Part 25 (1/2)

At the end of the room, opposite the altar, was a sort of wide wooden stair, on which prisoners used to sit during service at the commencement of the nineteenth century.

We bathed in that hot weather from the rock on which _Nyslott_ is built, and enjoyed the cool water amazingly. To find a safe spot, however, from which to make our plunge proved a difficulty, and one we had to solve for ourselves.

Leaving the main and only entrance of the Castle, and descending some wide steps leading to the water edge, bathing dresses and towels in hand, we found a little ledge of stone-work barely twelve inches broad, just above the level of the lake. Literally only a foothold. Any nervous person inclined to turn giddy would hardly have dared to venture along such a path at all. But it led to the only spot where we could stand on solid earth outside the Castle walls, so completely did the edifice cover the rock on which it was built. A gust of wind at the turn of the tower almost blew us over, it was so sudden and unexpected.

After climbing on in this way for a short while we came to a little cove between two towers, with enough land for three or four trees to find soil to grow on, and beneath them a perfect bed of wild strawberries. It was a very small and very primitive bath chamber, but trees afforded shade from the sun's powerful rays, and two ma.s.sive walls shut us in from curious eyes.

Near the Castle gate the water was smooth, but the current round other parts of the battlements was great, and almost baffled the wonderful swimming powers of Grandpapa and his friend, the delightful student who joined us at _Nyslott_, fresh from his newly-won honours at the University. They swam round it--but they had a struggle to accomplish their feat.

Our student was a great acquisition to the party, though many scenes we lived together were not altogether devoid of embarra.s.sment. We spoke English, French, and German, but he knew no language that we knew. For his University work he had learned book-German, and could read it well, but he had never heard it spoken, and his tongue had never framed the words. Still, with this solid foundation, we soon taught him, and at the end of the three weeks that he spent with us, we flatter ourselves his German was _excellent_! Many a laugh we had over his deliciously amusing struggles, and, in spite of being a Finlander, he laughed too.

We also had many quaint linguistic adventures with our ”hotel keeper.”

That custodian was a poet--a real live poet. He used to disappear for hours; and we wondered where he was, until one fine day, as we rowed home to our enchanted Castle, we saw a man on the top of the watch tower waving his arms and gesticulating with dramatic gestures into s.p.a.ce.

This was our _Vahtimestari_. From his exalted position, with one of the most beautiful panoramas eye could wish lying at his feet--resting on a famous battlement, that had withstood the ravages of love and war--he evolved his magic verse. Truly no scene could be more inspiring, no motive more sublime, for even we humble humdrum matter-of-fact Englishwomen felt almost inspired to tempt the poet's muse. But happily no--our friends are spared--the pa.s.sion was but fleeting.

One day our _Vahtimestari_ met us all smiles. We could not quite understand what he meant, but Grandpapa and our student told us some strange news as soon as the _Vahtimestari_ had imparted it to them.

It seemed that a party of people had rung the bell on the sh.o.r.e for the Castle boat to go to fetch them, so, accordingly, our nocturnal host had gone across to earn his penny per head for ferrying them over. A papa, mamma, son, and daughters, with a couple of acquaintances, comprised the party. They calmly owned they had not come to see the Castle--they had seen it before. They had come to see the English ladies. Was it really true that two Englishwomen were staying there as the papers stated? Had they actually come from London? What were they like? What did they do?

And why on earth did they sleep among the ghosts and hobgoblins?

Then, in a hushed voice and with subdued breath they asked--

”Are they mad?”

”No,” the man answered, ”he didn't think they were, they seemed much like other folk.”

”Could they talk.”

”Not Finnish; but they understand a little Swedish, and talk French and German with their friends.”

”Did they do anything very remarkable or strange?”

”No. They cook their breakfast, and afterwards eat it; write, work, sketch, and bathe; in fact, they are ordinary people and seem quite sane.”

”Could they see the strange ladies?”

”He was afraid not, as they were on sh.o.r.e.”

”Might they see where they slept?”

”Certainly,” replied the _Vahtimestari_.

And on reaching the room they exclaimed--

”Why, this is an ordinary room with windows, how very disappointing,”

whereupon, much distressed and disillusioned, they turned and departed.