 Book 1, Chapter 3 of Armadale. The morning hours had passed. The noon had come and gone, and Mr. Brock had started on the first stage of his journey home. After parting from the rector in Douglas Harbour, the two young men had returned to Castletown and had there separated at the hotel door, Alan walking down to the waterside to look after his yacht, and midwinter entering the house to get the rest that he needed after a sleepless night. He darkened his room. He closed his eyes, but no sleep came to him. On this first day of the rector's absence, his sensitive nature extravagantly exaggerated the responsibility which he now held in trust for Mr. Brock. A nervous dread of leaving Alan by himself, even for a few hours only, kept him waking and doubting, until it became a relief rather than a hardship to rise from the bed again and following in Alan's footsteps to take his way to the waterside which led to the yacht. The repairs of the little vessel were nearly completed. It was a breezy, cheerful day. The land was bright. The water was blue. The quick waves leaped crisply in the sunshine. The men were singing at their work. Descending to the cabin, midwinter discovered his friend, busily occupied, and attempting to set the place to rights. Habitually, the least systematic of mortals, Alan now and then awoke to an overwhelming sense of the advantages of order, and on such occasions a perfect frenzy of tidiness possessed him. He was down on his knees, hotly and wildly at work, when midwinter looked in on him, and was fast reducing the neat little world of the cabin to its original elements of chaos with a misdirected energy wonderful to see. Here's a mess, said Alan, rising composately on the horizon of his own accumulated litter. Do you know, my dear fellow, I begin to wish I had let well alone. Midwinter smiled and came to his friend's assistance with the natural neat handedness of a sailor. The first object that he encountered was Alan's dressing case turned upside down, with half the contents scattered on the floor, and with a dust-dranne hearth broom lying among them. Replacing the various objects which formed the furniture of the dressing case one by one, midwinter lighted unexpectedly on a miniature portrait of the old-fashioned oval form, primarily framed in a setting of small diamonds. You don't seem to set much value on this, he said. What is it? Alan bent over him and looked at the miniature. It belonged to my mother, he answered, and I set the greatest value on it. It is a portrait of my father. Midwinter put the miniature abruptly into Alan's hands and withdrew to the opposite side of the cabin. You know best where the things ought to be put in your own dressing case, he said, keeping his back turned on Alan. I'll make the place tidy on this side of the cabin, and you shall make the place tidy on the other. He began setting in order the litter scattered about him on the cabin table and on the floor. But it seemed as if fate had decided that his friend's personal possessions should fall into his hands that morning, employ them where he might. One among the first objects which he took up was Alan's tobacco jar with the stopper missing, and with a letter which appeared by the bulk of it to contain enclosures crumpled into the mouth of the jar in the stopper's place. Do you know that you had put this in here, he asked? Is the letter of any importance? Alan recognized it immediately. It was the first of the little series of letters which had followed the cruising party to the Isle of Man, the letters which young Armadale had briefly referred to as bringing him more worries from those everlasting lawyers, and had then dismissed from further notice as recklessly as usual. This is what becomes of being particularly careful, said Alan. Here is an instance of my extreme thoughtfulness. You may not think it, but why put the letter there on purpose? Every time I went to the jar, you know, I was sure to see the letter, and every time I saw the letter I was sure to say to myself, this must be answered. There's nothing to laugh at. It was a perfectly sensible arrangement if I could only have remembered where I put the jar. Suppose I tie a knot in my pocket-hankerchief this time. You have a wonderful memory, my dear fellow. Perhaps you'll remind me in the course of the day in case I forget the knot next. Midwinter saw his first chance since Mr. Brock's departure of usefully filling Mr. Brock's place. Here is your writing case, he said. Why not answer the letter at once? If you put it away again, you may forget it again. Very true, returned Alan, but the worst of it is I can't quite make up my mind what answer to write. I want a word of advice. Come and sit down here and I'll tell you all about it. With his loud boyish laugh, echoed by Midwinter, who caught the infection of his gaiety, he swept the heap of miscellaneous encumbrances off the cabin sofa, and made room for his friend and himself to take their places. In the high flow of youthful spirits, the two sat down to their trifling consolation over a letter lost in a tobacco jar. It was a memorable moment to both of them, lightly as they thought of it at the time. Before they had risen again from their places, they had taken the first irrevocable step together on the dark and tortuous road of their future lives. Reduced to plain facts, the question on which Alan now required his friend's advice may be stated as follows. While the various arrangements connected with the succession to Thorpe Ambrose were in progress of settlement, and while the new possessor of the estate was still in London, a question had necessarily arisen relating to the person who should be appointed to manage the property. The steward employed by the Blanchard family had written, without loss of time, to offer his services. Although a perfectly competent and trustworthy man, he failed to find favor in the eyes of the new proprietor. Acting as usual on his first impulses and resolved that all hazards to install midwinter as a permanent inmate at Thorpe Ambrose, Alan had determined that the steward's place was the place exactly fitted for his friend, for the simple reason that it would necessarily oblige his friend to live with him on the estate. He had accordingly written to decline the proposal made to him without consulting Mr. Brock, whose disapproval he had good reason to fear, and without telling midwinter who would probably, if a chance were allowed him of choosing, have declined taking a situation which his previous training had by no means fitted him to fill. Further correspondents had followed this decision and had raised two new difficulties which looked a little embarrassing on the face of them, but which Alan, with the assistance of his lawyer, easily contrived to solve. The first difficulty of examining the outgoing steward's books was settled by sending a professional accountant to Thorpe Ambrose, and a second difficulty of putting the steward's empty cottage to some profitable use, Alan's plans for his friend comprehending midwinter's residence under his own roof, was met by placing the cottage on the list of an active house agent in the neighboring county town. In this state, the arrangements have been left when Alan quitted London. He had heard and thought nothing more of the matter until a letter from his lawyers had followed him to the Isle of Man, enclosing two proposals to occupy the cottage, both received on the same day, and requesting to hear, at his earliest convenience, which of the two he was prepared to accept. Finding himself after having conveniently forgotten the subject for some days past, placed face to face once more with the necessity for decision, Alan now put the two proposals into his friend's hands, and after a rambling explanation of the circumstances of the case, requested to be favored with a word of advice. Instead of examining the proposals, midwinter unceremoniously put them aside and asked the two very natural and very awkward questions of who the new steward was to be, and why he was to live in Alan's house. I'll tell you who, and I'll tell you why when we get to Thorpe Ambrose, said Alan. In the meantime, we'll call the steward X, Y, Z, and we'll say he lives with me because I'm devilish sharp, and I mean to keep him under my own eye. You needn't look surprised. I know the man thoroughly well. He requires a good deal of management. If I offered him the steward's place beforehand, his modesty would get in his way, and he would say no. If I pitch him into it neck and crop without a word of warning and with nobody at hand to relieve him of the situation, he'll have nothing for it, but to consult my interests and say yes. X, Y, Z is not at all a bad fellow, I can tell you. You'll see him when we go to Thorpe Ambrose, and I rather think you and he will get on uncommonly well together. The humorous twinkle in Alan's eye, the sly significance in Alan's voice would have betrayed his secret to a prosperous man. Midwinter was as far from suspecting it as the carpenters who were at work above them on the deck of the yacht. Is there no steward now on the estate, he asked? His face showing plainly that he was far from feeling satisfied with Alan's answer. Is the business neglected all this time? Nothing of the sort, returned Alan. The business is going with a wet sheet and a flowing sea and a wind that follows free. I'm not joking, I'm only metaphorical. A regular accountant has poked his nose into the books, and a steady going lawyer's clerk attends at the office once a week. That doesn't look like neglect, does it? Leave the new steward alone for the present, and just tell me which of those two tenants you would take if you were in my place. Midwinter opened their proposals and read them attentively. The