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Mr Humphreys and His Inheritance
About fifteen years
ago, on a date late in August or early in
September, a train drew up at Wilsthorpe, a country station in Eastern
England.
Out of it stepped (with other passengers) a rather tall and reasonably
good-looking young man, carrying a handbag and some papers tied up in a
packet.
He was expecting to be met, one would say, from the way in which he
looked
about him: and he was, as obviously, expected. The stationmaster ran
forward a
step or two, and then, seeming to recollect himself, turned and
beckoned to a
stout and consequential person with a short round beard who was
scanning the
train with some appearance of bewilderment. ‘Mr Cooper,’ he called out
— ‘Mr
Cooper, I think this is your gentleman’; and then to the passenger who
had just
alighted, ‘Mr Humphreys, sir? Glad to bid you welcome to Wilsthorpe.
There’s a
cart from the Hall for your luggage, and here’s Mr Cooper, what I think
you
know.’ Mr Cooper had hurried up, and now raised his hat and shook
hands. ‘Very
pleased, I’m sure,’ he said, ‘to give the echo to Mr Palmer’s kind
words. I
should have been the first to render expression to them but for the
face not
being familiar to me, Mr Humphreys. May your residence among us be
marked as a
red-letter day, sir.’ ‘Thank you very much, Mr Cooper,’ said Humphreys,
‘for
your good wishes, and Mr Palmer also. I do hope very much that this
change of —
er — tenancy — which you must all regret, I am sure — will not be to
the
detriment of those with whom I shall be brought in contact.’ He
stopped,
feeling that the words were not fitting themselves together in the
happiest
way, and Mr Cooper cut in, ‘Oh, you may rest satisfied of that, Mr
Humphreys.
I’ll take it upon myself to assure you, sir, that a warm welcome awaits
you on
all sides. And as to any change of propriety turning out detrimental to
the
neighbourhood, well, your late uncle — ’ And here Mr Cooper also
stopped,
possibly in obedience to an inner monitor, possibly because Mr Palmer,
clearing
his throat loudly, asked Humphreys for his ticket. The two men left the
little
station, and — at Humphreys’ suggestion — decided to walk to Mr
Cooper’s house,
where luncheon was awaiting them. The relation in
which these personages stood to each other can be explained
in a very few lines. Humphreys had inherited — quite unexpectedly — a
property
from an uncle: neither the property nor the uncle had he ever seen. He
was
alone in the world — a man of good ability and kindly nature, whose
employment
in a Government office for the last four or five years had not gone far
to fit
him for the life of a country gentleman. He was studious and rather
diffident,
and had few out-of-door pursuits except golf and gardening. To-day he
had come
down for the first time to visit Wilsthorpe and confer with Mr Cooper,
the
bailiff, as to the matters which needed immediate attention. It may be
asked
how this came to be his first visit? Ought he not in decency to have
attended
his uncle’s funeral? The answer is not far to seek: he had been abroad
at the
time of the death, and his address had not been at once procurable. So
he had
put off coming to Wilsthorpe till he heard that all things were ready
for him.
And now we find him arrived at Mr Cooper’s comfortable house, facing
the parsonage,
and having just shaken hands with the smiling Mrs and Miss Cooper. During the minutes
that preceded the announcement of luncheon the party
settled themselves on elaborate chairs in the drawing-room, Humphreys,
for his
part, perspiring quietly in the consciousness that stock was being
taken of
him. ‘I was just saying
to Mr Humphreys, my dear,’ said Mr Cooper, ‘that I
hope and trust that his residence among us here in Wilsthorpe will be
marked as
a red-letter day.’ ‘Yes, indeed, I’m
sure,’ said Mrs Cooper heartily, ‘and many, many of
them.’ Miss Cooper murmured
words to the same effect, and Humphreys attempted
a pleasantry about painting the whole calendar red, which, though
greeted with
shrill laughter, was evidently not fully understood. At this point they
proceeded to luncheon. ‘Do you know this
part of the country at all, Mr Humphreys?’ said Mrs
Cooper, after a short interval. This was a better opening. ‘No, I’m sorry to
say I do not,’ said Humphreys. ‘It seems very
pleasant, what I could see of it coming down in the train.’ ‘Oh, it is a
pleasant part. Really, I sometimes say I don’t know
a nicer district, for the country; and the people round, too: such a
quantity
always going on. But I’m afraid you’ve come a little late for some of
the
better garden parties, Mr Humphreys.’ ‘I suppose I have;
dear me, what a pity!’ said Humphreys, with a gleam
of relief; and then, feeling that something more could be got out of
this
topic, ‘But after all, you see, Mrs Cooper, even if I could have been
here
earlier, I should have been cut off from them, should I not? My poor
uncle’s
recent death, you know — ’ ‘Oh dear, Mr
Humphreys, to be sure; what a dreadful thing of me to
say!’ (And Mr and Miss Cooper seconded the proposition inarticulately.)
‘What
must you have thought? I am sorry: you must really forgive me.’ ‘Not at all, Mrs
Cooper, I assure you. I can’t honestly assert that my
uncle’s death was a great grief to me, for I had never seen him. All I
meant
was that I supposed I shouldn’t be expected to take part for some
little time
in festivities of that kind.’ ‘Now, really it’s
very kind of you to take it in that way, Mr
Humphreys, isn’t it, George? And you do forgive me? But only
fancy! You
never saw poor old Mr Wilson!’ ‘Never in my life;
nor did I ever have a letter from him. But, by the
way, you have something to forgive me for. I’ve never thanked
you,
except by letter, for all the trouble you’ve taken to find people to
look after
me at the Hall.’ ‘Oh, I’m sure that
was nothing, Mr Humphreys; but I really do think that
you’ll find them give satisfaction. The man and his wife whom we’ve got
for the
butler and housekeeper we’ve known for a number of years: such a nice
respectable couple, and Mr Cooper, I’m sure, can answer for the men in
the
stables and gardens.’ ‘Yes, Mr Humphreys,
they’re a good lot. The head gardener’s the only
one who’s stopped on from Mr Wilson’s time. The major part of the
employees, as
you no doubt saw by the will, received legacies from the old gentleman
and
retired from their posts, and as the wife says, your housekeeper and
butler are
calculated to render you every satisfaction.’ ‘So everything, Mr
Humphreys, is ready for you to step in this very
day, according to what I understood you to wish,’ said Mrs Cooper.
‘Everything,
that is, except company, and there I’m afraid you’ll find yourself
quite at a
standstill. Only we did understand it was your intention to move in at
once. If
not, I’m sure you know we should have been only too pleased for you to
stay
here.’ ‘I’m quite sure you
would, Mrs Cooper, and I’m very grateful to you.
