within the tides-第32节

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than　the　absolute　absence　of　every　mark　would　have　been。　　So　Tom



had　died　striking　against　something　which　could　be　hit；　and　yet



could　kill　one　without　leaving　a　wound　…　by　a　breath。







Terror；　hot　terror；　began　to　play　about　Byrne's　heart　like　a　tongue



of　flame　that　touches　and　withdraws　before　it　turns　a　thing　to



ashes。　　He　backed　away　from　the　body　as　far　as　he　could；　then　came



forward　stealthily　casting　fearful　glances　to　steal　another　look　at



the　bruised　forehead。　　There　would　perhaps　be　such　a　faint　bruise



on　his　own　forehead　…　before　the　morning。







〃I　can't　bear　it；〃　he　whispered　to　himself。　　Tom　was　for　him　now　an



object　of　horror；　a　sight　at　once　tempting　and　revolting　to　his



fear。　　He　couldn't　bear　to　look　at　him。







At　last；　desperation　getting　the　better　of　his　increasing　horror；



he　stepped　forward　from　the　wall　against　which　he　had　been　leaning；



seized　the　corpse　under　the　armpits；　and　began　to　lug　it　over　to



the　bed。　　The　bare　heels　of　the　seaman　trailed　on　the　floor



noiselessly。　　He　was　heavy　with　the　dead　weight　of　inanimate



objects。　　With　a　last　effort　Byrne　landed　him　face　downwards　on　the



edge　of　the　bed；　rolled　him　over；　snatched　from　under　this　stiff



passive　thing　a　sheet　with　which　he　covered　it　over。　　Then　he



spread　the　curtains　at　head　and　foot　so　that　joining　together　as　he



shook　their　folds　they　hid　the　bed　altogether　from　his　sight。







He　stumbled　towards　a　chair；　and　fell　on　it。　　The　perspiration



poured　from　his　face　for　a　moment；　and　then　his　veins　seemed　to



carry　for　a　while　a　thin　stream　of　half；　frozen　blood。　　Complete



terror　had　possession　of　him　now；　a　nameless　terror　which　had



turned　his　heart　to　ashes。







He　sat　upright　in　the　straight…backed　chair；　the　lamp　burning　at



his　feet；　his　pistols　and　his　hanger　at　his　left　elbow　on　the　end



of　the　table；　his　eyes　turning　incessantly　in　their　sockets　round



the　walls；　over　the　ceiling；　over　the　floor；　in　the　expectation　of



a　mysterious　and　appalling　vision。　　The　thing　which　could　deal



death　in　a　breath　was　outside　that　bolted　door。　　But　Byrne　believed



neither　in　walls　nor　bolts　now。　　Unreasoning　terror　turning



everything　to　account；　his　old　time　boyish　admiration　of　the



athletic　Tom；　the　undaunted　Tom　（he　had　seemed　to　him　invincible）；



helped　to　paralyse　his　faculties；　added　to　his　despair。







He　was　no　longer　Edgar　Byrne。　　He　was　a　tortured　soul　suffering



more　anguish　than　any　sinner's　body　had　ever　suffered　from　rack　or



boot。　　The　depth　of　his　torment　may　be　measured　when　I　say　that



this　young　man；　as　brave　at　least　as　the　average　of　his　kind；



contemplated　seizing　a　pistol　and　firing　into　his　own　head。　　But　a



deadly；　chilly；　langour　was　spreading　over　his　limbs。　　It　was　as　if



his　flesh　had　been　wet　plaster　stiffening　slowly　about　his　ribs。



Presently；　he　thought；　the　two　witches　will　be　coming　in；　with



crutch　and　stick　…　horrible；　grotesque；　monstrous　…　affiliated　to



the　devil　…　to　put　a　mark　on　his　forehead；　the　tiny　little　bruise



of　death。　　And　he　wouldn't　be　able　to　do　anything。　　Tom　had　struck



out　at　something；　but　he　was　not　like　Tom。　　His　limbs　were　dead



already。　　He　sat　still；　dying　the　death　over　and　over　again；　and



the　only　part　of　him　which　moved　were　his　eyes；　turning　round　and



round　in　their　sockets；　running　over　the　walls；　the　floor；　the



ceiling；　again　and　again　till　suddenly　they　became　motionless　and



stony…starting　out　of　his　head　fixed　in　the　direction　of　the　bed。







He　had　seen　the　heavy　curtains　stir　and　shake　as　if　the　dead　body



they　concealed　had　turned　over　and　sat　up。　　Byrne；　who　thought　the



world　could　hold　no　more　terrors　in　store；　felt　his　hair　stir　at



the　roots。　　He　gripped　the　arms　of　the　chair；　his　jaw　fell；　and　the



sweat　broke　out　on　his　brow　while　his　dry　tongue　clove　suddenly　to



the　roof　of　his　mouth。　　Again　the　curtains　stirred；　but　did　not



open。　　〃Don't；　Tom！〃　Byrne　made　effort　to　shout；　but　all　he　heard



was　a　slight　moan　such　as　an　uneasy　sleeper　may　make。　　He　felt　that



his　brain　was　going；　for；　now；　it　seemed　to　him　that　the　ceiling



over　the　bed　had　moved；　had　slanted；　and　came　level　again　…　and



once　more　the　closed　curtains　swayed　gently　as　if　about　to　part。







Byrne　closed　his　eyes　not　to　see　the　awful　apparition　of　the



seaman's　corpse　coming　out　animated　by　an　evil　spirit。　　In　the



