Chapter XIX: I Am Maid Marian

“But, first,” said he, kindling, “ask me where you are.”

“Short explanations suit me best,” I said. “Immured in a wall. Is not that enough?”

“Quite, for me,” said he, “since you are here. But whose wall, now?”

I shook my head.

“Why, in Ranger Portlock’s cottage,” said he, “buried, out of all whooping, in the forest. Would you like to be introduced to your host?”

“Yes, if you please,” I said. “Will you call him in?”

He laughed.

“Mahomet will have to go to the mountain. You will understand why, when you see it. Well, for this cottage. Did you mark its position in the dark? Poor little bewildered brain--poor little brain! Harkee!” (He was fondly touching and smoothing the hair on my temples.) “I loved this Diana as a little girl. What a phenomenal brother, to be sure! This cottage you are in, child--did you not observe?--lies snuggled in the shoulder of the hill, warm as a baby in its mother’s arm--as warm and as safe too. Its back wall here” (he turned and tapped the plaster) “is just a windowless buttress, built strong against any chance falling of the soil beyond. This” (he pointed to the inner wall) “terminates the kitchen, and not the house itself, as a body entering the building is meant to suppose. ’Tis a blind, as one might call it, and not discernible from the outside to any but a conjurer.”

“And there?” I said, pointing to the closed door at the end.

“That, madam,” said he, with some momentary return to dryness, “is Bluebeard’s Chamber, if you please, and not at present in the articles of discussion.”

I was surprised--a little startled, perhaps--but said no more; and he went on--

“Well, now: this same cottage is a half-timbered structure, very ancient, and as full of odd little compartments as a bureau. Where we lie is its secret drawers, Diana, a nest of ’em--two below and two over. And how to reach here, miss? Ay, there’s the master stroke you’d never guess. No, ’tis no way by the door yonder.”

“If you please, sir,” says I, “if ’twas left to my innocence to decide, I should e’en choose the way the tray went.”

“Well, come and look,” says he, and made me go and stoop to the hole. To my surprise, it was closed, and black.

“’Twas not so I saw it last night,” I said, rising.

“What!” cried he, “you were prowling, were you? Thank you kindly for the hint”--and he gave a great laugh, but sobered in a moment.

“Did you listen, then?” said he.

“I was going to,” I answered; “but the moment I bent, your chairs moved, and I was frightened, and ran away.”

“That sounds frank,” said he. He sat musing a little. “You’re a child, ’tis true, mutable and thoughtless; but where could be the harm? If the secret were mine only-- Well, study for my confidence, and some day, perhaps”--

He broke off with a smile, which I had a difficulty to return. So there _was_ a mystery in reality. There and then I vowed a Delilah oath to myself to get the better of it.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said; “I had no thought to surprise any secrets. Is that the way through, indeed?”

“Yes,” he said; “fairly, it is. ’Tis pierced under the big copper in the kitchen, which has a detachable grate to be pulled all out in one piece. God knows the original use of this contrivance--this space in the wall--unless ’twere always for the purpose that we”--(he checked himself again). “Anyhow, ’tis utterly inaccessible else, save by way of the skylight which your ladyship knows; and now you’re acquainted with your prison, ask me further what you will.”

“_Ranger_ Portlock, did you say?”

“Ay, ranger; once my brother’s keeper (not like Cain, unhappily), and since promoted.”

“You seem to love your brother.”

“I have reason.”

“And this Portlock is still in his service?”

“Yes.”

“And in _your_ confidence?”

“Ay, is he not! I must tell you I am a proper sportsman, madam, and always more popular with Hardrough’s people than the noble verderer himself. Well, I have taught them something here and there, and put money in their pockets, maybe. Have no fear. Not Portlock nor any other will betray us. I have my merry men of Down, who sink or swim with me. And now I have my Maid Marian. What more? You shall see this Portlock. Bear in mind he was once a thread-paper of a man. I have known him since I was a boy. What else?”

“Can you ask me?” I said low, hanging my head. “The reason--what you hinted up there--why you are ruined and in hiding?”

He ventured to put an arm about me. How could I refuse him, who was my Bayard? Yet, when he told me, it was not all. He never to the end acquainted me of what social dereliction of his had originally delivered him into the earl his brother’s power, and placed him and his remnant fortunes under the hand of that remorseless nobleman to use and crush at his will. He never even admitted but indirectly that stain on his birth, in which a high person was whispered to be implicated, and which was at the root, perhaps, of all the trouble.