But I thought I had really better make the plunge at once. I’m
accustomed to
living alone, and there will be quite enough to occupy my evenings —
looking
over papers and books and so on — for some time to come, I thought if
Mr Cooper
could spare the time this afternoon to go over the house and grounds
with me — ’ ‘Certainly,
certainly, Mr Humphreys. My time is your own, up to any
hour you please.’ ‘Till dinner-time,
father, you mean,’ said Miss Cooper. ‘Don’t forget
we’re going over to the Brasnetts’. And have you got all the garden
keys?’ ‘Are you a great
gardener, Miss Cooper?’ said Mr Humphreys. ‘I wish you
would tell me what I’m to expect at the Hall.’ ‘Oh, I don’t know
about a great gardener, Mr Humphreys: I’m very
fond of flowers — but the Hall garden might be made quite lovely, I
often say.
It’s very old-fashioned as it is: and a great deal of shrubbery.
There’s an old
temple, besides, and a maze.’ ‘Really? Have you
explored it ever?’ ‘No-o,’ said Miss
Cooper, drawing in her lips and shaking her head.
‘I’ve often longed to try, but old Mr Wilson always kept it locked. He
wouldn’t
even let Lady Wardrop into it. (She lives near here, at Bentley, you
know, and
she’s a great gardener, if you like.) That’s why I asked father
if he
had all the keys.’ ‘I see. Well, I must
evidently look into that, and show you over it
when I’ve learnt the way.’ ‘Oh, thank you so
much, Mr Humphreys! Now I shall have the laugh of
Miss Foster (that’s our rector’s daughter, you know; they’re away on
their
holiday now — such nice people). We always had a joke between us which
should
be the first to get into the maze.’ ‘I think the garden
keys must be up at the house,’ said Mr Cooper, who
had been looking over a large bunch. ‘There is a number there in the
library.
Now, Mr Humphreys, if you’re prepared, we might bid goodbye to these
ladies and
set forward on our little tour of exploration.’ As they came out of
Mr Cooper’s front gate, Humphreys had to run the
gauntlet — not of an organized demonstration, but of a good deal of
touching of
hats and careful contemplation from the men and women who had gathered
in
somewhat unusual numbers in the village street. He had, further, to
exchange
some remarks with the wife of the lodge-keeper as they passed the park
gates,
and with the lodge-keeper himself, who was attending to the park road.
I
cannot, however, spare the time to report the progress fully. As they
traversed
the half-mile or so between the lodge and the house, Humphreys took
occasion to
ask his companion some question which brought up the topic of his late
uncle,
and it did not take long before Mr Cooper was embarked upon a
disquisition. ‘It is singular to
think, as the wife was saying just now, that you
should never have seen the old gentleman. And yet — you won’t
misunderstand me,
Mr Humphreys, I feel confident, when I say that in my opinion there
would have
been but little congeniality betwixt yourself and him. Not that I have
a word
to say in deprecation — not a single word. I can tell you what he was,’
said Mr
Cooper, pulling up suddenly and fixing Humphreys with his eye. ‘Can
tell you
what he was in a nutshell, as the saying goes. He was a complete,
thorough
valentudinarian. That describes him to a T. That’s what he was, sir, a
complete
valentudinarian. No participation in what went on around him. I did
venture, I
think, to send you a few words of cutting from our local paper, which I
took
the occasion to contribute on his decease. If I recollect myself
aright, such
is very much the gist of them. But don’t, Mr Humphreys,’ continued
Cooper,
tapping him impressively on the chest — ‘don’t you run away with the
impression
that I wish to say aught but what is most creditable — most
creditable —
of your respected uncle and my late employer. Upright, Mr Humphreys —
open as
the day; liberal to all in his dealings. He had the heart to feel and
the hand
to accommodate. But there it was: there was the stumbling-block — his
unfortunate health — or, as I might more truly phrase it, his want
of
health.’ ‘Yes, poor man. Did
he suffer from any special disorder before his last
illness — which, I take it, was little more than old age?’ ‘Just that, Mr
Humphreys — just that. The flash flickering slowly away
in the pan,’ said Cooper, with what he considered an appropriate
gesture — ‘the
golden bowl gradually ceasing to vibrate. But as to your other question
I
should return a negative answer. General absence of vitality? yes:
special
complaint? no, unless you reckon a nasty cough he had with him. Why,
here we
are pretty much at the house. A handsome mansion, Mr Humphreys, don’t
you
consider?’ It deserved the
epithet, on the whole: but it was oddly proportioned — a
very tall red-brick house, with a plain parapet concealing the roof
almost
entirely. It gave the impression of a town house set down in the
country; there
was a basement, and a rather imposing flight of steps leading up to the
front
door. It seemed also, owing to its height, to desiderate wings, but
there were
none. The stables and other offices were concealed by trees. Humphreys
guessed
its probable date as 1770 or thereabouts. The mature couple
who had been engaged to act as butler and
cook-housekeeper were waiting inside the front door, and opened it as
their new
master approached. Their name, Humphreys already knew, was Calton; of
their
appearance and manner he formed a favourable impression in the few
minutes’
talk he had with them. It was agreed that he should go through the
plate and
the cellar next day with Mr Calton, and that Mrs C. should have a talk
with him
about linen, bedding, and so on — what there was, and what there ought
to be.
Then he and Cooper, dismissing the Caltons for the present, began their
view of
the house. Its topography is not of importance to this story. The large
rooms
on the ground floor were satisfactory, especially the library, which
was as
large as the dining-room, and had three tall windows facing east. The
bedroom
prepared for Humphreys was immediately above it. There were many
pleasant, and
a few really interesting, old pictures. None of the furniture was new,
and
hardly any of the books were later than the seventies. After hearing of
and
seeing the few changes his uncle had made in the house, and
contemplating a
shiny portrait of him which adorned the drawing-room, Humphreys was
forced to
agree with Cooper that in all probability there would have been little
to
attract him in his predecessor. It made him rather sad that he could
not be
sorry — dolebat se dolere non posse — for the man who, whether
with or
without some feeling of kindliness towards his unknown nephew, had
contributed
so much to his well-being; for he felt that Wilsthorpe was a place in
which he
could be happy, and especially happy, it might be, in its library. And now it was time
to go over the garden: the empty stables could
wait, and so could the laundry. So to the garden they addressed
themselves, and
it was soon evident that Miss Cooper had been right in thinking that
there were
possibilities. Also that Mr Cooper had done well in keeping on the
gardener.
