Part 5 (1/2)
”Of course not,” he cried. ”As if there could be while you live.”
She nodded to him smiling, laid her finger on her lips to show that they were sealed, and then hurried out of the room.
”Poor little fool!” said Jessop Reed to himself, as soon as he was alone; ”you are getting rather in the way.”
CHAPTER FIVE.
THE TREASURE HOUSE.
Clive Reed stood up like a statue on a natural pedestal, high on the precipitous slope. It was a great ponderous block of millstone grit, which had become detached just at the spot where, high up, mountain limestone and the above-named formation joined. And as he looked about him, it seemed wonderful to a man fresh from London that he could find so great a solitude in central England. Look where he would, the various jumbled together eminences of the termination of the Pennine range met his eye; there was hardly a tree in sight, but everywhere hill and deeply cut dale, the down-like tops of the calcareous, and the roughly jagged crags of the grit, while, with the exception of a few white dots on a green slope far away, representing a flock of sheep, there was no sign of life, neither house, hut, nor church spire.
”Yes, there is something alive,” said the young man, ”for there goes a bee wild-thyme hunting, and whir-r-r-r! Think of that now, as somebody says; who would have expected to see grouse out here in these hills?”
There they were, sure enough, a pair which skimmed by him as he stood at the very edge of the great gash in the mountain-side, at the bottom of which the track ran right into the mine he had come down to inspect for the third time, after walking across from the town twelve miles distant, where he had left the train on the previous evening.
”Wild, grand, solitary, on a day like this,” said Reed to himself; ”but what must it be when a western gale is blowing. Come, Master Sturgess, you're behind your time again.”
He glanced at his watch.
”No; give the devil his due,” he muttered. ”I'm half an hour too soon, and, by George, not so solitary as I thought. Behold! two travellers wending their way across the desolate waste, as the novel-writers say.
Now what can bring a pair of trousers and a petticoat there?”
The young man shaded his eyes and looked across the gap to where, far away, the two figures he had seen moved so slowly that they seemed to be stationary. Then they separated a little, and the man stooped and then knelt down.
”Can't be flower-gatherers out here. I know: after mushrooms. But let's see.”
Clive Reed dragged the strap which supported a tin case slung from his shoulder, forced it aside, and tugged at another strap so as to bring a little binocular into reach; and adjusting this, he followed his natural instinct or some strange law of affinity, and brought the little lenses to bear upon the female in place of the male.
”Not a gentle shepherdess fair, with tously locks and grubby hands and face, though she has a dog by her side,” he said to himself. ”Looks like a lady--at a distance. Phyllis and Corydon, eh? No,” he added, after an alteration of the gla.s.s; ”long white hair and grey beard, and-- hullo! old chap's got a candle-box. Botanist or some other -ist. Hang it, he's after minerals for a pound, and the lady--in white? Humph, it can't be the `White Virgin' who gave the name to the mine. Let's--Hands off, old gentleman, or keep your own side. Hah! there goes the dog: after a rabbit, perhaps.”
Clive Reed was ready to ask himself directly after, why he should stand there taking so much interest in these two figures, so distant that even with the help of the gla.s.s he could not distinguish their features. But watch them he did till they disappeared round a shoulder of the hill.
”Tourists--cheap trippers, I suppose,” said the young man, replacing the gla.s.s in its sling case. ”I wonder where they have come from?” and then with a half laugh, as he took out a cigarette-case and lit up, ”I wonder why I take so much interest in them?”
”Answer simple,” he continued, with a half laugh; ”because they are the only living creatures in sight. Man is a gregarious beast, and likes to greg. I feel ready to go after them and talk. Hallo! here we are!
Master Sturgess and two men with a stout ladder, coils of rope, and--if he hasn't brought a crowbar and a lanthorn, woe.”
He shaded his eyes again to watch a party of three men toiling up a slope, half a mile away, and began to descend from his coign of vantage to reach the pathway at the entrance to the gap, seeing as he did that he would not arrive there long before the others.
A glance at his watch showed him that it was still only ten o'clock, for he had started on his mountain tramp at daybreak, and as he walked and slid downward, he calculated that he would have time after the mine examination to make for one of the villages in the neighbourhood of Matlock to pa.s.s the night, so as to see as much of the country as he could.
”Morning, Sturgess; you got my letter then?”
”Oh, yes, sir, yesterday morning,” said the man, as Reed nodded at his two st.u.r.dy followers--rough-looking men of the mining stamp, both of whom acknowledged his salute with a half-sneering smile.
”Brought two different chaps this time. Got enough tackle?”
”Oh, yes, sir; ropes, hammer, spikes, and crowbar.”