Part 28 (2/2)

By and by, something caused me to lift them, and I found myself pa.s.sing a little wood, which, with a start of surprise, I recognised as the one from which I had made my first entry into Culbut.

It was, as Edward had said, and as was now quite plain to me, part of the grounds of a large inst.i.tution, and looked, from this side, quite unlike what I had taken it to be when I had entered it from the other.

Still, in spite of Edward's description of the kind of country that lay beyond, I had certainly entered this wood from the cave, in the way I have described, and I had not the smallest doubt but what I could return by the same way.

I thought that I might as well satisfy myself of the exact whereabouts of the cave, so that I should be able to lead Miriam directly to it, if I should succeed in getting her away. The only plan that seemed to me possible was to keep away from Magnolia Hall until nightfall, and then try in some way to communicate with her, and boldly carry her off under cover of darkness. Very likely the house would be watched, and we might be followed, even if we escaped. I did not want to run any risk by groping about in the wood, when possibly time would be of value.

I found the trees and the bushes without the least difficulty, just as I remembered them, and pushed through them to the dark aperture of the cave.

I went in a short distance, not meaning to go very far, but just to satisfy myself that the way was clear.

I am sure that I had not penetrated more than fifty yards, for the light still held faintly, when suddenly the same roar was in my ears as had frightened the man who had entered the cave with me from the other end.

I was aware of something odd in my head, which may have been a heavy blow, although it did not feel like one.

Then I lost consciousness completely.

I came to, to find myself lying in bed, in a little room lit by a lattice window, through which was a view of rolling purple moor. I felt very weak, and when I tried to move, found that my body was heavily bandaged and my head swathed. The movement caused a sharp pain to shoot through me, and again I lost consciousness.

This was nearly six weeks ago. I am now sitting in a little slip of a garden behind the inn, with the moor coming right up to it. I cannot walk yet, for both my legs were broken by the subsidence of the cave, as well as a few other comparatively unimportant bones in my body. But my head has been clear for a long time, and I have employed my enforced leisure in writing this account of what befell me.

I cannot, even now, make out exactly what happened. The kind folk who rescued me, and have looked after me ever since, stoutly aver that the fall of earth happened on this side of the cave, almost directly I and my companion entered it; that he gave the alarm immediately, and I was extricated within an hour.

If this is true, what becomes of Upsidonia?

It cannot be true. But I no longer talk of Upsidonia to them, for when I did so, after I began to mend, they looked askance at me and were obviously hiding something. Even the doctor, who rides over the moors from Eppington on a s.h.a.ggy pony, told me that I should not get well as long as I clung to such delusions.

Delusions! Is Miriam a delusion, I should like to know? Can a man fall in love with a delusion?

No. These people must know perfectly well of the existence of Upsidonia, but for some reason of their own they wish to keep it dark. Perhaps I shall know why when I get well again.

But I don't much care what their reasons are. The cave is blocked up now, but from where I sit I can see a tall rampart of rock about a mile to the north across the moor. It looks inaccessible, but there must be some way over it, or round it. When I can walk again I shall find a way.

For beyond it lies Upsidonia, and Upsidonia contains Miriam.

Wherever Miriam is, I am going to find her.

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