first proposal was from no less a person than the solicitor at Thorpe Ambrose, who had first informed Alan at Paris of the large fortune that had fallen into his hands. This gentleman wrote personally to say that he had long admired the cottage which was charmingly situated within the limits of the Thorpe Ambrose grounds. He was a bachelor of studious habits, desirous of retiring to a country seclusion after the wear and tear of his business hours, and he ventured to say that Mr. Armadale in accepting him as a tenant might count on securing an unobtrusive neighbor and on putting the cottage into responsible and careful hands. The second proposal came through the house agent and proceeded from a total stranger. The tenant who offered for the cottage in this case was a retired officer in the army, one major Milroy. His family merely consisted of an invalid wife and an only child, a young lady. His references were unexceptional, and he too was especially anxious to secure the cottage as the perfect quiet of the situation was exactly what was acquired by Mrs. Milroy in her feeble state of health. Well, which profession shall I favor, asked Alan, the army or the law? There seems to me to be no doubt about it, said Midwinter. The lawyer has been already in correspondence with you, and the lawyer's claim is therefore the claim to be preferred. I knew you would say that. In all the thousands of times I have asked other people for advice, I never yet got the advice I wanted. Here's the business of letting the cottage as an instance. I'm all on the other side myself. I want to have the major. Why? Young Armadale laid his forefinger on that part of the agent's letter, which enumerated major Milroy's family, and which contained the three words, a young lady. A bachelor of studious habits walking about my grounds, said Alan, is not an interesting object. A young lady is. I have not the least doubt Miss Milroy is a charming girl. Osias Midwinter of the serious countenance, think of her pretty muslin dress flitting about amongst your trees and committing trespasses on your property. Think of her adorable feet trotting into your fruit garden and her delicious fresh lips kissing your ripe peaches. Think of her dimpled hands among your early violets and her little cream-colored nose buried in your blush roses. What does the studious bachelor offer me in exchange for the loss of all this? He offers me a rheumatic brown object in gaiters and a wig. No, no. Justice is good, my dear friend, but believe me, Miss Milroy is better. Can you be serious about any mortal thing, Alan? I'll try to be if you like. I know I ought to take the lawyer, but what can I do if the major's daughter keeps running in my head? Midwinter turned resolutely to the just and sensible view of the matter and pressed it on his friend's attention with all the persuasion of which he was master. After listening with exemplary patience until he had done, Alan swept a supplementary accumulation of litter off the cabin table and produced from his waistcoat pocket a half-crown coin. I've got an entirely new idea, he said. Let's leave it to chance. The absurdity of the proposal, as coming from a landlord, was irresistible. Midwinter's gravity deserted him. I'll spin, continued Alan, and you shall call. We must give precedence to the army, of course, so we'll say, heads the major, tails the lawyer, one spin to decide. Now then, look out! He spun the half crown on the cabin table, tails cried Midwinter, humoring what he believed to be one of Alan's boyish jokes. The coin fell on the table with the head uppermost. You don't mean to say you are really an earnest, said Midwinter, as the other opened his writing case and dipped his pin in the ink. Oh, but I am, though, replied Alan. Chance is on my side and Miss Milroy's, and you're outvoted two to one. It's no use arguing. The major has fallen uppermost, and the major shall have the cottage. I won't leave it to the lawyers. They'll only be worrying me with more letters. I'll write myself. He wrote his answers to the two proposals, literally in two minutes. One to the house agent. Dear sir, I accept major Milroy's offer, let him come in when he pleases, yours truly, Alan Armadale. And one to the lawyer. Dear sir, I regret that circumstances prevent me from accepting your proposal, yours truly, etc. People make a fuss about letter writing, Alan remarked, when he had done. I find it easy enough. He wrote the addresses on his two notes and stamped them for the post, whistling gaily. While he had been writing, he had not noticed how his friend was occupied. When he had done, it struck him that a sudden silence had fallen on the cabin, and looking up, he observed that Midwinter's whole attention was strangely concentrated on the half crown as it lay head uppermost on the table. Alan suspended his whistling in astonishment. What on earth are you doing? he asked. I was only wondering, replied Midwinter. What about? persisted Alan. I was wondering, said the other, handing him back the half crown, whether there is such a thing as chance. Half an hour later, the two notes were posted, and Alan, whose close superintendents of the repairs of the yacht had hitherto allowed him but little leisure time on shore, had proposed to wile away the idle hours by taking a walk in Castletown. Even Midwinter's nervous anxiety to deserve Mr. Brock's confidence in him could detect nothing objectionable in this harmless proposal, and the young men set forth together to see what they could make of the metropolis of the Isle of Man. It is doubtful if there is a place on the habitable globe, which, regarded as a sightseeing investment, offering itself to despair attention of strangers, yield so small a percentage of interest in return as Castletown. Beginning with the waterside, there was an inner harbor to sea with a drawbridge to let vessels through, an outer harbor ending in a dwarf lighthouse, a view of a flat coast to the right, and a view of a flat coast to the left. In the central solitudes of the city, there was a squat gray building called the Castle. Also a memorial pillar dedicated to one governor's smelt, with a flat top for a statue, and no statue standing on it. Also a barrack holding the half company of soldiers allotted to the island, and exhibiting one spirit broken sentry at its lonely door. The prevalent color of the town was faint gray. The few shops open were parted at frequent intervals by other shops closed and deserted in despair. The weary lounging of boatmen on shore was trebly weary here. The youth of the district smoked together in speechless depression under the lee of a dead wall. The ragged children said mechanically, give us a penny. And before the charitable hand could search the merciful pocket, lapsed away again in misanthropic doubt of the human nature they addressed. The silence of the grave overflowed the churchyard and filled this miserable town. But one edifice prosperous to look at rose conciliatory in the desolation of those dreadful streets. Frequented by the students of the neighboring College of King William, this building was naturally dedicated to the uses of a pastry cook shop. Here at least, viewed through the friendly medium of the window, there was something going on for a stranger to see. For here on high stools the pupils of the college sat with swinging legs and slowly moving jaws and hushed in the horrid stillness of Castle Town gorge their pastry gravely in an atmosphere of awful silence. Hang me if I can look any longer at the boys and the tarts, said Alan, dragging his friend away from the pastry cook's shop. Let's try if we can't find something else to amuse us in the next street. The first amusing object which the next street presented was a carver and gilder shop expiring feebly in the last stage of commercial decay. The counter inside displayed nothing to view but the recumbent head of a boy peacefully asleep in the unbroken solitude of the place. In the window were exhibited to the passing stranger three forlorn little fly-spotted frames, a small posting bill dusty with long continued neglect announcing that the premises were to let and one colored print the last of a series illustrating the horrors of drunkenness on the fiercest temperance principles. The composition representing an empty bottle of gin an immensely spacious garret a perpendicular scripture reader and a horizontal expiring family appealed to public favor under the entirely unobjectionable title of The Hand of Death. Allen's resolution to extract amusement from Castle Town by main force had resisted a great deal but it failed him at this stage of the investigations. He suggested trying an excursion to some other place. Midwinter readily agreeing they went back to the hotel to make inquiries. Thanks to the mixed influence of Allen's ready gift to familiarity and total want of method in putting his questions a perfect deluge of information flowed in on the two strangers relating to every subject but the subject which it actually brought them to the hotel. They made various interesting discoveries in connection with the laws and constitution of the Isle of Man and the manners and customs of the natives. To Allen's delight the manxmen spoke of England as of a well known adjacent island situated at a certain distance from the central empire of the Isle of Man. It was further revealed to the two Englishmen that this happy little nation rejoiced in laws of its own publicly proclaimed once a year by the governor and the two head judges grouped together on top of an ancient mound in fancy costumes appropriate to the occasion. Possessing this enviable institution the island added to it the inestimal blessing of a local parliament called the House of Keys an assembly far in advance of