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Sir Noll, Sir Noll, so cease your life, Your heart piercèd with the knife.
And the next day news came to the castle that Sir Oliver had fought in a
tavern, and a stranger had stabbed him to the heart. And at night she took
another doll, and held it to a fire of charcoal till it was melted. Then
she said--
Sir John, return, and turn to clay, In fire of fever you waste away.
And the next day news came to the castle that Sir John had died in a burning
fever. So then Sir Simon went out of the castle and mounted his horse and
rode away to the bishop and told him everything. And the bishop sent his
men, and they took the Lady Avelin, and everything she had done was found
out. So on the day after the year and a day, when she was to have been married,
they carried her through the town in her smock, and they tied her to a great
stake in the market-place, and burned her alive before the bishop with her
wax image hung round her neck. And people said the wax man screamed in the
burning of the flames. And I thought of this story again and again as I
was lying awake in my bed, and I seemed to see the Lady Avelin in the market-place,
with the yellow flames eating up her beautiful white body. And I thought
of it so much that I seemed to get into the story myself, and I fancied
I was the lady, and that they were coming to take me to be burnt with fire,
with all the people in the town looking at me. And I wondered whether she
cared, after all the strange things she had done, and whether it hurt very
much to be burned at the stake. I tried again and again to forget nurse's
stories, and to remember the secret I had seen that afternoon, and what
was in the secret wood, but I could only see the dark and a glimmering in
the dark, and then it went away, and I only saw myself running, and then
a great moon came up white over a dark round hill. Then all the old stories
came back again, and the queer rhymes that nurse used to sing to me; and
there was one beginning "Halsy cumsy Helen musty," that she used to sing
very softly when she wanted me to go to sleep. And I began to sing it to
myself inside of my head, and I went to sleep.
The next morning I was very tired and sleepy, and could hardly do my lessons,
and I was very glad when they were over and I had had my dinner, as I wanted
to go out and be alone. It was a warm day, and I went to a nice turfy hill
by the river, and sat down on my mother's old shawl that I had brought with
me on purpose. The sky was grey, like the day before, but there was a kind
of white gleam behind it, and from where I was sitting I could look down
on the town, and b it was all still and quiet and white, like a picture.
I remembered that it was on that hill that nurse taught me to play an old
game called "Troy Town," in which one had to dance, and wind in and out
on a pattern in the grass, and then when one had danced and turned long
enough the other person asks you questions, and you can't help answering
whether you want to or not, and whatever you are told to do you feel you
have to do it. Nurse said there used to be a lot of games like that that
some people knew of, and there was one by which people could be turned into
anything you liked and an old man her great-grandmother had seen had known
a girl who had been turned into a large snake. And there was another very
ancient game of dancing and winding and turning, by which you could take
a person out of himself and hide him away as long as you liked, and his
body went walking about quite empty, without any sense in it. But I came
to that hill because I wanted to think of what had happened the day before,
and of the secret of the wood. From the place where I was sitting I could
see beyond the town, into the opening I had found, where a little brook
had led me into an unknown country. And I pretended I was following the
brook over again, and I went all the way in my mind, and at last I found
the wood, and crept into it under the bushes, and then in the dusk I saw
something that made me feel as if I were filled with fire, as if I wanted
to dance and sing and fly up into the air, because I was changed and wonderful.
