CHAPTER L.

A SOUTH-EASTERLY WIND.

One morning, Donal in the schoolroom with Davie, a knock came to the

door, and lady Arctura entered.

“The wind is blowing from the south-east,” she said.

“Listen then, my lady, whether you can hear anything,” said Donal. “I

fancy it is a very precise wind that is wanted.”

“I will listen,” she answered, and went.

The day passed, and he heard nothing more. He was at work in his room

in the warm evening twilight, when Davie came running to his door, and

said Arkie was coming up after him. He rose and stood at the top of the

stair to receive her. She had heard the music, she said--very soft:

would he go on the roof?

“Where were you, my lady,” asked Donal, “when you heard it? I have

heard nothing up here!”

“In my own little parlour,” she replied. “It was very faint, but I

could not mistake it.”

They went upon the roof. The wind was soft and low, an excellent thing

in winds. They knew the paths of the roof better now, and had plenty of

light, although the moon, rising large and round, gave them little of

hers yet, and were soon at the foot of the great chimney-stack, which

grew like a tree out of the house. There they sat down to wait and

hearken.

“I am almost sorry to have made this discovery!” said Donal.

“Why?” asked lady Arctura. “Should not the truth be found, whatever it

may be? You at least think so!”

“Most certainly,” answered Donal. “And if this be the truth, as I fully

expect it will prove, then it is well it should be found to be. But I

should have liked better it had been something we could not explain.”

“I doubt if I understand you.”

“Things that cannot be explained so widen the horizon around us! open

to us fresh regions for question and answer, for possibility and

delight! They are so many kernels of knowledge closed in the hard nuts

of seeming contradiction.--You know, my lady, there are stories of

certain houses being haunted by a mysterious music presaging evil to

the family?”

“I have heard of such music. But what can be the use of it?”

“I do not know. I see not the smallest use in it. If it were of use it

would surely be more common! If it were of use, why should those who

have it be of the class less favoured, so to speak, of the Lord of the

universe, and the families of his poor never have it?”

“Perhaps for the same reason that they have their other good things in

this life!” said Arctura.

“I am answered,” confessed Donal, “and have no more to say. These

tales, if they require of us a belief in any special care over such

houses, as if they were more precious in the eyes of God than the

poorest cottage in the land, I cast them from me.”

“But,” said Arctura, in a deprecating tone, “are not those houses which

have more influence more important than the others?”

“Surely--those which have more _good_ influence. But such are rarely the

great houses of a country. Our Lord was not an Asmonaean prince, but

the son of a humble maiden, his reputed father a working man.”

“I do not see--I should like to understand how that has to do with it.”

“You may be sure the Lord took the position in life in which it was

most possible to do the highest good; and without driving the

argument--for every work has its own specialty--it seems probable that

the true ends of his coming will still be better furthered from the

standpoint of humble circumstances, than from that of rank and

position.”

“You always speak,” said Arctura, “as if there were _only_ the things

Jesus Christ came for to be cared about:--is there _nothing_ but

salvation worthy a human being’s regard?”

“If you give a true and large enough meaning to the word _salvation_, I

answer you at once, _Nothing_. Only in proportion as a man is saved,

will he do the work of the world aright--the whole design of which is to

rear a beautiful blessed family. The world is God’s nursery for his

upper rooms. Oneness with God is the end of the order of things. When

that is attained, we shall do greater things than the Lord himself did

on the earth!--But was not that Æolus?--Listen!”

There came a low prolonged wail.

The ladder was in readiness; Donal set it up in haste, climbed to the

cleft, and with a sheet of brown paper in his hands, waited the next cry

of the prisoned chords. He was beginning to get tired of his position,

when suddenly came a stronger puff, and he heard the music distinctly in

the shaft beside him. It swelled and grew. He spread the sheet of paper

over the opening, the wind blew it flat against the chimney, and the

sound instantly ceased. He removed it, and again came the sound. The

wind continued, and grew stronger, so that they were able to make the

simple experiment until no shadow of a doubt was left: they had

discovered the source of the music! By certain dispositions of the paper

they were even able to modify it.

Donal descended, and said to Davie,

“I wish you not to say a word about this to any one, Davie, before lady

Arctura or I give you leave. You have a secret with us now. The castle

belongs to lady Arctura, and she has a right to ask you not to speak of

it to _any_ one without her permission.--I have a reason, my lady,” he

went on, turning to Arctura: “will you, please, desire Davie to attend

to what I say. I will immediately explain to you, but I do not want

Davie to know my reason until you do. You can on the instant withdraw

your prohibition, should you not think my reason a good one.”

“Davie,” said Arctura, “I too have faith in Mr. Grant: I beg you will

keep all this a secret for the present.”

“Oh surely, cousin Arkie!” said Davie. “--But, Mr. Grant, why should

you make Arkie speak to me too?”

“Because the thing is her business, not mine. Run down and wait for me

in my room. Go steadily over the bartizan, mind.”

Donal turned again to Arctura.

“You know they say there is a hidden room in the castle, my lady?”

“Do you believe it?” she returned.

“I think there may be such a place.”

“Surely if there had been, it would have been found long ago.”

“They might have said that on the first report of the discovery of

America!”

“That was far off, and across a great ocean!”

“And here are thick walls, and hearts careless and timid!--Has any one

ever set in earnest about finding it?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Then your objection falls to the ground. If you could have told me

that one had tried to find the place, but without success, I would have

admitted some force in it, though it would not have satisfied me

without knowing the plans he had taken, and how they were carried out.

On the other hand it may have been known to many who held their peace

about it.--Would you not like to know the truth concerning that too?”

“I should indeed. But would not you be sorry to lose another mystery?”

