Part 9 (1/2)

”Now, I wonder,” reflected that kind soul, ”which direction they will take. Personally, of course, I should prefer them to pa.s.s this window; but I hope I can subdue private inclination to public spirit, and for Troy's sake I hope they will visit the Castle first.

The salubrity of the air, as well as the expansiveness of the view, would be certain to impress them favourably. Dear, dear! I wish I could advise them. Should they take the direction of the town, I know by experience they will be apt to meet with an effluvium of decaying fish, and I should _so_ like their stay among us to be begun under pleasant auspices.”

But almost before Miss Limpenny had concluded these reflections, the strangers had determined on the direction. They turned neither towards the Town nor up the hill towards the Castle and the harbour's mouth; but down the little road which led to Bower Slip and the Penpoodle Ferryboat.

”Gracious me!” exclaimed Miss Limpenny; ”they are going to take a boat.”

The words were scarcely out of her mouth, when she was seized with a sudden idea--an idea so alluring, yet so bold withal, that the blood flew from her cheeks. She made a step forward, paused, took another step, and returned to the window. The strangers had turned down the road and were out of sight.

For a full minute she stood there, tapping her foot.

”I will,” she said, with sudden determination. ”I will!” On Miss Limpenny's maiden lip the words were as solemn as though she spoke them at the altar. ”I will,--and--I don't care what happens!”

Awful words! Awful in themselves, more awful from such lips, but surely most awful as making the second-step in the moral decadence of Troy!

Yet I would not have my readers too excited. They were words to shudder at, indeed; but the immediate consequences were not b.l.o.o.d.y-- they were only to a limited degree tragic. It must be remembered that the magnificence of all actions is relative to the performer, nor would I seek to exalt Miss Limpenny to the level of a Semiramis or a Dido; only, when I say that she bore a great soul in a little body, I say no more than that she was a Trojan.

In short, Miss Limpenny did not, as the reader may have expected, take a boat and pursue after the strangers. What she did was simply to descend swiftly to the front hall, take down from its stand an antique, bra.s.s-bound telescope of enormous proportions, and with it make her way swiftly to the back door.

The back gardens of Alma Villas ran parallel to each other, and were terminated by a high wall, with a quay-door apiece, a tall ladder leading from the door straight down to the water. At the end of the garden, and built against this wall, in each case a stone terrace with a flight of steps allowed any one who chose to climb, and even perform a limited promenade while enjoying a full view of the harbour beyond.

It was to this flight of steps that Miss Limpenny, with a prayer on her lips and the telescope under her arm, made her way.

Both terrace and steps were rickety to a degree. To help you to estimate her conduct at its full temerity I may mention that Miss Limpenny had never attempted the climb before in her life.

But whatever qualms she may have felt, they did not appear in her behaviour. Gingerly, but without hesitation, and clutching the telescope, which impeded her as an ice-axe the rock-climber, she essayed all the perils of this maiden ascent.

Five minutes' stiff climbing, as they say in the _Alpine Journal_, brought her to a point where she could take breath and look about her. Despite her terror, the excitement and the light breeze now blowing over the _arete_ of garden wall, had brought a flush to her cheek. But scarcely had she resumed and set her foot upon the summit, when the flush suddenly faded, and left her blanched as snow.

For there, not a foot to her right, and above the crest of the part.i.tion wall, rose another telescope, the exact counterpart of her own!

The Spectre on the Brocken was nothing to this.

She clutched at the rotten stones and panted for breath.

Slowly, very slowly, the rival telescope was tilted up against the harbour-wall; very slowly it rose in air. Then came a pair of hands--of blue cuffs--and then--the crimson face of Admiral Buzza soared into view, like the child's head in _Macbeth_.

He did not see her yet, being absorbed in adjusting the telescope.

Terror-smitten, too fearful to advance or retreat, clinging to the telescope with one hand as a drowning mariner might grasp a spar, and clutching with the other at the crumbling wall, Miss Limpenny stood arrested, wildly staring, scarce venturing to breathe.

The Admiral's telescope was tilted into position, and the Admiral half-turned his head before applying his eye to the hole.

She could not help it. In spite of all her efforts to repress it, a little gasping squeal of affright broke from her. The Admiral, with a start, withdrew his eye quickly from the gla.s.s, and looked over the wall.

”d.a.m.nation!” (This was the Admiral, by the way.)

What happened exactly at this moment will never be known. Whether a stone underfoot gave way, or whether the Admiral's voice brought down a _serac_ of rotten wall, is not clear. There was a rumbling sound, an oath or two--and then both telescope and Admiral disappeared, with a crash, from view.

Miss Limpenny screamed, dropped her telescope, which went rattling down the steps, cowered desperately against the wall, shut her eyes, screamed again, trod on a tilting slab, hung for a moment, toppled, clutched wildly at s.p.a.ce, and shot, with a rush and shower of stones, straight to the very bottom.

Miss Lavinia Limpenny, who, startled by the screams, had rushed to the window and witnessed the last stages of the catastrophe, was out in a minute. Tenderly raising her sobbing sister, she a.s.sisted her back to the house, and attended to the bruises with a combination of arnica, vinegar, and brown paper. On the other side of the wall the Admiral lay for some time and bellowed for help, until his frightened family bore him in, and attempted to put him to bed.

But mark the heroism of the truly great. In spite of his late treatment at the hands of his fellow-citizens--treatment which still rankled--here was no Coriola.n.u.s to depart in a huff to Antium.

The Admiral had a duty to perform, a service due to this ungrateful Town, and on the subject of going to bed he was adamant.

”Cease, Emily. Your tears, your protestations are in vain.

Stop, I tell you! Get me my uniform.”