the other parliament belonging to the neighboring island in this respect that the members dispensed with the people and solemnly elected each other. With these and many more local particulars extracted from all sorts and conditions of men in and about the hotel Allen wild away the weary time in his own essentially desultory manner until the gossip died out of itself and midwinter who had been speaking apart with a landlord quietly recalled him to the matter in hand. The finest coast scenery in the island was said to be the westward and the southward and there was a fishing town in those regions called Port St. Mary with a hotel at which travelers could sleep. If Allen's impressions of Castletown still inclined him to try an excursion to some other place he had only to say so and a carriage would be produced immediately. Allen jumped at the proposal and in ten minutes more he and midwinter were on their way to the western wilds of the island. With trifling incidents the day of Mr. Brock's departure had worn on thus far. With trifling incidents in which not even midwinter's nervous watchfulness could see anything to distrust it was still to proceed until the night came a night which one at least of the two companions was destined to remember to the end of his life. Before the companions had advanced two miles on their road an accident happened. The horse fell and the driver reported that the animal had seriously injured himself. There was no alternative but to send for another carriage to Castletown or to get on to Port St. Mary on foot. Deciding to walk midwinter and Allen had not gone far before they were overtaken by a gentleman driving alone in an open chaise. He civilly introduced himself as a medical man living close to Port St. Mary and offered seats in his carriage. Always ready to make new acquaintances Allen at once accepted the proposal. He and the doctor whose name was ascertained to be Haubury became friendly and familiar before they had been five minutes in the chaise together. Midwinter sitting behind them reserved and silent on the back seat. They separated just outside Port St. Mary before Mr. Haubury's house Allen boisterously admiring the doctor's neat French windows and pretty flower garden and lawn and ringing his hand at parting as if they had known each other from boyhood upward. Arrived in Port St. Mary the two friends found themselves in a second Castletown on a smaller scale but the country round wild open and hilly deserved its reputation. A walk brought them well enough on with the day still the harmless idle day that had been from the first to see the evening near at hand. After waiting a little to admire the sun setting grandly over hill and heath and crag and talking while they waited of Mr. Brock and his long journey home they returned to the hotel to order their early supper. Nearer and nearer the night and the adventure which the night was to bring with it came to the two friends and still the only incidents that happened were incidents to be laughed at if they were noticed at all. The supper was badly cooked. The waiting maid was impenetrably stupid. The old fashioned bell rope in the coffee room had come down in Allen's hands and striking in its descent a painted china shepherdess on the chimney piece had laid the figure in fragments on the floor. Events as trifling as these were still the only events that had happened when the twilight faded and the lighted candles were brought into the room. Finding midwinter after the double fatigue of a sleepless night and a restless day but little inclined for conversation Allen left him resting on the sofa and lounged into the passage of the hotel on the chance of discovering somebody to talk to. Here another of the trivial incidents of the day brought Allen and Mr. Hobbery together again and helped whether happily or not yet remain to be seen to strengthen the acquaintance between them on either side. The bar of the hotel was situated at one end of the passage and the landlady was in attendance there mixing a glass of liquor for the doctor who had just looked in for a little gossip. On Allen's asking permission to make a third in the drinking and the gossiping Mr. Hobbery civilly handed him the glass which the landlady had just filled. It contained cold brandy and water a marked change in Allen's face as he suddenly drew back and asked for a whiskey instead caught the doctor's medical eye. A case of nervous antipathy said Mr. Hobbery quietly taking the glass away again. The remark obliged Allen to acknowledge that he had an insurmountable loathing which he was foolish enough to be a little ashamed of mentioning to the smell and taste of brandy. No matter with what diluting fluid the spirit was mixed the presence of it instantly detected by his organs of taste and smell turned him sick and faint if the drink touched his lips. Starting from this personal confession the talk turned on antipathies in general and the doctor acknowledged on his side that he took a professional interest in the subject and that he possessed a collection of curious cases at home which his new acquaintance was welcome to look at if Allen had nothing else to do that evening and if he would call when the medical work of the day was over in an hour's time. Cordially accepting the invitation which was extended to midwinter also if he cared to profit by it Allen returned to the coffee room to look after his friend half asleep and half awake midwinter was still stretched on the sofa with a local newspaper just dropping out of his languid hand. I heard your voice in the passage he said drowsily whom are you talking to? The doctor replied Allen I am going to smoke a cigar with him in an hour's time will you come too? Midwinter assented with a weary sigh always shyly unwilling to make new acquaintances fatigue increased their reluctance he now felt to become Mr. Hobbery's guest. As matters stood however there was no alternative but to go for with Allen's constitutional imprudence there was no safely trusting him alone anywhere and more especially in a stranger's house. Mr. Brock would certainly not have left his pupil to visit the doctor alone at midwinter was still nervously conscious that he occupied Mr. Brock's place. What shall we do till it's time to go? asked Allen looking about him anything in this he added observing the fallen newspaper and picking it up from the floor I'm too tired to look if you find anything interesting read it out said midwinter thinking that the reading might help to keep him awake. Part of the newspaper and no small part of it was devoted to extracts from books recently published in London. One of the works most largely laid under contribution in this manner was of the sword to interest Allen it was a highly spiced narrative of traveling adventures in the wilds of Australia pouncing on an extract which described the sufferings of the traveling party lost in a trackless wilderness and in danger of dying by thirst Allen announced that he had found something to make his friends flesh creep and began eagerly to read the passage allowed Resolute not to sleep midwinter followed the progress of the adventure sentence by sentence without missing a word the consultation of the lost travelers with death by thirst staring them in the face the resolution to press on while their strength lasted the fall of a heavy shower the vain efforts made to catch the rainwater the transient relief experienced by sucking their wet clothes the sufferings renewed a few hours after the night advance of the strongest of the party leaving the weakest behind the following a flight of birds when morning dawned the discovery by the lost men of the broad pool of water that saved their lives all this midwinter's fast failing attention mastered painfully Allen's voice growing fainter and fainter on his ear with every sentence that was read soon the next words seemed to drop away gently and nothing but the slowly sinking sound of the voice was left then the light in the room darkened gradually the sound dwindled into delicious silence and the last waking impression of the weary midwinter came peacefully to an end the next event of which he was conscious was a sharp ringing at the closed door of the hotel he started to his feet with a ready alacrity of a man whose life has accustomed him to wake at the shortest notice an instance look round showed him that the room was empty and a glance at his watch told him that it was close on midnight the noise made by the sleepy servant in opening the door and the tread the next moment of quick footsteps in the passage filled him with a sudden foreboding of something wrong as he hurriedly stepped forward to go out and make inquiry the door of the coffee room opened and the doctor stood before him I'm sorry to disturb you said Mr. Hauberry don't be alarmed there's nothing wrong where is my friend asked midwinter at the peer head answered the doctor I am to a certain extent responsible for what he is doing now and I think some careful person like yourself ought to be with him the hint was enough for midwinter he and the doctor set out for the peer immediately Mr. Hauberry mentioning on the way the circumstances under which he had come to the hotel punctual to the appointed hour Alan had made his appearance at the doctor's house explaining that he had left his weary friend so fast asleep on the sofa that he had not had the heart to wake him the evening had passed pleasantly and the conversation had turned on many subjects until in an evil hour Mr. Hauberry had dropped the hint which showed that he was fond of sailing that he possessed a pleasure promote of his own in the harbor excited on the instant by his favorite topic Alan had left his host no hospitable alternative but to take him to the