The deceased Mr Wilson might not have, indeed plainly had not, been
imbued with
the latest views on gardening, but whatever had been done here had been
done
under the eye of a knowledgeable man, and the equipment and stock were
excellent. Cooper was delighted with the pleasure Humphreys showed, and
with
the suggestions he let fall from time to time. ‘I can see,’ he said,
‘that
you’ve found your meatear here, Mr Humphreys: you’ll make this place a
regular
signosier before very many seasons have passed over our heads. I wish
Clutterham had been here — that’s the head gardener — and here he would
have
been of course, as I told you, but for his son’s being horse doover
with a
fever, poor fellow! I should like him to have heard how the place
strikes you.’ ‘Yes, you told me he
couldn’t be here today, and I was very sorry to
hear the reason, but it will be time enough tomorrow. What is that
white
building on the mound at the end of the grass ride? Is it the temple
Miss
Cooper mentioned?’ ‘That it is, Mr
Humphreys — the Temple of Friendship. Constructed of
marble brought out of Italy for the purpose, by your late uncle’s
grandfather.
Would it interest you perhaps to take a turn there? You get a very
sweet
prospect of the park.’ The general lines of
the temple were those of the Sibyl’s Temple at
Tivoli, helped out by a dome, only the whole was a good deal smaller.
Some
ancient sepulchral reliefs were built into the wall, and about it all
was a
pleasant flavour of the grand tour. Cooper produced the key, and with
some
difficulty opened the heavy door. Inside there was a handsome ceiling,
but
little furniture. Most of the floor was occupied by a pile of thick
circular
blocks of stone, each of which had a single letter deeply cut on its
slightly
convex upper surface. ‘What is the meaning of these?’ Humphreys
inquired. ‘Meaning? Well, all
things, we’re told, have their purpose, Mr
Humphreys, and I suppose these blocks have had theirs as well as
another. But
what that purpose is or was [Mr Cooper assumed a didactic attitude
here], I, for
one, should be at a loss to point out to you, sir. All I know of them —
and
it’s summed up in a very few words — is just this: that they’re stated
to have
been removed by your late uncle, at a period before I entered on the
scene,
from the maze. That, Mr Humphreys, is — ’ ‘Oh, the maze!’
exclaimed Humphreys. ‘I’d forgotten that: we must have
a look at it. Where is it?’ Cooper drew him to
the door of the temple, and pointed with his stick.
‘Guide your eye,’ he said (somewhat in the manner of the Second Elder
in
Handel’s ‘Susanna’ — Far to the west
direct your straining eyes Where yon tall holm-tree
rises to the skies) ‘Guide your eye by
my stick here, and follow out the line directly
opposite to the spot where we’re standing now, and I’ll engage, Mr
Humphreys,
that you’ll catch the archway over the entrance. You’ll see it just at
the end
of the walk answering to the one that leads up to this very building.
Did you
think of going there at once? because if that be the case, I must go to
the
house and procure the key. If you would walk on there, I’ll rejoin you
in a few
moments’ time.’ Accordingly
Humphreys strolled down the ride leading to the temple,
past the garden-front of the house, and up the turfy approach to the
archway
which Cooper had pointed out to him. He was surprised to find that the
whole
maze was surrounded by a high wall, and that the archway was provided
with a
padlocked iron gate; but then he remembered that Miss Cooper had spoken
of his
uncle’s objection to letting anyone enter this part of the garden. He
was now
at the gate, and still Cooper came not. For a few minutes he occupied
himself
in reading the motto cut over the entrance, Secretum meum mihi et
filiis
domus meae, and in trying to recollect the source of it. Then he
became
impatient and considered the possibility of scaling the wall. This was
clearly
not worth while; it might have been done if he had been wearing an
older suit:
or could the padlock — a very old one — be forced? No, apparently not:
and yet,
as he gave a final irritated kick at the gate, something gave way, and
the lock
fell at his feet. He pushed the gate open inconveniencing a number of
nettles
as he did so, and stepped into the enclosure. It was a yew maze,
of circular form, and the hedges, long untrimmed,
had grown out and upwards to a most unorthodox breadth and height. The
walks,
too, were next door to impassable. Only by entirely disregarding
scratches,
nettle-stings, and wet, could Humphreys force his way along them; but
at any
rate this condition of things, he reflected, would make it easier for
him to
find his way out again, for he left a very visible track. So far as he
could
remember, he had never been in a maze before, nor did it seem to him
now that
he had missed much. The dankness and darkness, and smell of crushed
goosegrass
and nettles were anything but cheerful. Still, it did not seem to be a
very
intricate specimen of its kind. Here he was (by the way, was that
Cooper
arrived at last? No!) very nearly at the heart of it, without having
taken much
thought as to what path he was following. Ah! there at last was the
centre,
easily gained. And there was something to reward him. His first
impression was
that the central ornament was a sundial; but when he had switched away
some
portion of the thick growth of brambles and bindweed that had formed
over it,
he saw that it was a less ordinary decoration. A stone column about
four feet
high, and on the top of it a metal globe — copper, to judge by the
green patina
— engraved, and finely engraved too, with figures in outline, and
letters. That
was what Humphreys saw, and a brief glance at the figures convinced him
that it
was one of those mysterious things called celestial globes, from which,
one
would suppose, no one ever yet derived any information about the
heavens.
However, it was too dark — at least in the maze — for him to examine
this
curiosity at all closely, and besides, he now heard Cooper’s voice, and
sounds
as of an elephant in the jungle. Humphreys called to him to follow the
track he
had beaten out, and soon Cooper emerged panting into the central
circle. He was
full of apologies for his delay; he had not been able, after all, to
find the
key. ‘But there!’ he said, ‘you’ve penetrated into the heart of the
mystery
unaided and unannealed, as the saying goes. Well! I suppose it’s a
matter of
thirty to forty years since any human foot has trod these precincts.
Certain it
is that I’ve never set foot in them before. Well, well! what’s the old
proverb
about angels fearing to tread? It’s proved true once again in this
case.’
Humphreys’ acquaintance with Cooper, though it had been short, was
sufficient
to assure him that there was no guile in this allusion, and he forbore
the
obvious remark, merely suggesting that it was fully time to get back to
the
house for a late cup of tea, and to release Cooper for his evening
engagement.
They left the maze accordingly, experiencing well-nigh the same ease in
retracing their path as they had in coming in. ‘Have you any idea,’
Humphreys asked, as they went towards the house,
‘why my uncle kept that place so carefully locked?’ Cooper pulled up,
and Humphreys felt that he must be on the brink of a
revelation. ‘I should merely be
deceiving you, Mr Humphreys, and that to no good
purpose, if I laid claim to possess any information whatsoever on that
topic.