profound　silence　of　the　room　he　endured　a　moment　of　frightful



agony；　then　opened　his　eyes　again。　　And　he　saw　at　once　that　the



curtains　remained　closed　still；　but　that　the　ceiling　over　the　bed



had　risen　quite　a　foot。　　With　the　last　gleam　of　reason　left　to　him



he　understood　that　it　was　the　enormous　baldaquin　over　the　bed　which



was　coming　down；　while　the　curtains　attached　to　it　swayed　softly；



sinking　gradually　to　the　floor。　　His　drooping　jaw　snapped　to　…　and



half　rising　in　his　chair　he　watched　mutely　the　noiseless　descent　of



the　monstrous　canopy。　　It　came　down　in　short　smooth　rushes　till



lowered　half　way　or　more；　when　it　took　a　run　and　settled　swiftly



its　turtle…back　shape　with　the　deep　border　piece　fitting　exactly



the　edge　of　the　bedstead。　　A　slight　crack　or　two　of　wood　were



heard；　and　the　overpowering　stillness　of　the　room　resumed　its　sway。







Byrne　stood　up；　gasped　for　breath；　and　let　out　a　cry　of　rage　and



dismay；　the　first　sound　which　he　is　perfectly　certain　did　make　its



way　past　his　lips　on　this　night　of　terrors。　　This　then　was　the



death　he　had　escaped！　　This　was　the　devilish　artifice　of　murder



poor　Tom's　soul　had　perhaps　tried　from　beyond　the　border　to　warn



him　of。　　For　this　was　how　he　had　died。　　Byrne　was　certain　he　had



heard　the　voice　of　the　seaman；　faintly　distinct　in　his　familiar



phrase；　〃Mr。　Byrne！　　Look　out；　sir！〃　and　again　uttering　words　he



could　not　make　out。　　But　then　the　distance　separating　the　living



from　the　dead　is　so　great！　　Poor　Tom　had　tried。　　Byrne　ran　to　the



bed　and　attempted　to　lift　up；　to　push　off　the　horrible　lid



smothering　the　body。　　It　resisted　his　efforts；　heavy　as　lead；



immovable　like　a　tombstone。　　The　rage　of　vengeance　made　him　desist；



his　head　buzzed　with　chaotic　thoughts　of　extermination；　he　turned



round　the　room　as　if　he　could　find　neither　his　weapons　nor　the　way



out；　and　all　the　time　he　stammered　awful　menaces。　。　。







A　violent　battering　at　the　door　of　the　inn　recalled　him　to　his



soberer　senses。　　He　flew　to　the　window　pulled　the　shutters　open；



and　looked　out。　　In　the　faint　dawn　he　saw　below　him　a　mob　of　men。



Ha！　　He　would　go　and　face　at　once　this　murderous　lot　collected　no



doubt　for　his　undoing。　　After　his　struggle　with　nameless　terrors　he



yearned　for　an　open　fray　with　armed　enemies。　　But　he　must　have



remained　yet　bereft　of　his　reason；　because　forgetting　his　weapons



he　rushed　downstairs　with　a　wild　cry；　unbarred　the　door　while　blows



were　raining　on　it　outside；　and　flinging　it　open　flew　with　his　bare



hands　at　the　throat　of　the　first　man　he　saw　before　him。　　They



rolled　over　together。　　Byrne's　hazy　intention　was　to　break　through；



to　fly　up　the　mountain　path；　and　come　back　presently　with　Gonzales'



men　to　exact　an　exemplary　vengeance。　　He　fought　furiously　till　a



tree；　a　house；　a　mountain；　seemed　to　crash　down　upon　his　head　…　and



he　knew　no　more。







*　*　*　*　*







Here　Mr。　Byrne　describes　in　detail　the　skilful　manner　in　which　he



found　his　broken　head　bandaged；　informs　us　that　he　had　lost　a　great



deal　of　blood；　and　ascribes　the　preservation　of　his　sanity　to　that



circumstance。　　He　sets　down　Gonzales'　profuse　apologies　in　full



too。　　For　it　was　Gonzales　who；　tired　of　waiting　for　news　from　the



English；　had　come　down　to　the　inn　with　half　his　band；　on　his　way　to



the　sea。　　〃His　excellency；〃　he　explained；　〃rushed　out　with　fierce



impetuosity；　and；　moreover；　was　not　known　to　us　for　a　friend；　and



so　we　。　。　。　etc。；　etc。　　When　asked　what　had　become　of　the　witches；



he　only　pointed　his　finger　silently　to　the　ground；　then　voiced



calmly　a　moral　reflection：　　〃The　passion　for　gold　is　pitiless　in



the　very　old；　senor；〃　he　said。　　〃No　doubt　in　former　days　they　have



put　many　a　solitary　traveller　to　sleep　in　the　archbishop's　bed。〃







〃There　was　also　a　gipsy　girl　there；〃　said　Byrne　feebly　from　the



improvised　litter　on　which　he　was　being　carried　to　the　coast　by　a



squad　of　guerilleros。







〃It　was　she　who　winched　up　that　infernal　machine；　and　it　was　she



too　who　lowered　it　that　night；〃　was　the　answer。







〃But　why？　　Why？〃　exclaimed　Byrne。　　〃Why　should　she　wish　for　my



death？〃







〃No　doubt　for　the　sake　of　your　excellency's　coat　buttons；〃　said



politely　the　saturnine　Gonzales。　　〃We　found　those　of　the　dead



mariner　concealed　on　her　person。　　But　your　excellency　may　rest



assured　that　everything　that　is　fitting　has　been　done　on　this



occasion。〃