pier head and show him the boat the beauty of the night and the softness of the breeze had done the rest of the mischief they had filled Alan with irresistible longings for a sail by moonlight prevented from accompanying his guest by professional hindrances which obliged him to remain on shore the doctor not knowing what else to do had ventured on disturbing midwinter rather than take the responsibility of allowing Mr. Armadale no matter how well he might be accustomed to the sea to set off on a sailing trip at midnight entirely by himself the time taken to make this explanation brought midwinter and the doctor to the pier head there sure enough was young Armadale in the boat hoisting the sail and singing the sailors yo heave ho at the top of his voice come along old boy cried Alan you're just in time for a frolic by moonlight midwinter suggested a frolic by daylight and an adjournment to bed in the meantime bed cried Alan on whose harem skirm high spirits Mr. Hobbery's hospitality has certainly not produced a sedative effect hear him doctor one would think he was 90 bed you drowsy old door mouse look at that and think of bed if you can he pointed to the sea the moon was shining in the cloudless heaven the night breeze blew soft and steady from the land the peaceful waters rippled joyfully in the silence and the glory of the night midwinter turned to the doctor with a wise resignation to circumstances he had seen enough to satisfy him that all words of remonstrance would be words simply thrown away how was the tide he asked Mr. Hobbery told him are there oars in the boat yes I am well used to the sea said midwinter descending the pier steps you may trust me to take care of my friend and to take care of the boat good night doctor shouted allen your whiskey and water is delicious your little boats a little beauty and you are the best fellow I ever met in my life the doctor laughed and waved his hand and the boat glided out from the harbor with midwinter at the helm as the breeze then blew they were soon abreast of the westward headland bounding the bay of pool wash and the question was started whether they should run out to see or keep along the shore the wisest proceeding in the event of the wind failing them was to keep by the land midwinter altered the course of the boat and they sailed on smoothly in a southwesternly direction abreast of the coast little by little the cliffs rose in height and the rocks masked wild and jagged showed rifted black chasms yawning deep in their seaward sides off the bold promontory called Spanish head midwinter looked ominously at his watch but Alan pleaded hard for half an hour more and for a glance at the famous channel of the sound which they were now fascinating and of which he had heard some startling stories from the work been employed on his yacht the new change which midwinter's compliance with this request rendered it necessary to make in the course of the boat brought her close to the wind and revealed on one side the grand view of the southern most shores of the island man and on the other the black precipices of the islet called the calf separated from the mainland by the dark and dangerous channel of the sound once more midwinter looked at his watch we have gone far enough he said stand by the sheet stop cried Alan from the bowels of the boat good god here's a wreck ship right ahead of us midwinter let the boat fall off a little and looked where the other pointed there stranded midway between the rocky boundaries on either side of the sound there never again to rise on the living waters from her grave on the sunken rock lost and lonely in the quiet night high and dark and ghostly in the yellow moonshine lay the wrecked ship I know the vessel said Alan in a great excitement I heard my workman talking of her yesterday she drifted in here on a pitch dark night when they couldn't see the lights a poor old worn out merchantman midwinter that the ship brokers have bought to break up let's run in and have a look at her midwinter hesitated all the old sympathies of his sea life strongly inclined him to follow Alan's suggestion but the wind was falling light and he distrusted the broken water in the swirling currents of the channel ahead this is an ugly place to take a boat into when you know nothing about it he said nonsense returned Alan it's as light as day and we float in two feet of water before midwinter could answer the current caught the boat and swept him onward through the channel straight toward the wreck lower the sail said midwinter quietly and shipped the oars we are running down on her fast enough now whether we like it or not both well accustomed to the use of the oar they brought the course of the boat under sufficient control to keep her on the smoothest side of the channel the side which was nearest to the islet of the calf as they came swiftly up with the wreck midwinter resigned his oar to Alan and watching his opportunity caught a hold with the boat hook on the four chains of the vessel the next moment they had the boat safely in hand under the lee of the wreck the ship's ladder used by the workman hung over the four chains mounting it with the boat's rope in his teeth midwinter secured one end and lowered the other to Alan in the boat make that fast he said and wait till I see if it's safe on board with those words he disappeared behind the bulwark wait repeated Alan in the blankest astonishment at his friend's excessive caution what on earth does he mean I'll be hanged if I wait where one of us goes the other goes too he hitched the loose end of the rope round the forward thwart of the boat and swinging himself up the ladder stood the next moment on the deck anything very dreadful on board he inquired sarcastically as he and his friend met midwinter smiled nothing whatever he replied but I couldn't be sure that we were to have the whole ship to ourselves till I got over the bulwark and looked about me Alan took a turn on the deck and surveyed direct critically from stem to stern not much of a vessel he said the Frenchman generally build better ships than this midwinter crossed the deck and eyed Alan in a momentary silence Frenchman he repeated after an interval is this vessel French yes how do you know the men I have got at work on the yacht told me they know all about her midwinter came a little nearer his swarthy face began to look to Alan's eyes unaccountably pale in the moonlight do they mention what trade she was engaged in yes the timber trade as Alan gave that answer midwinter's lean brown hand clutched him fast by the shoulder at midwinter's teeth chattered in his head like the teeth of a man struck by a sudden chill did they tell you her name he asked in a voice dropped suddenly to a whisper they did I think but it has slipped my memory gently old fellow these long claws of yours are rather tight on my shoulders was the name he stopped removed his hand and dashed away the great drops that were gathered on his forehead was the name la glace de dieu how the deuce did you come to know it that's the name sure enough la glace de dieu at one bound midwinter leaped upon the bulwark of the wreck the boat he cried with a scream of horror that rang far and wide through the stillness of the night and brought Alan instantly to his side the lower end of the carelessly hitched rope was loose on the water and ahead in the track of the moonlight a small black object was floating out of view the boat was adrift End of Chapter 3 Recording by Alan Winteroud boomcoach.blogspot.com Book 1 Chapter 4 Part 1 of Armadale This is a LibriVox Recording All LibriVox Recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Alan Winteroud Armadale by Wilkie Collins Chapter 4 The Shadow of the Past One stepping back under the dark shelter of the bulwark and one standing out boldly in the yellow light of the moon the two friends turned face to face on the deck of the timbership and looked at each other in silence. The next moment Alan's inveterate recklessness seized on the grotesque side of the situation by main force. He seated himself astride on the bulwark and burst out boisterously into his loudest and heartiest laugh. All my fault he said but there's no help for it now. Here we are hard and fast in a trap of our own setting and there goes the last of the doctor's boat. Come out of the dark midwinter I can't half see you there and I want to know what's to be done next. Midwinter neither answered nor moved. Alan left the bulwark and mounting the forecastle looked down attentively at the waters of the sound. One thing is pretty certain he said with a current on that side and the sunken rocks on this we can't find our way out of the scrape by swimming at any rate. So much for the prospect at this end of the wreck let's see how things look at the other rouse up messmate he called out cheerfully as he passed midwinter come and see what the old tub of a timbership has got to show us a stern. He sauntered on with his hands in his pockets humming the chorus of a comic song. His voice had produced no apparent effect on his friend but at the light touch of his hand in passing midwinter started and moved out slowly from the shadow of the bulwark. Come along cried Alan suspending his singing for a moment and glancing back. Still without a word of answer the other followed. Thrice he stopped before he reached the stern end of the wreck. The first time to throw aside his hat and push back his hair from his forehead and temples. The second time reeling giddy to hold for a moment by a ring bolt close at hand. The last time though Alan was plainly visible a few yards ahead to look stealthily behind him with the furtive scrutiny of a man who believes that other footsteps are following him in the dark. Not yet he whispered to himself with