When I first entered upon my duties here, some eighteen years back,
that maze
was word for word in the condition you see it now, and the one and only
occasion on which the question ever arose within my knowledge was that
of which
my girl made mention in your hearing. Lady Wardrop — I’ve not a word to
say
against her — wrote applying for admission to the maze. Your uncle
showed me
the note — a most civil note — everything that could be expected from
such a
quarter. “Cooper,” he said, “I wish you’d reply to that note on my
behalf.”
“Certainly Mr Wilson,” I said, for I was quite inured to acting as his
secretary, “what answer shall I return to it?” “Well,” he said, “give
Lady
Wardrop my compliments, and tell her that if ever that portion of the
grounds
is taken in hand I shall be happy to give her the first opportunity of
viewing
it, but that it has been shut up now for a number of years, and I shall
be
grateful to her if she kindly won’t press the matter.” That, Mr
Humphreys, was
your good uncle’s last word on the subject, and I don’t think I can add
anything to it. Unless,’ added Cooper, after a pause, ‘it might be just
this:
that, so far as I could form a judgement, he had a dislike (as people
often
will for one reason or another) to the memory of his grandfather, who,
as I
mentioned to you, had that maze laid out. A man of peculiar teenets, Mr
Humphreys, and a great traveller. You’ll have the opportunity, on the
coming
Sabbath, of seeing the tablet to him in our little parish church; put
up it was
some long time after his death.’ ‘Oh! I should have
expected a man who had such a taste for building to
have designed a mausoleum for himself.’ ‘Well, I’ve never
noticed anything of the kind you mention; and, in
fact, come to think of it, I’m not at all sure that his resting-place
is within
our boundaries at all: that he lays in the vault I’m pretty confident
is not
the case. Curious now that I shouldn’t be in a position to inform you
on that
heading! Still, after all, we can’t say, can we, Mr Humphreys, that
it’s a
point of crucial importance where the pore mortal coils are bestowed?’ At this point they
entered the house, and Cooper’s speculations were
interrupted. Tea was laid in the
library, where Mr Cooper fell upon subjects
appropriate to the scene. ‘A fine collection of books! One of the
finest, I’ve
understood from connoisseurs, in this part of the country; splendid
plates,
too, in some of these works. I recollect your uncle showing me one with
views
of foreign towns — most absorbing it was: got up in first-rate style.
And
another all done by hand, with the ink as fresh as if it had been laid
on
yesterday, and yet, he told me, it was the work of some old monk
hundreds of
years back. I’ve always taken a keen interest in literature myself.
Hardly
anything to my mind can compare with a good hour’s reading after a hard
day’s
work; far better than wasting the whole evening at a friend’s house —
and that
reminds me, to be sure. I shall be getting into trouble with the wife
if I
don’t make the best of my way home and get ready to squander away one
of these
same evenings! I must be off, Mr Humphreys.’ ‘And that reminds me,’
said Humphreys, ‘if I’m to show Miss
Cooper the maze tomorrow we must have it cleared out a bit. Could you
say a
word about that to the proper person?’ ‘Why, to be sure. A
couple of men with scythes could cut out a track
tomorrow morning. I’ll leave word as I pass the lodge, and I’ll tell
them,
what’ll save you the trouble, perhaps, Mr Humphreys, of having to go up
and
extract them yourself: that they’d better have some sticks or a tape to
mark
out their way with as they go on.’ ‘A very good idea!
Yes, do that; and I’ll expect Mrs and Miss Cooper in
the afternoon, and yourself about half-past ten in the morning.’ ‘It’ll be a
pleasure, I’m sure, both to them and to myself, Mr
Humphreys. Good night!’ Humphreys dined at
eight. But for the fact that it was his first
evening, and that Calton was evidently inclined for occasional
conversation, he
would have finished the novel he had bought for his journey. As it was,
he had
to listen and reply to some of Calton’s impressions of the
neighbourhood and
the season: the latter, it appeared, was seasonable, and the former had
changed
considerably — and not altogether for the worse — since Calton’s
boyhood (which
had been spent there). The village shop in particular had greatly
improved
since the year 1870. It was now possible to procure there pretty much
anything
you liked in reason: which was a conveniency, because suppose anythink
was
required of a suddent (and he had known such things before now), he
(Calton)
could step down there (supposing the shop to be still open), and order
it in,
without he borrered it of the Rectory, whereas in earlier days it would
have
been useless to pursue such a course in respect of anything but
candles, or
soap, or treacle, or perhaps a penny child’s picture-book, and nine
times out
of ten it’d be something more in the nature of a bottle of whisky you’d
be requiring; leastways — On the whole Humphreys thought he would be
prepared
with a book in future. The library was the
obvious place for the after-dinner hours. Candle in
hand and pipe in mouth, he moved round the room for some time, taking
stock of
the titles of the books. He had all the predisposition to take interest
in an
old library, and there was every opportunity for him here to make
systematic
acquaintance with one, for he had learned from Cooper that there was no
catalogue save the very superficial one made for purposes of probate.