But what I saw was not changed at all, and had not grown old, and I wondered
again and again how such things could happen, and whether nurse's stories
were really true, because in the daytime in the open air everything seemed
quite different from what it was at night, when I was frightened, and thought
I was to be burned alive. I once told my father one of her little tales,
which was about a ghost, and asked him if it was true, and he told me it
was not true at all, and that only common, ignorant people believed in such
rubbish. He was very angry with nurse for telling me the story, and scolded
her, and after that I promised her I would never whisper a word of what
she told me, and if I did I should be bitten by the great black snake that
lived in the pool in the wood. And all alone on the hill I wondered what
was true. I had seen something very amazing and very lovely, and I knew
a story, and if I had really seen it, and not made it up out of the dark,
and the black bough, and the bright shining that was mounting up to the
sky from over the great round hill, but had really seen it in truth, then
there were all kinds of wonderful and lovely and terrible things to think
of, so I longed and trembled, and I burned and got cold. And I looked down
on the town, so quiet and still, like a little white picture, and I thought
over and over if it could be true. I was a long time before I could make
up my mind to anything; there was such a strange fluttering at my heart
that seemed to whisper to me all the time that I had not made it up out
of my head, and yet it seemed quite impossible, and I knew my father and
everybody would say it was dreadful rubbish. I never dreamed of telling
him or anybody else a word about it, because I knew it would be of no use,
and I should only get laughed at or scolded, so for a long time I was very
quiet, and went about thinking and wondering; and at night I used to dream
of amazing things, and sometimes I woke up in the early morning and held
out my arms with a cry. And I was frightened, too, because there were dangers,
and some awful thing would happen to me, unless I took great care, if the
story were true. These old tales were always in my head, night and morning,
and I went over them and told them to myself over and over again, and went
for walks in the places where nurse had told them to me; and when I sat
in the nursery by the fire in the evenings I used to fancy nurse was sitting
in the other chair, and telling me some wonderful story in a low voice,
for fear anybody should be listening. But she used to like best to tell
me about things when we were right out in the country, far from the house,
because she said she was telling me such secrets, and walls have ears. And
if it was something more than ever secret, we had to hide in brakes or woods;
and I used to think it was such fun creeping along a hedge, and going very
softly, and then we would get behind the bushes or run into the wood all
of a sudden, when we were sure that none was watching us; so we knew that
we had our secrets quite all to ourselves, and nobody else at all knew anything
about them. Now and then, when we had hidden ourselves as I have described,
she used to show me all sorts of odd things. One day, I remember, we were
in a hazel brake, over-looking the brook, and we were so snug and warm,
as though it was April; the sun was quite hot, and the leaves were just
coming out. Nurse said she would show me something funny that would make
me laugh, and then she showed me, as she said, how one could turn a whole
house upside down, without anybody being able to find out, and the pots
and pans would jump about, and the china would be broken, and the chairs
would tumble over of themselves. I tried it one day in the kitchen, and
I found I could do it quite well, and a whole row of plates on the dresser
fell off it, and cook's little work-table tilted up and turned right over
"before her eyes," as she said, but she was so frightened and turned so
white that I didn't do it again, as I liked her. And afterwards, in the
hazel copse, when she had shown me how to make things tumble about, she
showed me how to make rapping noises, and I learnt how to do that, too.
Then she taught me rhymes to say on certain occasions, and peculiar marks
to make on other occasions, and other things that her great-grandmother
had taught her when she was a little girl herself. And these were all the
things I was thinking about in those days after the strange walk when I
thought I had seen a great secret, and I wished nurse were there for me
to ask her about it, but she had gone away more than two years before, and
nobody seemed to know what had become of her, or where she had gone. But
I shall always remember those days if I live to be quite old, because all
the time I felt so strange, wondering and doubting, and feeling quite sure
at one time, and making up my mind, and then I would feel quite sure that
such things couldn't happen really, and it began all over again. But I took
great care not to do certain things that might be very dangerous. So I waited
and wondered for a long time, and though I was not sure at all, I never
dared to try to find out. But one day I became sure that all that nurse
said was quite true, and I was all alone when I found it out. I trembled
all over with joy and terror, and as fast as I could I ran into one of the
old brakes where we used to go--it was the one by the lane, where nurse
made the little clay man--and I ran into it, and I crept into it; and when
I came to the place where the elder was, I covered up my face with my hands
and lay down flat on the grass, and I stayed there for two hours without
moving, whispering to myself delicious, terrible things, and saying some
words over and over again. It was all true and wonderful and splendid, and
when I remembered the story I knew and thought of what I had really seen,
I got hot and I got cold, and the air seemed full of scent, and flowers,
and singing. And first I wanted to make a little clay man, like the one
nurse had made so long ago, and I had to invent plans and stratagems, and
to look about, and to think of things beforehand, because nobody must dream
of anything that I was doing or going to do, and I was too old to carry
clay about in a tin bucket. At last I thought of a plan, and I brought the
wet clay to the brake, and did everything that nurse had done, only I made
a much finer image than the one she had made; and when it was finished I