eyes that searched the empty air. I shall see him a stern with his hand on the lock of the cabin door. The stern end of the wreck was clear of the ship breaker's lumber accumulated in other parts of the vessel. Here the one object that rose visible on the smooth surface of the deck was the low wooden structure which held the cabin door and roofed in the cabin stairs. The wheelhouse had been removed. The binnacle had been removed but the cabin entrance and all that belonged to it had been left untouched. The scuttle was on and the door was closed. On gaining the after part of the vessel Alan walked straight to the stern and looked out to sea over the taff rail. No such thing as a boat was in view anywhere on the quiet moon brightened waters. Knowing Midwinter's sight to be better than his own he called out come up here and see if there's a fisherman within hail of us. Hearing no reply he looked back. Midwinter had followed him as far as the cabin had stopped there. He called again in a louder voice and beckoned impatiently. Midwinter had heard the call for he looked up but still he never stirred from his place. There he stood as if he had reached the utmost limits of the ship and could go no further. Alan went back and joined him. It was not easy to discover what he was looking at for he kept his face turned away from the moonlight but it seemed as if his eyes were fixed with a strange expression of inquiry on the cabin door. What is there to look at there? Alan asked. Let's see if it's locked. As he took a step forward to open the door Midwinter's hand seized him suddenly by the coat collar and forced him back. The moment after the hand relaxed without losing its grasp and trembled violently like the hand of a man completely unnerved. Am I to consider myself in custody? Ask Alan. Half astonished and half amused. Why in the name of wonder do you keep staring at the cabin door? Any suspicious noises below? It's no use disturbing the rats if that's what you mean. We haven't got a dog with us. Men? Living men they can't be for they would have heard us and come on deck. Dead men? Quite impossible. No ship's crew could be drowned in a landlocked place like this unless the vessel broke up under them. And here's the vessel as steady as a church to speak for herself. Man alive how your hand trembles. What is there to scare you in that rotten old cabin? What are you shaking and shivering about? Any company of the supernatural sword on board? Mercy preserve us as the old women say. Do you see a ghost? I see two answered the other driven headlong into speech and action by a maddening temptation to reveal the truth. Two he repeated his breath bursting from him in deep heavy gasps as he tried vainly to force back the horrible words. The ghost of a man like you drowning in the cabin and the ghost of a man like me turning a lock of the door on him. Once more young Armadale's hearty laughter rang out loud and long through the stillness of the night. Turning a lock of the door is he? said Allen as soon as his merriment left him breath enough to speak. That's a devilish unhandsome action master midwinter on the part of your ghost. The least I can do after that is to let mine out of the cabin and give him the run of the ship. With no more than a momentary exertion of his superior strength he freed himself easily from midwinter's hold. Below there he called out Gailey as he laid his strong hand on the crazy lock and tore open the cabin door. Ghost of Allen Armadale come on deck. In his terrible ignorance of the truth he put his head into the doorway and looked down laughing at the place where his murdered father had died. Pah! he exclaimed and stepping back suddenly with a shudder of disgust. The air is foul already and the cabin is full of water. It was true. The sunken rocks on which the vessel lay wrecked had burst their way through her lower timbers astern and the water had welled up through the rifted wood. Here where the deed had been done the fatal parallel between the past and the present was complete. What the cabin had been in the time of the fathers that cabin was now in the time of the sons. Allen pushed the door too again with his foot a little surprised at the sudden silence which appeared to have fallen on his friend for the moment when he had laid his hand on the cabin lock. When he turned to look the reason of the silence was instantly revealed. Midwinter had dropped on the deck. He lay senseless before the cabin door. His face churned up white and still to the moonlight like the face of a dead man. In a moment Allen was at his side. He looked uselessly round the lonely limits of the wreck as he lifted Midwinter's head on his knee for a chance of help where all chance was ruthlessly cut off. What am I to do? He said to himself in the first impulse of alarm not a drop of water near but the foul water in the cabin. A sudden recollection crossed his memory. The floored color rushed back over his face and he drew from his pocket a wicked covered flask. God bless the doctor for giving me this before we sailed, he broke out fervently as he poured down Midwinter's throat some drops of the raw whiskey which the flask contained. The stimulant acted instantly on the sensitive system of the swooning man. He sighed faintly and slowly opened his eyes. Have I been dreaming? He asked, looking up vacantly in Allen's face. His eyes wandered higher and encountered the dismantled mass of the wreck rising weird and black against the night sky. He shuddered at the sight of them and hit his face on Allen's knee. No dream, he murmured to himself mournfully. Oh me, no dream. You have been overtired all day, said Allen, and this infernal adventure of ours has upset you. Take some more whiskey, it's sure to do you good. Can you sit by yourself if I put you against the ballwork so? Why by myself? Why do you leave me? asked Midwinter. Allen pointed to the mishand shrouds of the wreck which were still left standing. You are not well enough to rough it here till the workman come off in the morning, he said. We must find our way on shore at once if we can. I am going up to get a good view all round and see if there's a house within hail of us. Even in the moment that passed while those few words were spoken, Midwinter's eyes wandered back distrustfully to the fatal cabin door. Don't go near it, he whispered. Don't try to open it for God's sake. No, no, returned Allen, humoring him. When I come down from the rigging, I'll come back here. He said the words a little constrainedly, noticing for the first time while he now spoke an underlying distress in Midwinter's face which grieved and perplexed him. You're not angry with me, he said, in his simple, sweet-tempered way. All this is my fault, I know, and I was a brute and a fool to laugh at you when I ought to have seen you were ill. I am so sorry, Midwinter, don't be angry with me. Midwinter slowly raised his head. His eyes rested with a mournful interest long and tender on Allen's anxious face. Angry, he repeated, in his lowest, gentlest tones, angry with you, oh my poor boy, were you to blame for being kind to me when I was ill in the old West Country Inn? And was I to blame for feeling your kindness, thankfully? Was it our fault that we never doubted each other and never knew that we were traveling together blindfold on the way that was to lead us here? The cruel time is coming, Allen, when we shall rue the day we ever met. Shake hands, brother, on the edge of the precipice. Shake hands while we are brothers still. Allen turned away quickly, convinced that his mind had not yet recovered from the shock of the fainting fit. Don't forget the whiskey, he said cheerfully, as he sprang into the rigging and mounted to the mizzen top. It was past two, the moon was waning and the darkness that comes before dawn was beginning to gather round the wreck. Behind Allen, as he now stood looking out from the elevation of the mizzen top, spread the broad and lonely sea. Before him were the low, black lurking rocks and the broken waters of the channel pouring white and angry into the vast calm of the westward ocean beyond. On the right hand, heaved back grandly from the waterside were the rocks and precipices with their little table lands of grass between, the sloping downs and upward rolling heath solitudes of the Isle of Man. On the left hand rose the craggy sides of the Islet of the Calf. Here rent wildly into deep black chasms, there lying low under long sleeping and clivities of grass and heath. No sound rose, no light was visible on either shore. The black lines of the topmost mass of the wreck looked shadowy and faint in the darkening mystery of the sky. The land breeze had dropped. The small shoreward waves fell noiseless, far or near, no sound was audible, but the cheerless bubbling of the broken water ahead pouring through the awful hush of silence in which earth and ocean waited for the coming day. Even Allen's careless nature felt the solemn influence of the time. The sound of his own voice startled him when he looked down and hailed his friend on deck. I think I see one house, he said, here away on the mainland to the right. He looked again to make sure had a dim little patch of white with faint white lines behind it nestling low in a grassy hollow on the main island. It looks like a stone house and enclosure he resumed. I'll hail it on the chance. He passed his arm round a rope to study himself, made a speaking trumpet of his hands, and suddenly dropped them again without uttering a sound. It's so awfully quiet he whispered to himself. I'm half afraid to call out. He looked down again on deck. I shan't startle you midwinter, shall I? He said with an uneasy laugh. He looked once more at the faint white object in the grassy hollow. It won't do to