The
drawing up of a catalogue raisonné would be a delicious
occupation for
winter. There were probably treasures to be found, too: even
manuscripts, if
Cooper might be trusted. As he pursued his
round the sense came upon him (as it does upon most
of us in similar places) of the extreme unreadableness of a great
portion of
the collection. ‘Editions of Classics and Fathers, and Picart’s Religious
Ceremonies, and the Harleian Miscellany, I suppose are all
very
well, but who is ever going to read Tostatus Abulensis, or Pineda on
Job, or a
book like this?’ He picked out a small quarto, loose in the binding,
and from
which the lettered label had fallen off; and observing that coffee was
waiting
for him, retired to a chair. Eventually he opened the book. It will be
observed
that his condemnation of it rested wholly on external grounds. For all
he knew
it might have been a collection of unique plays, but undeniably the
outside was
blank and forbidding. As a matter of fact, it was a collection of
sermons or
meditations, and mutilated at that, for the first sheet was gone. It
seemed to
belong to the latter end of the seventeenth century. He turned over the
pages
till his eye was caught by a marginal note: ‘A Parable of this
Unhappy
Condition,’ and he thought he would see what aptitudes the author
might
have for imaginative composition. ‘I have heard or read,’ so ran the
passage,
‘whether in the way of Parable or true Relation I leave
my Reader
to judge, of a Man who, like Theseus, in the Attick Tale,
should
adventure himself, into a Labyrinth or Maze: and such
an one
indeed as was not laid out in the Fashion of our Topiary
artists of this
Age, but of a wide compass, in which, moreover, such unknown Pitfalls
and
Snares, nay, such ill-omened Inhabitants were commonly thought to lurk
as could
only be encountered at the Hazard of one’s very life. Now you may be
sure that
in such a Case the Disswasions of Friends were not wanting. “Consider
of
such-an-one” says a Brother “how he went the way you wot of, and was
never seen
more.” “Or of such another” says the Mother “that adventured himself
but a
little way in, and from that day forth is so troubled in his Wits that
he
cannot tell what he saw, nor hath passed one good Night.” “And have you
never
heard” cries a Neighbour “of what Faces have been seen to look out over
the Palisadoes
and betwixt the Bars of the Gate?” But all would not do: the Man was
set upon
his Purpose: for it seems it was the common fireside Talk of that
Country that
at the Heart and Centre of this Labyrinth there was a Jewel of
such
Price and Rarity that would enrich the Finder thereof for his life: and
this
should be his by right that could persever to come at it. What then? Quid
multa? The Adventurer pass’d the Gates, and for a whole day’s space
his
Friends without had no news of him, except it might be by some
indistinct Cries
heard afar off in the Night, such as made them turn in their restless
Beds and
sweat for very Fear, not doubting but that their Son and Brother had
put one
more to the Catalogue of those unfortunates that had suffer’d
shipwreck
on that Voyage. So the next day they went with weeping Tears to the
Clark of
the Parish to order the Bell to be toll’d. And their Way took them hard
by the
gate of the Labyrinth: which they would have hastened by, from
the
Horrour they had of it, but that they caught sight of a sudden of a
Man’s Body
lying in the Roadway, and going up to it (with what Anticipations may
be easily
figured) found it to be him whom they reckoned as lost: and not dead,
though he
were in a Swound most like Death. They then, who had gone forth as
Mourners
came back rejoycing, and set to by all means to revive their Prodigal.
Who,
being come to himself, and hearing of their Anxieties and their Errand
of that
Morning, “Ay” says he “you may as well finish what you were about: for,
for all
I have brought back the Jewel (which he shew’d them, and ’twas indeed a
rare
Piece) I have brought back that with it that will leave me neither Rest
at
Night nor Pleasure by Day.” Whereupon they were instant with him to
learn his
Meaning, and where his Company should be that went so sore against his
Stomach.
“O” says he “’tis here in my Breast: I cannot flee from it, do what I
may.” So
it needed no Wizard to help them to a guess that it was the
Recollection of
what he had seen that troubled him so wonderfully. But they could get
no more
of him for a long Time but by Fits and Starts. However at long and at
last they
made shift to collect somewhat of this kind: that at first, while the
Sun was
bright, he went merrily on, and without any Difficulty reached the
Heart of the Labyrinth and got the Jewel, and so set out on his
way back rejoycing:
but as the Night fell, wherein all the Beasts of the Forest do move,
he
begun to be sensible of some Creature keeping Pace with him and, as he
thought, peering and looking upon him from the next Alley to
that he was in; and
that when he should stop, this Companion should stop also, which put
him in
some Disorder of his Spirits. And, indeed, as the Darkness increas’d,
it seemed
to him that there was more than one, and, it might be, even a whole
Band of
such Followers: at least so he judg’d by the Rustling and Cracking that
they
kept among the Thickets; besides that there would be at a Time a Sound
of
Whispering, which seem’d to import a Conference among them. But in
regard of
who they were or what Form they were of, he would not be persuaded to
say what
he thought. Upon his Hearers asking him what the Cries were which they
heard in
the Night (as was observ’d above) he gave them this Account: That about
Midnight
(so far as he could judge) he heard his Name call’d from a long way
off, and he
would have been sworn it was his Brother that so call’d him. So he
stood still
and hilloo’d at the Pitch of his Voice, and he suppos’d that the Echo,
or the Noyse of his Shouting, disguis’d for the Moment any lesser
sound;
because, when there fell a Stillness again, he distinguish’d a
Trampling (not
loud) of running Feet coming very close behind him, wherewith he was so
daunted
that himself set off to run, and that he continued till the Dawn broke.
Sometimes when his Breath fail’d him, he would cast himself flat on his
Face,
and hope that his Pursuers might over-run him in the Darkness, but at
such a
Time they would regularly make a Pause, and he could hear them pant and
snuff as
it had been a Hound at Fault: which wrought in him so extream an
Horrour of
mind, that he would be forc’d to betake himself again to turning and
doubling,
if by any Means he might throw them off the Scent. And, as if this
Exertion was
in itself not terrible enough, he had before him the constant Fear of
falling
into some Pit or Trap, of which he had heard, and indeed seen with his
own Eyes
that there were several, some at the sides and other in the Midst of
the
Alleys. So that in fine (he said) a more dreadful Night was never spent
by
Mortal Creature than that he had endur’d in that Labyrinth; and
not that
Jewel which he had in his Wallet, nor the richest that was ever brought
out of
the Indies, could be a sufficient Recompence to him for the
Pains he had
suffered. ‘I will spare to set
down the further Recital of this Man’s Troubles,
inasmuch as I am confident my Reader’s Intelligence will hit the Parallel
I desire to draw. For is not this Jewel a just Emblem of the
Satisfaction which
a Man may bring back with him from a Course of this World’s Pleasures?
and will
not the Labyrinth serve for an Image of the World itself
wherein such a
Treasure (if we may believe the common Voice) is stored up?’ At about this point
Humphreys thought that a little Patience would be
an agreeable change, and that the writer’s ‘improvement’ of his Parable
might
be left to itself. So he put the book back in its former place,
wondering as he
did so whether his uncle had ever stumbled across that passage; and if
so,
whether it had worked on his fancy so much as to make him dislike the
idea of a
maze, and determine to shut up the one in the garden. Not long
afterwards he
went to bed. The next day brought
a morning’s hard work with Mr Cooper, who, if
exuberant in language, had the business of the estate at his fingers’
ends. He
was very breezy this morning, Mr Cooper was: had not forgotten the
order to
clear out the maze — the work was going on at that moment: his girl was
on the
tentacles of expectation about it. He also hoped that Humphreys had
slept the
sleep of the just, and that we should be favoured with a continuance of
this
congenial weather. At luncheon he enlarged on the pictures in the
dining-room,
and pointed out the portrait of the constructor of the temple and the
maze. Humphreys
examined this with considerable interest. It was the work of an
Italian, and
had been painted when old Mr Wilson was visiting Rome as a young man.
(There
was, indeed, a view of the Colosseum in the background.) A pale thin
face and
large eyes were the characteristic features. In the hand was a
partially
unfolded roll of paper, on which could be distinguished the plan of a
circular
building, very probably the temple, and also part of that of a
labyrinth.