did everything that I could imagine and much more than she did, because
it was the likeness of something far better. And a few days later, when
I had done my lessons early, I went for the second time by the way of the
little brook that had led me into a strange country. And I followed the
brook, and went through the bushes, and beneath the low branches of trees,
and up thorny thickets on the hill, and by dark woods full of creeping thorns,
a long, long way. Then I crept through the dark tunnel where the brook had
been and the ground was stony, till at last I came to the thicket that climbed
up the hill, and though the leaves were coming out upon the trees, everything
looked almost as black as it was on the first day that I went there. And
the thicket was just the same, and I went up slowly till I came out on the
big bare hill, and began to walk among the wonderful rocks. I saw the terrible
voor again on everything, for though the sky was brighter, the ring of wild
hills all around was still dark, and the hanging woods looked dark and dreadful,
and the strange rocks were as grey as ever; and when I looked down on them
from the great mound, sitting on the stone, I saw all their amazing circles
and rounds within rounds, and I had to sit quite still and watch them as
they began to turn about me, and each stone danced in its place, and they
seemed to go round and round in a great whirl, as if one were in the middle
of all the stars and heard them rushing through the air. So I went down
among the rocks to dance with them and to sing extraordinary songs; and
I went down through the other thicket, and drank from the bright stream
in the close and secret valley, putting my lips down to the bubbling water;
and then I went on till I came to the deep, brimming well among the glittering
moss, and I sat down. I looked before me into the secret darkness of the
valley, and behind me was the great high wall of grass, and all around me
there were the hanging woods that made the valley such a secret place. I
knew there was nobody here at all besides myself, and that no one could
see me. So I took off my boots and stockings, and let my feet down into
the water, saying the words that I knew. And it was not cold at all, as
I expected, but warm and very pleasant, and when my feet were in it I felt
as if they were in silk, or as if the nymph were kissing them. So when I
had done, I said the other words and made the signs, and then I dried my
feet with a towel I had brought on purpose, and put on my stockings and
boots. Then I climbed up the steep wall, and went into the place where there
are the hollows, and the two beautiful mounds, and the round ridges of land,
and all the strange shapes. I did not go down into the hollow this time,
but I turned at the end, and made out the figures quite plainly, as it was
lighter, and I had remembered the story I had quite forgotten before, and
in the story the two figures are called Adam and Eve, and only those who
know the story understand what they mean. So I went on and on till I came
to the secret wood which must not be described, and I crept into it by the
way I had found. And when I had gone about halfway I stopped, and turned
round, and got ready, and I bound the handkerchief tightly round my eyes,
and made quite sure that I could not see at all, not a twig, nor the end
of a leaf, nor the light of the sky, as it was an old red silk handkerchief
with large yellow spots, that went round twice and covered my eyes, so that
I could see nothing. Then I began to go on, step by step, very slowly. My
heart beat faster and faster, and something rose in my throat that choked
me and made me want to cry out, but I shut my lips, and went on. Boughs
caught in my hair as I went, and great thorns tore me; but I went on to
the end of the path. Then I stopped, and held out my arms and bowed, and
I went round the first time, feeling with my hands, and there was nothing.
I went round the second time, feeling with my hands, and there was nothing.
Then I went round the third time, feeling with my hands, and the story was
all true, and I wished that the years were gone by, and that I had not so
long a time to wait before I was happy for ever and ever.
Nurse must have been a prophet like those we read of in the Bible. Everything
that she said began to come true, and since then other things that she told
me of have happened. That was how I came to know that her stories were true
and that I had not made up the secret myself out of my own head. But there
was another thing that happened that day. I went a second time to the secret
place. It was at the deep brimming well, and when I was standing on the
moss I bent over and looked in, and then I knew who the white lady was that
I had seen come out of the water in the wood long ago when I was quite little.
And I trembled all over, because that told me other things. Then I remembered
how sometime after I had seen the white people in the wood, nurse asked
me more about them, and I told her all over again, and she listened, and
said nothing for a long, long time, and at last she said, "You will see
her again." So I understood what had happened and what was to happen. And
I understood about the nymphs; how I might meet them in all kinds of places,
and they would always help me, and I must always look for them, and find
them in all sorts of strange shapes and appearances. And without the nymphs
I could never have found the secret, and without them none of the other
things could happen. Nurse had told me all about them long ago, but she
called them by another name, and I did not know what she meant, or what
her tales of them were about, only that they were very queer. And there
were two kinds, the bright and the dark, and both were very lovely and very
wonderful, and some people saw only one kind, and some only the other, but
some saw them both. But usually the dark appeared first, and the bright
ones came afterwards, and there were extraordinary tales about them. It
was a day or two after I had come home from the secret place that I first
really knew the nymphs. Nurse had shown me how to call them, and I had tried,
but I did not know what she meant, and so I thought it was all nonsense.
But I made up my mind I would try again, so I went to the wood where the
pool was, where I saw the white people, and I tried again. The dark nymph,
Alanna, came, and she turned the pool of water into a pool of fire. . .