have come up here for nothing, he thought, and made a speaking trumpet of his hands again. This time he gave the hail with the whole power of his lungs. On shore there, he shouted, turning his face to the main island, ahoy, hoy, hoy. The last echoes of his voice died away or lost. No sound answered him, but the cheerless bubbling of the broken water ahead. He looked down again at his friend and saw the dark figure of midwinter rise erect and pace the deck backward and forward, never disappearing out of sight of the cabin when he retired toward the bowels of the wreck and never passing beyond the cabin when he returned toward the stern. He is impatient to get away, thought Alan. I'll try again. He hailed the land once more and taught by previous experience pitched his voice in its highest key. This time, another sound than the sound of the bubbling water answered him. The lowing of frightened cattle rose from the building in the grassy hollow and traveled far and drearily through the stillness of the morning air. Alan waited and listened. If the building was a farmhouse, the disturbance among the beast would rouse them in. If it was only a cattle stable, nothing more would happen. The lowing of the frightened brutes rose and fell drearily, the minutes passed and nothing happened. Once more, said Alan, looking down at the restless figure pacing beneath him. For the third time he hailed the land. For the third time he waited and listened. In a pause of silence among the cattle he heard behind him on the opposite shore of the channel, faint and far among the solitudes of the islet of the calf, a sharp sudden sound, like the distant clash of a heavy doorbolt drawn back. Turning at once in the new direction, he strained his eyes to look for a house. The last faint rays of the waning moonlight trembled here and there on the higher rocks and on the steeper pinnacles of ground. But great strips of darkness laid dense and black over all the land between, and in that darkness the house, if house there were, was lost to view. I have roused somebody at last. Alan called out encouragingly to midwinter, still walking to and fro on the deck, strangely indifferent to all that was passing above and beyond him. Look out for the answering hail and with his face set towards the islet Alan shouted for help. The shout was not answered but mimicked with a shrill shrieking derision with wilder and wilder cries rising out of the deep distant darkness and mingling horribly the expression of a human voice with a sound of a brutes. A sudden suspicion crossed Alan's mind which made his head swim and turned his hand cold as it held the rigging. In breathless silence he looked toward the quarter from which the first mimicry of his cry for help had come. After a moment's pause the shrieks were renewed and the sound of them came nearer. Suddenly a figure which seemed the figure of a man leaped up black on a pinnacle of rock and capered and shrieked in the waning gleam of the moonlight. The screams of a terrified woman mingled with the cries of the capering creature on the rock. A red spark flashed out in the darkness from a light kindled in an invisible window. The horse shouting of a man's voice in anger was heard through the noise. A second black figure leaped up on the rock, struggled with the first figure and disappeared with it in the darkness. The cries grew fainter and fainter the screams of the woman were stilled. The horse voice of the man was heard again for a moment hailing the wreck in words made unintelligible by the distance but in tones plainly expressive of rage and fear combined. Another moment and the clang of the doorbolt was heard again. The red spark of light was quenched in darkness and all the eyelid lay quiet in the shadows once more. The lowing of the cattle on the mainland ceased. Rose again stopped. Then cold and cheerless as ever the eternal bubbling of the broken water welled up through the great gap of silence. The one sound left as the mysterious stillness of the hour felt like a mantle from the heavens and closed over the wreck. Alan descended from his place in the Mizzentop and joined his friend again on deck. We must wait till the shipbreakers come off to their work he said meeting midwinter halfway in the course of his restless walk. After what has happened I don't mind confessing that I've had enough of hailing the land. Only think of there being a madman in that house ashore and of my waking him. Horrible, wasn't it? Midwinter stood still for a moment and looked at Alan with the perplexed air of a man who hears circumstances familiarly mentioned to which he is himself a total stranger. He appeared if such a thing had been possible to have passed over entirely without notice all that had just happened on the eyelid of the calf. Nothing is horrible out of this ship, he said. Everything is horrible in it. Answering in those strange words he turned away again and went on with his walk. Alan picked up the flask of whiskey lying on the deck near him and revived his spirits with a dram. Here's one thing on board that isn't horrible he retorted briskly as he screwed on the stopper of the flask and here's another he added as he took a cigar from his case and lit it. Three o'clock he went on looking at his watch and settling himself comfortably on deck with his back against the ballwork. Daybreak isn't far off. We shall have the piping of the birds to cheer us up before long. I say midwinter you seem to have quite got over that unlucky fainting fit. How do you keep walking? Come here and have a cigar and make yourself comfortable. Watch the good of tramping backward and forward in that restless way. I am waiting said midwinter. Waiting for what? For what is to happen to you or to me or to both of us before we are out of this ship. With submission to your superior judgment my dear fellow I think quite enough has happened already. The adventure will do very well as it stands now. More of it is more than I want. He took another dram of whiskey and rambled on between the puffs of his cigar in his usual easy way. I've not got your fine imagination old boy and I hope the next thing that happens will be the appearance of the workman's boat. I suspect that queer fancy of yours has been running away with you while you were down here all by yourself. Come now. What were you thinking of while I was up in the mizzen top frightening the cows? Midwinter suddenly stopped. Suppose I tell you, he said. Suppose you do. The torturing temptation to reveal the truth roused once already by his companion's merciless gaiety of spirit possessed itself of midwinter for the second time. He leaned back in the darkness against the high side of the ship and looked down in silence at Allen's figure stretched comfortably on the deck. Rouse him, the fiend whispered subtly from that ignorant self-possession and that pitiless repose. Show him the place where the deed was done. Let him know it with your knowledge and fear it with your dread. Tell him of the letter you burned and of the words no fire can destroy which are living in your memory now. Let him see your mind as it was yesterday when it roused your sinking faith in your own convictions to look back on your life at sea and the cherish that comforting remembrance is that in all your voyages you had never fallen in with this ship. Let him see your mind as it is now when the ship has got you at the turning point of your new life at the outset of your friendship with the one man of all men whom your father warned you to avoid. Think of those deathbed words and whisper them in his ear and he may think of them too. Hide yourself from him under an assumed name. Put the mountains and the seas between you. Be ungrateful. Be unforgiving. Be all that is most repellent to your own gentler nature rather than live under the same roof and breathe the same air with that man. So the tempter counseled. So like a noisome exhalation from the father's grave the father's influence rose and poisoned the mind of the son. The sudden silence surprised Alan. He looked back drowsily over his shoulder. Thinking again he exclaimed with a weary yawn. Midwinter stepped out from the shadow and came nearer to Alan than he had come yet. Yes he said thinking of the past and the future. The past and the future repeated Alan shifting himself comfortably into a new position. For my part I'm dumb about the past. It's a sore subject with me. The past means the loss of the doctor's boat. Let's talk about the future. Have you been taking a practical view as Daryl Brock calls it? Have you been considering the next serious question that concerns us both when we get back to the hotel? The question of breakfast? End of chapter 4 part 1 Recording by Alan Winteroud boomcoach.blogspot.com Book 1 chapter 4 part 2 of Armadale This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Alan Winteroud Armadale by Wilkie Collins Chapter 4 part 2 After an instance hesitation Midwinter took a step nearer. I have been thinking of your future and mine he said. I have been thinking of the time when your way in life and my way in life will be two ways instead of one. Here's the daybreak cried Alan. Look up at the masts. They're beginning to get clear again already. I beg your pardon what were you saying? Midwinter made no reply. The struggle between the hereditary superstition that was driving him on and the unconquerable affection for Alan that was holding him back suspended the next words on his lips. He turned aside his face in speechless suffering. Oh my father he thought. Better have killed me on that day when I lay on your bosom than have let me live for this. What's that about the future? persisted Alan. I was looking for the daylight I didn't hear. Midwinter controlled himself and answered. You