Humphreys got up on a chair to examine it, but it was not painted with
sufficient clearness to be worth copying. It suggested to him, however,
that he
might as well make a plan of his own maze and hang it in the hall for
the use
of visitors. This determination
of his was confirmed that same afternoon; for when
Mrs and Miss Cooper arrived, eager to be inducted into the maze, he
found that
he was wholly unable to lead them to the centre. The gardeners had
removed the
guide-marks they had been using, and even Clutterham, when summoned to
assist,
was as helpless as the rest. ‘The point is, you see, Mr Wilson — I
should say
‘Umphreys — these mazes is purposely constructed so much alike, with a
view to
mislead. Still, if you’ll foller me, I think I can put you right. I’ll
just put
my ‘at down ’ere as a starting-point.’ He stumped off, and after five
minutes
brought the party safe to the hat again. ‘Now that’s a very peculiar
thing,’ he
said, with a sheepish laugh. ‘I made sure I’d left that ‘at just over
against a
bramble-bush, and you can see for yourself there ain’t no bramble-bush
not in
this walk at all. If you’ll allow me, Mr Humphreys — that’s the name,
ain’t it,
sir? — I’ll just call one of the men in to mark the place like.’ William Crack
arrived, in answer to repeated shouts. He had some
difficulty in making his way to the party. First he was seen or heard
in an
inside alley, then, almost at the same moment, in an outer one.
However, he
joined them at last, and was first consulted without effect and then
stationed
by the hat, which Clutterham still considered it necessary to leave on
the
ground. In spite of this strategy, they spent the best part of
three-quarters
of an hour in quite fruitless wanderings, and Humphreys was obliged at
last,
seeing how tired Mrs Cooper was becoming, to suggest a retreat to tea,
with
profuse apologies to Miss Cooper. ‘At any rate you’ve won your bet with
Miss
Foster,’ he said; ‘you have been inside the maze; and I promise you the
first
thing I do shall be to make a proper plan of it with the lines marked
out for
you to go by.’ ‘That’s what’s wanted, sir,’ said Clutterham, ‘someone
to draw
out a plan and keep it by them. It might be very awkward, you see,
anyone
getting into that place and a shower of rain come on, and them not able
to find
their way out again; it might be hours before they could be got out,
without
you’d permit of me makin’ a short cut to the middle: what my meanin’
is, takin’
down a couple of trees in each ‘edge in a straight line so as you could
git a
clear view right through. Of course that’d do away with it as a maze,
but I
don’t know as you’d approve of that.’ ‘No, I won’t have
that done yet: I’ll make a plan first, and let you
have a copy. Later on, if we find occasion, I’ll think of what you say.’ Humphreys was vexed
and ashamed at the fiasco of the afternoon, and
could not be satisfied without making another effort that evening to
reach the
centre of the maze. His irritation was increased by finding it without
a single
false step. He had thoughts of beginning his plan at once; but the
light was
fading, and he felt that by the time he had got the necessary materials
together, work would be impossible. Next morning
accordingly, carrying a drawing-board, pencils, compasses,
cartridge paper, and so forth (some of which had been borrowed from the
Coopers
and some found in the library cupboards), he went to the middle of the
maze
(again without any hesitation), and set out his materials. He was,
however,
delayed in making a start. The brambles and weeds that had obscured the
column
and globe were now all cleared away, and it was for the first time
possible to
see clearly what these were like. The column was featureless,
resembling those
on which sundials are usually placed. Not so the globe. I have said
that it was
finely engraved with figures and inscriptions, and that on a first
glance
Humphreys had taken it for a celestial globe: but he soon found that it
did not
answer to his recollection of such things. One feature seemed familiar;
a
winged serpent — Draco — encircled it about the place which, on
a
terrestrial globe, is occupied by the equator: but on the other hand, a
good
part of the upper hemisphere was covered by the outspread wings of a
large
figure whose head was concealed by a ring at the pole or summit of the
whole.
Around the place of the head the words princeps tenebrarum
could be
deciphered. In the lower hemisphere there was a space hatched all over
with
cross-lines and marked as umbra mortis. Near it was a range of
mountains, and among them a valley with flames rising from it. This was
lettered (will you be surprised to learn it?) vallis filiorum Hinnom.
Above and below Draco were outlined various figures not unlike
the
pictures of the ordinary constellations, but not the same. Thus, a nude
man
with a raised club was described, not as Hercules but as Cain.
Another, plunged up to his middle in earth and stretching out
despairing arms,
was Chore, not Ophiuchus, and a third, hung by his hair
to a
snaky tree, was Absolon. Near the last, a man in long robes and
high
cap, standing in a circle and addressing two shaggy demons who hovered
outside,
was described as Hostanes magus (a character unfamiliar to
Humphreys).
The scheme of the whole, indeed, seemed to be an assemblage of the
patriarchs
of evil, perhaps not uninfluenced by a study of Dante. Humphreys
thought it an
unusual exhibition of his great-grandfather’s taste, but reflected that
he had
probably picked it up in Italy and had never taken the trouble to
examine it
closely: certainly, had he set much store by it, he would not have
exposed it
to wind and weather. He tapped the metal — it seemed hollow and not
very thick
— and, turning from it, addressed himself to his plan. After half an
hour’s
work he found it was impossible to get on without using a clue: so he
procured
a roll of twine from Clutterham, and laid it out along the alleys from
the
entrance to the centre, tying the end to the ring at the top of the
globe. This
expedient helped him to set out a rough plan before luncheon, and in
the
afternoon he was able to draw it in more neatly. Towards tea-time Mr
Cooper
joined him, and was much interested in his progress. ‘Now this — ’ said
Mr
Cooper, laying his hand on the globe, and then drawing it away hastily.
‘Whew!
Holds the heat, doesn’t it, to a surprising degree, Mr Humphreys. I
suppose
this metal — copper, isn’t it? — would be an insulator or conductor, or
whatever they call it.’ ‘The sun has been
pretty strong this afternoon,’ said Humphreys,
evading the scientific point, ‘but I didn’t notice the globe had got
hot. No — it
doesn’t seem very hot to me,’ he added. ‘Odd!’ said Mr
Cooper. ‘Now I can’t hardly bear my hand on it.