.
EPILOGUE
"That's a very queer story," said Cotgrave, handing back the green book
to the recluse, Ambrose. "I see the drift of a good deal, but there are
many things that I do not grasp at all. On the last page, for example, what
does she mean by 'nymphs'?"
"Well, I think there are references throughout the manuscript to certain
'processes' which have been handed down by tradition from age to age. Some
of these processes are just beginning to come within the purview of science,
which has arrived at them--or rather at the steps which lead to them--by
quite different paths. I have interpreted the reference to 'nymphs' as a
reference to one of these processes."
"And you believe that there are such things?"
"Oh, I think so. Yes, I believe I could give you convincing evidence on
that point. I am afraid you have neglected the study of alchemy? It is a
pity, for the symbolism, at all events, is very beautiful, and moreover
if you were acquainted with certain books on the subject, I could recall
to your mind phrases which might explain a good deal in the manuscript that
you have been reading."
"Yes; but I want to know whether you seriously think that there is any foundation
of fact beneath these fancies. Is it not all a department of poetry; a curious
dream with which man has indulged himself?"
"I can only say that it is no doubt better for the great mass of people
to dismiss it all as a dream. But if you ask my veritable belief--that goes
quite the other way. No; I should not say belief, but rather knowledge.
I may tell you that I have known cases in which men have stumbled quite
by accident on certain of these 'processes,' and have been astonished by
wholly unexpected results. In the cases I am thinking of there could have
been no possibility of 'suggestion' or sub-conscious action of any kind.
One might as well suppose a schoolboy 'suggesting' the existence of &Aelig;schylus
to himself, while he plods mechanically through the declensions.
"But you have noticed the obscurity," Ambrose went on, "and in this particular
case it must have been dictated by instinct, since the writer never thought
that her manuscripts would fall into other hands. But the practice is universal,
and for most excellent reasons. Powerful and sovereign medicines, which
are, of necessity, virulent poisons also, are kept in a locked cabinet.
The child may find the key by chance, and drink herself dead; but in most
cases the search is educational, and the phials contain precious elixirs
for him who has patiently fashioned the key for himself."
"You do not care to go into details?"
"No, frankly, I do not. No, you must remain unconvinced. But you saw how
the manuscript illustrates the talk we had last week?"
"Is this girl still alive?"
"No. I was one of those who found her. I knew the father well; he was a
lawyer, and had always left her very much to herself. He thought of nothing
but deeds and leases, and the news came to him as an awful surprise. She
was missing one morning; I suppose it was about a year after she had written
what you have read. The servants were called, and they told things, and
put the only natural interpretation on them--a perfectly erroneous one.
"They discovered that green book somewhere in her room, and I found her
in the place that she described with so much dread, lying on the ground
before the image."
"It was an image?"
"Yes, it was hidden by the thorns and the thick undergrowth that had surrounded
it. It was a wild, lonely country; but you know what it was like by her
description, though of course you will understand that the colours have
been heightened. A child's imagination always makes the heights higher and
the depths deeper than they really are; and she had, unfortunately for herself,
something more than imagination. One might say, perhaps, that the picture
in her mind which she succeeded in a measure in putting into words, was
the scene as it would have appeared to an imaginative artist. But it is
a strange, desolate land."
"And she was dead?"
"Yes. She had poisoned herself--in time. No; there was not a word to be
said against her in the ordinary sense. You may recollect a story I told
you the other night about a lady who saw her child's fingers crushed by
a window?"
"And what was this statue?"
"Well, it was of Roman workmanship, of a stone that with the centuries had
not blackened, but had become white and luminous. The thicket had grown
up about it and concealed it, and in the Middle Ages the followers of a
very old tradition had known how to use it for their own purposes. In fact
it had been incorporated into the monstrous mythology of the Sabbath. You
will have noted that those to whom a sight of that shining whiteness had
been vouchsafed by chance, or rather, perhaps, by apparent chance, were
required to blindfold themselves on their second approach. That is very
significant."
"And is it there still?"
"I sent for tools, and we hammered it into dust and fragments."
"The persistence of tradition never surprises me," Ambrose went on after
a pause. "I could name many an English parish where such traditions as that
girl had listened to in her childhood are still existent in occult but unabated
vigour. No, for me, it is the 'story' not the 'sequel,' which is strange
and awful, for I have always believed that wonder is of the soul."
End
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Bonnie
Mercure, your Fiction
Guide at the dowse Fiction
Hub, is a dark fantasy author.
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