have treated me with your usual kindness he said in planning to take me with you to Thorpe Ambrose. I think on reflection I had better not intrude myself where I am not known and not expected. His voice faltered and he stopped again. The more he shrank from it the clearer the picture of the happy life that he was resigning rose on his mind. Alan's thoughts instantly reverted to the mystification about the new steward which he had practiced on his friend when they were consulting together in the cabin of the yacht. Has he been turning it over in his mind wondered Alan and is he beginning at last to suspect the truth? I'll try him. Talk as much nonsense my dear fellow as you like he rejoined but don't forget you're engaged to see me established at Thorpe Ambrose and to give me your opinion of the new steward. Midwinter suddenly stepped forward again close to Alan. I am not talking about your steward or your estate he burst out passionately. I am talking about myself. Do you hear myself? I am not a fit companion for you. You don't know who I am. He drew back into that shadowy shelter of the bulwark as suddenly as he had come out of it. Oh God I can't tell him he said to himself in a whisper. For a moment and for a moment only Alan was surprised. Not know who you are? Even as he repeated the words his easy good humor got the upper hand again. He took up the whiskey flask and shook it significantly. I say he resumed how much of the doctor's medicine did you take while I was up in the mizzen top? The light tone which he persisted in adopting stung Midwinter to the last pitch of exasperation. He came out again into the light and stamped his foot angrily on the deck. Listen to me he said. You don't know half the low things I've done in my lifetime. I've been a tradesman's drudge. I have swept out the shop and put up the shutters. I have carried parcels through the streets and waited for my master's money at his customer's doors. I have never done anything half as useful. Returned Alan composedly. Dear old boy, what an industrious fellow you have been in your time. I have been a vagabond and a blackguard in my time. Returned the other fiercely. I've been a street tumbler, a tramp, a gypsy's boy. I've sung for half-pence with dancing dogs on the high road. I've worn a foot boy's livery and waited at table. I've been a common sailor's cook and a starving fisherman's jack-of-all-trades. What has a gentleman in your position in common with a man in mine? Can you take me into the society at Thorpe Ambrose? Why my very name would be your approach to you. Fancy the faces of your new neighbors when their footmen announce Osaias Midwinter and Alan Armadale in the same breath. He burst into a harsh laugh and repeated the two names again with a scornful bitterness of emphasis which insisted pitilessly on a marked contrast between them. Something in the sound of his laughter jarred painfully even on Alan's easy nature. He raised himself on the deck and spoke seriously for the first time. A joke's a joke, Midwinter, he said. As long as you don't carry it too far. I remember your saying something of the same sort to me once before when I was nursing you in summerceture. You forced me to ask you if I deserved to be kept at arm's length by you of all people in the world. Don't force me to say so again. Make as much fun of me as you please, old fellow, in any other way. That way hurts me. Simple as the words were and simply as they had been spoken, they appeared to work an instant revolution in Midwinter's mind. His impressible nature he coiled as from some sudden shock. Without a word of reply, he walked away by himself to the forward part of the ship. He sat down on some piled planks between the mass and passed his hand over his head in a vacant bewildered way. Though his father's belief in fatality was his own belief once more, though there was no longer the shadow of a doubt in his mind at the woman who Mr. Brocken met in summerceture, and the woman who had tried to destroy herself in London were one and the same. Though all the horror that mastered him when he first had read the letter from Wildbad had now mastered him again, Alan's appeal to their past experience of each other had come home to his heart with a force more irresistible than the force of his superstition itself. In the strength of that very superstition, he now sought to pretext which might encourage him to sacrifice every less generous feeling to the one predominant dread of wounding the sympathies of his friend. Why distress him, he whispered to himself? We are not the end here. There is the woman behind us in the dark. Why resist him when the mist is done and the caution comes too late? What is to be will be. What have I to do with the future and what has he? He went back to Alan, sat down by his side, and took his hand. Forgive me, he said gently. I have hurt you for the last time. Before it was possible to reply, he snatched up the whiskey flask from the deck. Come, he exclaimed, with a sudden effort to match his friend's cheerfulness. You have been trying the doctor's medicine. Why shouldn't I? Alan was delighted. This is something like a change for the better, he said. Midwinter is himself again. Hark, there are the birds. Hail, smiling morn, smiling morn. He sang the words of the glee in his old cheerful voice and clapped midwinter on the shoulder in his old hearty way. How did you manage to clear your mind of those confounded megrums? Do you know you were quite alarming about something happening to one or other of us before we were out of this ship? Sheer nonsense, returned midwinter contemptuously. I don't think my head has ever been quite right since that fever. I've got to be in my bonnet, as they say in the north. Let's talk of something else. About those people you have let the cottage to. I wonder whether the agent's account of Major Milroy's family is to be depended on. There might be another lady in the household besides his wife and his daughter. Oh ho, cried Allen. You're beginning to think of nymphs among the trees and flirtations in the fruit garden, are you? Another lady, eh? Suppose the Major's family circle won't supply another. We shall have to spin that half crown again and toss up for witches to have the first chance with Miss Milroy. For once, midwinter spoke as lightly and carelessly as Allen himself. No, no, he said. The Major's landlord has a first claim to the notice of the Major's daughter. I'll retire into the background and wait for the next lady who makes her appearance at Thorpe Ambrose. Very good. I'll have it addressed to the woman of Norfolk posted in the park to that effect, said Allen. Are you particular to a shade about size or complexion? What's your favorite age? Midwinter trifled with his own superstition, as a man trifles with the loaded gun that may kill him or with the savage animal that may maim him for life. He mentioned the age as he reckoned it himself of the woman in the black gown and the red paisley shawl. Five and thirty, he said. As the words passed his lips, his factitious spirits deserted him. He left his seat impenetrably deaf to all Allen's efforts to rally him on his extraordinary answer and resumed his restless pasting of the deck in dead silence. Once more, the haunting thought which had gone to and fro with him in the hour of darkness went to and fro with him now in the hour of daylight. Once more, the conviction possessed itself of his mind that something was to happen or to Allen or to himself before they left the wreck. Minute by minute, the light strengthened in the eastern sky and the shadowy places on the deck of the timbership revealed their barren emptiness under the eye of day. As the breeze rose again, the sea began to murmur wakefully in the morning light. Even the cold bubbling of the broken water changed its cheerless note and softened on the ear as the mellowing flood of daylight poured warm over it from the rising sun. Midwinter paused near the forward part of the ship and recalled his wandering attention to the passing time. The cheering influences of the hour were round him, look where he might. The happy morning smile of the summer sky, so brightly merciful to the old and weary earth, lavished its all-embracing beauty even on the wreck. The dew that lay glittering on the inland fields lay glittering on the deck and the worn and rusted rigging was jimmed as brightly as the fresh green leaves on shore. Insensibly as he looked round, Midwinter's thoughts reverted to the comrade who had shared with him the adventure of the night. He returned to the after part of the ship, spoke to Alan as he advanced. Receiving no answer, he approached the recumbent figure and looked closer at it. Left to his own resources, Alan had let the fatigues of the night take their own way with him. His head had sunk back, his hat had fallen off, he lay stretched at full length on the deck of the timbership, deeply and peacefully asleep. Midwinter resumed his walk, his mind lost in doubt, his own past thoughts seeming suddenly to have grown strange to him. How darkly his forebodings had distrusted the coming time and how harmlessly that time had come. The sun was mounting in the heavens, the hour of release was drawing nearer and nearer and of the two armadales imprisoned in the fatal ship, one was sleeping away the weary time, the other was quietly watching the growth of the new day. The sun climbed higher, the hour wore on. With the latent distrust of the rec which still clung to him, midwinter looked inquiringly on either shore for signs of awakening human life. The land was still lonely, the smoke reeds that were soon to rise from cottage chimneys had not risen yet. After a moment's thought, he went back again to the after part of the vessel to see if there