Part 33 (1/2)
Macfarlane was particularly exhausted. His frequent pulls at the whiskey flask had been of little or no avail as a support to his aching limbs, and, now he had reached his destination, he threw himself full length on the turf in front of the hut and groaned most dismally.
Lorimer surveyed him amusedly, and stood beside him, the very picture of a cool young Briton whom nothing could possibly discompose.
”Done up--eh, Sandy?” he inquired.
”Done up!” growled Macfarlane. ”D'ye think I'm a Norseman or a jumping Frenchy?” This with a look of positive indignation at the lively Duprez, who, if tired, was probably too vain to admit it, for he was strutting about, giving vent to his genuine admiration of the scene before him with the utmost freshness and enthusiasm. ”I'm just a plain Scotchman, an' no such a fule at climbin' either! Why, man, I've been up Goatfell in Arran, an' Ben Lomond an' Ben Nevis--there's a mountain for ye, if ye like! But a brae like this, wi' a' the stanes lyin' helter-skelter, an'
crags that ye can barely hold on to--and a mad chap guidin' ye on at the speed o' a leapin' goat--I tell ye, I havena been used to't.” Here he drew out his flask and took another extensive pull at it. Then he added suddenly, ”Just look at Errington! He'll be in a fair way to break his neck if he follows yon wee crazy loon any further.”
At these words Lorimer turned sharply round, and perceived his friend following Sigurd step by step up a narrow footing in the steep ascent of some rough, irregular crags that ran out and formed a narrow ledge, ending in a sharp point, jutting directly over the full fury of the waterfall. He watched the two climbing figures for an instant without any anxiety,--then he suddenly remembered that Philip had promised to go with Sigurd ”to the top of the Fall.” Acting on a rapid impulse which he did not stop to explain to himself, Lorimer at once started off after them,--but the ascent was difficult; they were some distance ahead, and though he shouted vociferously, the roar of the cascade rendered his voice inaudible. Gaining on them, however, by slow degrees, he was startled when all at once they disappeared at the summit--and, breathless with his rapid climb, he paused, bewildered. By-and-by he saw Sigurd creeping cautiously out along the rocky shelf that overhung the tumbling torrent--his gaze grew riveted with a sort of deadly fascination on the spot.
”Good G.o.d!” he muttered under his breath. ”Surely Phil will not follow him _there_!”
He watched with strained eyes,--and a smothered cry escaped him as Errington's tall figure, erect and bold, appeared on that narrow and dangerous platform! He never knew how he clambered up the rest of the slippery ascent. A double energy seemed given to his active limbs. He never paused again for one second till he also stood on the platform, without being heard or perceived by either Sigurd or Philip. Their backs were turned to him, and he feared to move or speak, lest a sudden surprised movement on their parts should have the fatal result of precipitating one or both into the fall. He remained, therefore, behind them, silent and motionless,--looking, as they looked, at the terrific scene below. From that point, Njedegorze was as a huge boiling caldron, from which arose twisted wreaths and coiling lengths of white vapor, faintly colored with gold and silvery blue. Dispersing in air, these mists took all manner of fantastic forms,--ghostly arms seemed to wave and beckon, ghostly hands to unite in prayer,--and fluttering creatures in gossamer draperies of green and crimson, appeared to rise and float, and retire and shrink, to nothingness again in the rainbow drift and sweep of whirling foam. Errington gazed unconcernedly down on the seething abyss. He pushed back his cap from his brow, and let the fresh wind play among his dark, cl.u.s.tering curls. His nerves were steady, and he surveyed the giddily twisting wheels of s.h.i.+ning water, without any corresponding giddiness in his own brain. He had that sincere delight in a sublime natural spectacle, which is the heritage of all who possess a poetic and artistic temperament; and though he stood on a frail ledge of rock, from which one false or unwary step might send him to certain destruction, he had not the slightest sense of possible danger in his position. Withdrawing his eyes from the Fall, he looked kindly down at Sigurd, who in turn was staring up at him with a wild fixity of regard.
”Well, old boy,” he said cheerfully, ”this is a fine sight! Have you had enough of it? Shall we go back?”
Sigurd drew imperceptibly nearer. Lorimer, from his point of vantage behind a huge bowlder, drew nearer also.
”Go back?” echoed Sigurd. ”Why should we go back?”
”Why, indeed!” laughed Errington, lightly balancing himself on the trembling rocks beneath him. ”Except that I should scarcely think this is the best place on which to pa.s.s the night! Not enough room, and too much noise! What say you?”
”Oh, brave, brave, fool!” cried the dwarf in sudden excitement. ”Are you not _afraid_?”
The young baronet's keen eyes glanced him over with amused wonder.
”What of?” he demanded coolly. Still nearer came Sigurd--nearer also came the watchful, though almost invisible Lorimer.
”Look down there!” continued Sigurd in shrill tones, pointing to the foaming gulf. ”Look at the _Elf-danz_--see the beautiful spirits with the long pale green hair and glittering wings! See how they beckon, beckon, beckon! They want some one to join them--look how their white arms wave,--they throw back their golden veils and smile at us! They call to _you_--you with the strong figure and the proud eyes--why do you not go to them? They will kiss and caress you--they have sweet lips and snow-white bosoms,--they will love you and take care of you--they are as fair as Thelma!”
”Are they? I doubt it!” and Errington smiled dreamily as he turned his head again towards the fleecy whirl of white water, and saw at once with an artist's quick eye what his sick-brained companion meant by the _Elf-danz_, in the fantastic twisting, gliding shapes tossed up in the vaporous mist of the Fall. ”But I'll take your word, Sigurd, without making the elves' personal acquaintance! Come along--this place is bad for you--we'll dance with the green-haired nymphs another time.”
And with a light laugh he was about to turn away, when he was surprised by a sudden, strange convulsion of Sigurd's countenance--his blue eyes flashed with an almost phosph.o.r.escent l.u.s.tre,--his pale skin flushed deeply red, and the veins in his forehead started into swelled and knotted prominence.
”Another time!” he screamed loudly; ”no, no! Now--now! Die, robber of Thelma's love! Die--die--_die_!”
Repeating these words like quick gasps of fury, he twisted his meager arms tightly round Errington, and thrust him fiercely with all his might towards the edge of the Fall. For one second Philip strove against him--the next, he closed his eyes--Thelma's face smiled on his mind in that darkness as though in white farewell--the surging blood roared in his ears with more thunder than the terrific tumble of the torrent--”G.o.d!” he muttered, and _then_--then he stood safe on the upper part of the rocky platform with Lorimer's strong hand holding him in a vice-like grasp, and Lorimer's face, pale, but looking cheerfully into his. For a moment he was too bewildered to speak. His friend loosened him and laughed rather forcedly--a slight tremble of his lips was observable under his fair moustache.
”By Jove, Phil,” he remarked in his usual nonchalant manner, ”that was rather a narrow shave! Fortunate I happened to be there!”
Errington gazed about him confusedly. ”Where's Sigurd?” he asked.
”Gone! Ran off like a 'leapin' goat,' as Sandy elegantly describes him.
I thought at first he meant to jump over the Fall, in which case I should have been compelled to let him have his own way, as my hands were full. But he's taken a safe landward direction.”
”Didn't he try to push me over?”
”Exactly! He was quite convinced that the mermaids wanted you. But I considered that Miss Thelma's wishes had a prior claim on my regard.”
”Look here, old man,” said Errington suddenly, ”don't jest about it! You saved my life!”