ... and there, in his arms, against his cheek he felt the soft face of a little child!... Yes, a little child, whose pitiful moan rose to the sky like a soul in distress. Clasping the small body close to his breast, the young man with an almost superhuman effort hoisted himself on to a shelf-like rock he had felt near by, and there he sat himself down with his precious bundle in his arms.

As he did so the falcon swooped out of the air on to his shoulder, so that the light of the gem could just fall upon the pale small face that looked up into his.

Such a sweet little face, out of which two frightened eyes stared up at him in speechless anxiety. Miserable rags alone covered the thin body that was shivering with cold.

Eric drew his cloak close around the trembling form and held it tight against him, whilst with kindly words he tried to calm its ceaseless whimper.

Long he sat thus in this vast black solitude, whilst upon his shoulder the friendly bird kept watch over the two forlorn young creatures who had been so strangely brought together in these lonely hills.

Eric's eyes closed, and the child too, feeling comforted, was quiet now, its head hidden against the kind heart that had been its saviour.

Probably both slept, because when Eric next looked up there was a faint red streak in the sky; the darkness of the night was slowly lifting.

The little girl was huddled up close in his arms slumbering sweetly.

Near by on a block of granite the beautiful hawk sat like a watchful guardian--his keen ever-open eyes fixed in an unblinking stare upon the rising sun.

XV

Several days later Eric could have been seen advancing over the frozen ground holding a small child's hand safely clasped in his own. He had wandered and wandered, climbing always higher, never giving way, no matter how overpowering his fatigue. For ever ringing in his ears was the sound of the solitary man's voice begging that he should not disappoint him by turning back, urging him to have courage to go always forward till he had climbed the highest peak!--not to be afraid, because he believed Eric to be of those who win. Ah! but would he win? Would he ever reach the top of those lonely heights? would he ever look down upon the other side? At first the thought of having a companion on his arduous way was a comfort to him. The child's face was sweet, its eyes looked up into his with a trust and confidence that gladdened his spirit.