“On the contrary, there is only the rumour of a mystery now, and we do

not quite believe it. We are not at liberty, in the name of good sense,

to believe it yet. But if we find the room, or the space even where it

may be, we shall probably find also a mystery--something never in this

world to be accounted for, but suggesting a hundred unsatisfactory

explanations. But, pardon me, I do not in the least presume to press

it.”

Lady Arctura smiled.

“You may do what you please,” she said. “If I seemed for a moment to

hesitate, it was only that I wondered what my uncle would say to it. I

should not like to vex him.”

“Certainly not; but would he not be pleased?”

“I will speak to him, and find out. He hates what he calls

superstition, and I fancy has curiosity enough not to object to a

search. I do not think he would consent to pulling down, but short of

that, I don’t think he will mind. I should not wonder if he even joined

in the search.”

Donal thought with himself it was strange then he had never undertaken

one. Something told him the earl would not like the proposal.

“But tell me, Mr. Grant--how would you set about it?” said Arctura, as

they went towards the tower.

“If the question were merely whether or not there was such a room, and

not the finding of it,--”

“Excuse me--but how could you tell whether there was or was not such a

room except by searching for it?”

“By determining whether there was or was not some space in the castle

unaccounted for.”

“I do not see.”

“Would you mind coming to my room? It will be a lesson for Davie too!”

She assented, and Donal gave them a lesson in cubic measure and

content. He showed them how to reckon the space that must lie within

given boundaries: if then within those boundaries they could not find

so much, part of it must be hidden. If they measured the walls of the

castle, allowing of course for their thickness and every irregularity,

and from that, calculated the space they must hold; then measured all

the rooms and open places within the walls, allowing for all

partitions; and having again calculated, found the space fall short of

what they had from the outside measurements to expect; they must

conclude either that they had measured or calculated wrong, or that

there was space in the castle to which they had no access.

“But,” continued Donal, when they had in a degree mastered the idea,

“if the thing was, to discover the room itself, I should set about it

in a different way; I should not care about the measuring. I would

begin and go all over the castle, first getting the outside shape right

in my head, and then fitting everything inside it into that shape of it

in my brain. If I came to a part I could not so fit at once, I would

examine that according to the rules I have given you, take exact

measurements of the angles and sides of the different rooms and

passages, and find whether these enclosed more space than I could at

once discover inside them.--But I need not follow the process farther:

pulling down might be the next thing, and we must not talk of that!”

“But the thing is worth doing, is it not, even if we do not go so far

as to pull down?”

“I think so.”

“And I think my uncle will not object.--Say nothing about it though,

Davie, till we give you leave.”

That _we_ was pleasant in Donal’s ears.

Lady Arctura rose, and they all went down together. When they reached

the hall, Davie ran to get his kite.

“But you have not told me why you would not have him speak of the

music,” said Arctura, stopping at the foot of the great stair.

“Partly because, if we were to go on to make search for the room, it

ought to be kept as quiet as possible, and the talk about the one would

draw notice to the other; and partly because I have a hope that the one

may even guide us to the other.”

“You will tell me about that afterwards,” said Arctura, and went up the

stair.

That night the earl had another of his wandering fits; also all night

the wind blew from the south-east.

In the morning Arctura went to him with her proposal. The instant he

understood what she wished, his countenance grew black as thunder.

“What!” he cried, “you would go pulling the grand old bulk to pieces

for the sake of a foolish tale about the devil and a set of

cardplayers! By my soul, I’ll be damned if you do!--Not while I’m above

ground at least! That’s what comes of putting such a place in the power

of a woman! It’s sacrilege! By heaven, I’ll throw my brother’s will

into chancery rather!”

His rage was such as to compel her to think there must be more in it

than appeared. The wilderness of the temper she had roused made her

tremble, but it also woke the spirit of her race, and she repented of

the courtesy she had shown him: she had the right to make what

investigations she pleased! Her father would not have left her the

property without good reasons for doing so; and of those reasons some

might well have lain in the character of the man before her!

Through all this rage the earl read something of what had sent the

blood of the Graemes to her cheek and brow.

“I beg your pardon, my love,” he said, “but if he was your father, he

was my brother!”

“He _is_ my father!” said Arctura coldly.

“Dead and gone and all but forgotten!”

“No, my lord; not for one day forgotten! not for one moment unloved!”

“Ah, well, as you please! but because you love his memory must I regard

him as a Solon? ’Tis surely no great treason to reflect upon the

wisdom of a dead man!”

“I wish you good day, my lord!” said Arctura, very angry, and left him.

But when presently she found that she could not lift up her heart to

her father in heaven, gladly would she have sent her anger from her.

Was it not plainly other than good, when it came thus between her and

the living God! All day at intervals she had to struggle and pray

against it; a great part of the night she lay awake because of it; but

at length she pitied her uncle too much to be _very_ angry with him any

more, and so fell asleep.

In the morning she found that all sense of his having authority over

her had vanished, and with it her anger. She saw also that it was quite

time she took upon herself the duties of a landowner. What could Mr.

Grant think of her--doing nothing for her people! But she could do

little while her uncle received the rents and gave orders to Mr.

Graeme! She would take the thing into her own hands! In the meantime,

Mr. Grant should, if he pleased, go on quietly with his examination of

the house.

But she could not get her interview with her uncle out of her head, and

was haunted with vague suspicions of some dreadful secret about the

house belonging to the present as well as the past. Her uncle seemed to

have receded to a distance incalculable, and to have grown awful as he

receded. She was of a nature almost too delicately impressionable; she

not only felt things keenly, but retained the sting of them after the

things were nearly forgotten. But then the swift and rare response of

her faculties arose in no small measure from this impressionableness.

At the same time, but for instincts and impulses derived from her race,

her sensitiveness might have degenerated into weakness.