Something in the difference of temperament between us, I suppose. I
dare say
you’re a chilly subject, Mr Humphreys: I’m not: and there’s where the
distinction lies. All this summer I’ve slept, if you’ll believe me,
practically in statu quo, and had my morning tub as cold as I
could get it. Day out
and day in-let me assist you with that string.’ ‘It’s all right,
thanks; but if you’ll collect some of these pencils
and things that are lying about I shall be much obliged. Now I think
we’ve got
everything, and we might get back to the house.’ They left the maze,
Humphreys rolling up the clue as they went. The night was rainy. Most unfortunately
it turned out that, whether by Cooper’s fault or
not, the plan had been the one thing forgotten the evening before. As
was to be
expected, it was ruined by the wet. There was nothing for it but to
begin again
(the job would not be a long one this time). The clue therefore was put
in
place once more and a fresh start made. But Humphreys had not done much
before
an interruption came in the shape of Calton with a telegram. His late
chief in
London wanted to consult him. Only a brief interview was wanted, but
the
summons was urgent. This was annoying, yet it was not really upsetting;
there
was a train available in half an hour, and, unless things went very
cross, he
could be back, possibly by five o’clock, certainly by eight. He gave
the plan
to Calton to take to the house, but it was not worth while to remove
the clue. All went as he had
hoped. He spent a rather exciting evening in the
library, for he lighted tonight upon a cupboard where some of the rarer
books
were kept. When he went up to bed he was glad to find that the servant
had
remembered to leave his curtains undrawn and his windows open. He put
down his
light, and went to the window which commanded a view of the garden and
the
park. It was a brilliant moonlight night. In a few weeks’ time the
sonorous
winds of autumn would break up all this calm. But now the distant woods
were in
a deep stillness; the slopes of the lawns were shining with dew; the
colours of
some of the flowers could almost be guessed. The light of the moon just
caught
the cornice of the temple and the curve of its leaden dome, and
Humphreys had
to own that, so seen, these conceits of a past age have a real beauty.
In
short, the light, the perfume of the woods, and the absolute quiet
called up
such kind old associations in his mind that he went on ruminating them
for a
long, long time. As he turned from the window he felt he had never seen
anything more complete of its sort. The one feature that struck him
with a
sense of incongruity was a small Irish yew, thin and black, which stood
out
like an outpost of the shrubbery, through which the maze was
approached. That,
he thought, might as well be away: the wonder was that anyone should
have
thought it would look well in that position. However, next
morning, in the press of answering letters and going over
books with Mr Cooper, the Irish yew was forgotten. One letter, by the
way,
arrived this day which has to be mentioned. It was from that Lady
Wardrop whom
Miss Cooper had mentioned, and it renewed the application which she had
addressed to Mr Wilson. She pleaded, in the first place, that she was
about to
publish a Book of Mazes, and earnestly desired to include the plan of
the
Wilsthorpe Maze, and also that it would be a great kindness if Mr
Humphreys
could let her see it (if at all) at an early date, since she would soon
have to
go abroad for the winter months. Her house at Bentley was not far
distant, so
Humphreys was able to send a note by hand to her suggesting the very
next day
or the day after for her visit; it may be said at once that the
messenger
brought back a most grateful answer, to the effect that the morrow
would suit
her admirably. The only other event
of the day was that the plan of the maze was
successfully finished. This night again was
fair and brilliant and calm, and Humphreys
lingered almost as long at his window. The Irish yew came to his mind
again as
he was on the point of drawing his curtains: but either he had been
misled by a
shadow the night before, or else the shrub was not really so obtrusive
as he
had fancied. Anyhow, he saw no reason for interfering with it. What he would
do away with, however, was a clump of dark growth which had usurped a
place
against the house wall, and was threatening to obscure one of the lower
range
of windows. It did not look as if it could possibly be worth keeping;
he
fancied it dank and unhealthy, little as he could see of it. Next day (it was a
Friday — he had arrived at Wilsthorpe on a Monday)
Lady Wardrop came over in her car soon after luncheon. She was a stout
elderly
person, very full of talk of all sorts and particularly inclined to
make
herself agreeable to Humphreys, who had gratified her very much by his
ready
granting of her request. They made a thorough exploration of the place
together; and Lady Wardrop’s opinion of her host obviously rose
sky-high when
she found that he really knew something of gardening. She entered
enthusiastically into all his plans for improvement, but agreed that it
would
be a vandalism to interfere with the characteristic laying-out of the
ground
near the house. With the temple she was particularly delighted, and,
said she,
‘Do you know, Mr Humphreys, I think your bailiff must be right about
those
lettered blocks of stone. One of my mazes — I’m sorry to say the stupid
people
have destroyed it now — it was at a place in Hampshire — had the track
marked
out in that way. They were tiles there, but lettered just like yours,
and the
letters, taken in the right order, formed an inscription — what it was
I forget
— something about Theseus and Ariadne. I have a copy of it, as well as
the plan
of the maze where it was. How people can do such things! I shall never
forgive
you if you injure your maze. Do you know, they’re becoming very
uncommon? Almost every year I hear of one being grubbed up. Now, do
let’s get
straight to it: or, if you’re too busy, I know my way there perfectly,
and I’m
not afraid of getting lost in it; I know too much about mazes for that.
Though
I remember missing my lunch — not so very long ago either — through
getting
entangled in the one at Busbury. Well, of course, if you can
manage to
come with me, that will be all the nicer.’ After this confident
prelude justice would seem to require that Lady
Wardrop should have been hopelessly muddled by the Wilsthorpe maze.
Nothing of
that kind happened: yet it is to be doubted whether she got all the
enjoyment
from her new specimen that she expected. She was interested — keenly
interested
— to be sure, and pointed out to Humphreys a series of little
depressions in
the ground which, she thought, marked the places of the lettered
blocks. She
told him, too, what other mazes resembled his most closely in
arrangement, and
explained how it was usually possible to date a maze to within twenty
years by
means of its plan. This one, she already knew, must be about as old as
1780,
and its features were just what might be expected. The globe,
furthermore,
completely absorbed her. It was unique in her experience, and she pored
over it
for long. ‘I should like a rubbing of that,’ she said, ‘if it could
possibly be
made. Yes, I am sure you would be most kind about it, Mr Humphreys, but
I trust
you won’t attempt it on my account, I do indeed; I shouldn’t like to
take any
liberties here. I have the feeling that it might be resented. Now,
confess,’
she went on, turning and facing Humphreys, ‘don’t you feel — haven’t
you felt
ever since you came in here — that a watch is being kept on us, and
that if we
overstepped the mark in any way there would be a — well, a pounce? No? I
do; and I don’t care how soon we are outside the gate.’ ‘After all,’ she
said, when they were once more on their way to the
house, ‘it may have been only the airlessness and the dull heat of that
place
that pressed on my brain. Still, I’ll take back one thing I said. I’m
not sure
that I shan’t forgive you after all, if I find next spring that that
maze has
been grubbed up.’ ‘Whether or no
that’s done, you shall have the plan, Lady Wardrop. I
have made one, and no later than tonight I can trace you a copy.’ ‘Admirable: a pencil
tracing will be all I want, with an indication of
the scale. I can easily have it brought into line with the rest of my
plates.