might be a fisherman's boat within hail astern of them. Absorbed for the moment by a new idea, he passed Alan hastily after barely noticing that he still lay asleep. One step more would have brought him to the taff rail when that step was suspended by a sound beneath him, a sound like a faint groan. He turned and looked at the sleeper on the deck. He knelt softly and looked closer. It is come, he whispered to himself, not to me, but to him. It had come in the bright freshness of the morning. It had come in the mystery and terror of a dream. The face which midwinter had last seen in perfect repose was now the distorted face of a suffering man. The perspirations stood thick on Alan's forehead and matted his curling hair. His partially opened eyes showed nothing but the white of the eyeball gleaming blindly. His outstretched hands scratched and struggled on the deck. From moment to moment he moaned and muttered helplessly, but the words that escaped him were lost to the grinding and gnashing of his teeth. There he lay, so near in the body to the friend who bent over him, so far away in the spirit that the two might have been in different worlds. There he lay, with the morning sunshine on his face in the torture of his dream. One question and one only rose in the mind of the man who was looking at him. What had the fatality which had imprisoned him in the wreck decreed that he should see? Had the treachery of sleep opened the gates of the grave to that one of the two armadales whom the other had kept in ignorance of the truth? Was the murder of the father revealing itself to the son there on the very spot where the crime had been committed in the vision of a dream? With that question overshadowing all else in his mind the son of the homicide knelt on the deck and looked at the son of the man whom his father's hand had slain. The conflict between the sleeping body and the waking mind was strengthening every moment. The dreamers helpless groaning for deliverance grew louder. His hands raised themselves and clutched at the empty air. Struggling with the all-mastering dread that still held him, midwinter laid his hand gently on Allen's forehead. Light as the touch was, there were mysterious sympathies in the dreaming man that answered it. His groaning ceased and his hands dropped slowly. There was an instant of suspense and midwinter looked closer. His breath just fluttered over the sleeper's face. Before the next breath had risen to his lips, Allen sprang up on his knees, sprang up as if the call of a trumpet had rung in his ear awake in an instant. You have been dreaming, said midwinter, as the other looked at him wildly in the first bewilderment of waking. Allen's eyes began to wander about the wreck, at first vacantly, then with a look of angry surprise. Are we still here, he said, as midwinter helped him to his feet. Whatever else I do on board this infernal ship, he added after a moment, I won't go to sleep again. As he said those words, his friend's eyes searched his face in silent inquiry. They took a turn together on the deck. Tell me your dream, said midwinter, with a strange tone of suspicion in his voice and a strange appearance of abruptness in his manner. I can't tell it yet, returned Allen. Wait a little till I'm my own man again. They took another turn on the deck. Midwinter stopped and spoke once more. Look at me for a moment, Allen, he said. There was something of the trouble left by the dream, and something of natural surprise as a strange request just addressed to him in Allen's face, as he turned it full on the speaker. But no shadow of ill will, no lurking lines of distrust anywhere. Midwinter turned aside quickly, and hid, as he best might, an irrepressible outburst of relief. Do I look a little upset, asked Allen, taking his arm and leading him on again? Don't make yourself nervous about me if I do. My head feels wild and giddy, but I shall soon get over it. For the next few minutes, they walked backward and forward in silence, the one bent on dismissing the terror of the dream from his thoughts, the other bent on discovering what the terror of the dream might be. Relieved of the dread that had oppressed it, the superstitious nature of Midwinter had leaped to its next conclusion at a bound. What if the sleeper had been visited by another revelation than the revelation of the past? What if the dream had opened those unturned pages in the Book of the Future, which told the story of his life to come? The bare doubt that it might be so strengthened tenfold Midwinter's longing to penetrate the mystery, which Allen's silence still kept secret from him. Is your head more composed, he asked? Can you tell me your dream now? While he put the question, a last memorable moment in the adventure of the wreck was at hand. They had reached the stern, and were just turning again when Midwinter spoke. As Allen opened his lips to answer, he looked out mechanically to see. Instead of replying, he suddenly ran to the taff rail and waved his hat over his head in a shout of exultation. Midwinter joined him and saw a large six-ord boat pulling straight for the channel of the sound. A figure which they both thought they recognized, rose eagerly in the stern sheets and returned the waving of Allen's hat. The boat came nearer, the steersman called out to them cheerfully and they recognized the doctor's voice. Thank God you're both above water, said Mr. Halbury, as they met him on the deck of the timbership. Of all the winds of heaven, which wind blew you here? He looked at Midwinter as he made the inquiry, but it was Allen who told him the story of the night, and Allen who asked the doctor for information in return. The one absorbing interest in Midwinter's mind, the interest of penetrating the mystery of the dream, kept him silent throughout. Heedless of all that was said or done about him, he watched Allen and followed Allen like a dog until the time came for getting down into the boat. Mr. Halbury's professional eye rested on him curiously, noting his varying color and the incessant restlessness of his hands. I wouldn't change nervous systems with that man for the largest fortune that could be offered me, thought the doctor, as he took the boat's tiller and gave the oarsman their order to push off from the wreck. Having reserved all explanations on his side, until they were on their way back to Port St. Mary, Mr. Halbury next addressed himself to the gratification of Allen's curiosity. The circumstances which had brought him to the rescue of his two guests of the previous evening were simple enough. The lost boat had been met with at sea by some fisherman of Port Arran on the western side of the island, who had once recognized it as the doctor's property, and at once sent a messenger to make inquiry at the doctor's house. The man's statement of what had happened had naturally alarmed Mr. Halbury for the safety of Allen and his friend. He had immediately secured assistance and guided by the boatman's advice had made first for the most dangerous place on the coast, the only place in that calm weather in which an accident could have happened to a boat sailed by experienced men, the channel of the sound. After thus accounting for his welcome appearance on the scene, the doctor hospitably insisted that his guests of the evening should be his guests of the morning as well. It would still be too early when they got back for the people at the hotel to receive them, and they would find bed and breakfast at Mr. Halbury's house. At the first pause in the conversation between Allen and the doctor, midwinter, who had neither joined in the talk nor listened to the talk, touched his friend on the arm. Are you better, he asked, than a whisper? Shall you be soon composed enough to tell me what I want to know? Allen's eyebrows contracted impatiently. The subject of the dream, at midwinter's obstinacy and returning to it, seemed to be a like just tasteful to him. He hardly answered with his usual good humor. I suppose I shall have no peace till I tell you, he said, so I may as well get it over at once. No, returned midwinter, with a look at the doctor and the oarsman. Not where other people can hear it, not till you and I are alone. If you wish to see the last gentleman of your quarters for the night, interpose the doctor, now is your time. The coast will shut the vessel out in a minute more. In silence, on the one side and on the other, the two armadales looked their last at the fatal ship. Lonely and lost, they had found the wreck of the mystery of the summer night. Lonely and lost, they left the wreck in the radiant beauty of the summer morning. An hour later, the doctor had seen his guests established in their bedrooms and had left them to take their rest until the breakfast hour arrived. Almost as soon as his back was turned, the doors of both rooms opened softly, and Alan and midwinter met in the passage. Can you sleep after what has happened, asked Alan. Midwinter shook his head. You were coming to my room, were you not, he said. What for? To ask you to keep me company. What were you coming to my room for? To ask you to tell me your dream. Damn the dream! I want to forget all about it, and I want to know all about it. Both paused, both refrained instinctively from saying more. For the first time since the beginning of their friendship, they were on the verge of a disagreement, and that on the subject of the dream. Alan's good temper just stopped them on the brink. You are the most obstinate fellow alive, he said. But if you will know all about it, you must know all about it, I suppose. Come into my room and I'll tell you. He led the way and midwinter followed. The door closed and shut them in together. End of Chapter 4, Part 2. Recording by Alan Winteroud, boomcoach.blogspot.com.