Many, many thanks.’ ‘Very well, you
shall have that tomorrow. I wish you could help me to a
solution of my block-puzzle.’ ‘What, those stones
in the summer-house? That is a puzzle; they
are in no sort of order? Of course not. But the men who put them down
must have
had some directions — perhaps you’ll find a paper about it among your
uncle’s
things. If not, you’ll have to call in somebody who’s an expert in
ciphers.’ ‘Advise me about
something else, please,’ said Humphreys. ‘That
bush-thing under the library window: you would have that away, wouldn’t
you?’ ‘Which? That? Oh, I
think not,’ said Lady Wardrop. ‘I can’t see it very
well from this distance, but it’s not unsightly.’ ‘Perhaps you’re
right; only, looking out of my window, just above it,
last night, I thought it took up too much room. It doesn’t seem to, as
one sees
it from here, certainly. Very well, I’ll leave it alone for a bit.’ Tea was the next
business, soon after which Lady Wardrop drove off; but,
half-way down the drive, she stopped the car and beckoned to Humphreys,
who was
still on the front-door steps. He ran to glean her parting words, which
were:
‘It just occurs to me, it might be worth your while to look at the
underside of
those stones. They must have been numbered, mustn’t they? Good-bye
again. Home, please.’ The main occupation
of this evening at any rate was settled. The
tracing of the plan for Lady Wardrop and the careful collation of it
with the
original meant a couple of hours’ work at least. Accordingly, soon
after nine
Humphreys had his materials put out in the library and began. It was a
still,
stuffy evening; windows had to stand open, and he had more than one
grisly
encounter with a bat. These unnerving episodes made him keep the tail
of his
eye on the window. Once or twice it was a question whether there was —
not a
bat, but something more considerable — that had a mind to join him. How
unpleasant it would be if someone had slipped noiselessly over the sill
and was
crouching on the floor! The tracing of the
plan was done: it remained to compare it with the
original, and to see whether any paths had been wrongly closed or left
open.
With one finger on each paper, he traced out the course that must be
followed
from the entrance. There were one or two slight mistakes, but here,
near the
centre, was a bad confusion, probably due to the entry of the Second or
Third
Bat. Before correcting the copy he followed out carefully the last
turnings of
the path on the original. These, at least, were right; they led without
a hitch
to the middle space. Here was a feature which need not be repeated on
the copy
— an ugly black spot about the size of a shilling. Ink? No. It
resembled a
hole, but how should a hole be there? He stared at it with tired eyes:
the work
of tracing had been very laborious, and he was drowsy and oppressed
. . . But surely this was a very odd hole. It seemed to go
not only
through the paper, but through the table on which it lay. Yes, and
through the
floor below that, down, and still down, even into infinite depths. He
craned
over it, utterly bewildered. Just as, when you were a child, you may
have pored
over a square inch of counterpane until it became a landscape with
wooded
hills, and perhaps even churches and houses, and you lost all thought
of the
true size of yourself and it, so this hole seemed to Humphreys for the
moment
the only thing in the world. For some reason it was hateful to him from
the
first, but he had gazed at it for some moments before any feeling of
anxiety
came upon him; and then it did come, stronger and stronger — a horror
lest
something might emerge from it, and a really agonizing conviction that
a terror
was on its way, from the sight of which he would not be able to escape.
Oh yes,
far, far down there was a movement, and the movement was upwards —
towards the
surface. Nearer and nearer it came, and it was of a blackish-grey
colour with
more than one dark hole. It took shape as a face — a human face — a burnt
human face: and with the odious writhings of a wasp creeping out of a
rotten
apple there clambered forth an appearance of a form, waving black arms
prepared
to clasp the head that was bending over them. With a convulsion of
despair
Humphreys threw himself back, struck his head against a hanging lamp,
and fell. There was concussion
of the brain, shock to the system, and a long
confinement to bed. The doctor was badly puzzled, not by the symptoms,
but by a
request which Humphreys made to him as soon as he was able to say
anything. ‘I
wish you would open the ball in the maze.’ ‘Hardly room enough there, I
should
have thought,’ was the best answer he could summon up; ‘but it’s more
in your
way than mine; my dancing days are over.’ At which Humphreys muttered
and
turned over to sleep, and the doctor intimated to the nurses that the
patient
was not out of the wood yet. When he was better able to express his
views,
Humphreys made his meaning clear, and received a promise that the thing
should
be done at once. He was so anxious to learn the result that the doctor,
who
seemed a little pensive next morning, saw that more harm than good
would be
done by saving up his report. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I am afraid the ball is
done
for; the metal must have worn thin, I suppose. Anyhow, it went all to
bits with
the first blow of the chisel.’ ‘Well? go on, do!’ said Humphreys
impatiently.
‘Oh! you want to know what we found in it, of course. Well, it was half
full of
stuff like ashes.’ ‘Ashes? What did you make of them?’ ‘I haven’t
thoroughly
examined them yet; there’s hardly been time: but Cooper’s made up his
mind — I
dare say from something I said — that it’s a case of cremation
. . .
Now don’t excite yourself, my good sir: yes, I must allow I think he’s
probably
right.’ The maze is gone,
and Lady Wardrop has forgiven Humphreys; in fact, I
believe he married her niece. She was right, too, in her conjecture
that the
stones in the temple were numbered. There had been a numeral painted on
the
bottom of each. Some few of these had rubbed off, but enough remained
to enable
Humphreys to reconstruct the inscription. It ran thus: PENETRANS
AD INTERIORA MORTIS Grateful as
Humphreys was to the memory of his uncle, he could not
quite forgive him for having burnt the journals and letters of the
James Wilson
who had gifted Wilsthorpe with the maze and the temple. As to the
circumstances
of that ancestor’s death and burial no tradition survived; but his
will, which
was almost the only record of him accessible, assigned an unusually
generous
legacy to a servant who bore an Italian name. Mr Cooper’s view is
that, humanly speaking, all these many solemn
events have a meaning for us, if our limited intelligence permitted of
our
disintegrating it, while Mr Calton has been reminded of an aunt now
gone from
us, who, about the year 1866, had been lost for upwards of an hour and
a half
in the maze at Covent Gardens, or it might be Hampton Court. One of the oddest
things in the whole series of transactions is that
the book which contained the Parable has entirely disappeared.
Humphreys has
never been able to find it since he copied out the passage to send to
Lady
Wardrop. |