“He always hated me,” he said of the Lord Herring; “and never more than when he foresaw my succession in the death of his promising limb, my nephew.”

“What, is he dead?” I asked, astonished.

“No,” he said, “but only rotten. He will never come into the title, believe me.”

“And you,” I said, curiously interested. “How will he keep you out, if the worst should happen to him?”

“Why,” he said, “he would threaten an inquiry, an exposure; and there are those who, rather than suffer it, would countenance his quiet disposal of me--have done so, perhaps, already. And there you come in.”

“Me!” I cried.

“Child,” he responded, “how can I speak it without offence? You have long been marked down by this man, my brother, for his prey. I have known it, trust me, and writhed under the knowledge. But you were in proper hands, and he must bide his opportunity. Believe me, he was no privy to Sophia’s schemes of husbandry. Had he guessed, he would have anticipated the end, so far as you was concerned, by carrying you away by force. When he learned the truth at last, he was mad. But he recovered his sanity on reflection. It was no bad thing to let you ripen in that hell for his purposes--to subdue you by that torture to his will. Then, when reduced, he would exchange your sweet person with Dr. Peel for mine, would sell me to your place in the madhouse, so killing his two birds with one wicked stone. But his plan miscarried. I had a friend in the household--someone, a poor dancer, whom he had used for a day and thrown aside. She revealed all to me, and I fled, leaving him only my bitter curse for legacy. And I came here, into hiding, to mature my plans for revenge--came back to Nature, renouncing my kindred and all the vile social policies of a world I had got to loathe. He had beggared me, and I would fleece the plunderer. He had thought to debauch my love, and I would disappoint him of even that moiety of his bargain. Have I done so? Judge, if he loved me before, how he would spare me now, who have baffled his schemes and stolen his dear! A knowledge of but half the truth has already, in these few weeks, set him turning every stone to discover where I lie; but I am well served by my friends. He would burn the forest if he guessed the whole. As you regard me, as you value yourself, child, concede nothing to chance--not so much as a peep over the roof. Ay, I know your activity. But you must lie close as a hare if you would be safe--through these first days of peril, at least. Later, when the chase less presses, you may venture out, perhaps, by the ladder; but always with infinite caution, as you love me. Little sister, do you agree?”

I buried my face in my hands. My whole heart cried out on the cruel tyranny of a code that could let such monsters as this wreak their passions on the pure and innocent, and yet find absolution. O, that I could find a way, in the lawful junction of our fortunes, to vindicate this dear oppressed creature, and establish him in his rights before the world! I leaned to him, with wet eyes.

“If you love _me_ so, brother,” I murmured, “what made you behave so cruel to me?”

He gave a happy, low laugh, and tightened his hold.

“Why, dear,” he said, “are not a woman’s extremes of love all for the man who will beat her, or the man she can cherish and protect? I vow I chose only my natural part.”

“Well,” said I, “I’m glad you stopped short of the beating. It would only have stiffened me, like cream.”

“Whipt cream is very good with cherries,” said he, and bent to my lips.

But I started from him gaily, and leapt to my feet.

“Come,” I said; “I’m waiting to be introduced to Mr. Portlock.”

He laughed, and stretched himself, and, rising, stooped to the hole in the wall and scratched with his finger, like a rat gnawing, on the iron stop therein. In a little something was withdrawn, and a weak wash of light flowed through.

“Now,” said he, “I will go first, and do you follow, little mouse.”

He dropped on his hands and knees, and crawled in, and disappeared. It was an attitude that lacked romance, and I was glad there was none behind to witness my passing. But the journey was so short that I was hardly in before my head was free on the farther side; and in a moment George had helped me to my feet, and I saw our host.

I saw nothing else, indeed. There were, I believe, the open range, and herb-hung rafters, and settle and dresser of the ordinary cottager’s kitchen. The huge creature before me absorbed three-fourths of the field of my vision. I understood at once why Mahomet must come to the mountain.

He had an enormous tallowy face, had this person, with an expression so excessively melting that it might have been said to be no expression at all. He could have had no more intimacy with his own skeleton than a hippopotamus. Ages ago he must have left it buried within himself as useless, and turned his wits to balancing on the twin globes of fat that were his legs. His eyes were slits, his nose a wart, his mouth the mere orifice of a blow-pipe. If his neck by any possibility had been broken, one might have stretched it till his head touched the ceiling.

I was conscious of George standing by watching me, and instinctively I dropped a curtsey. Immediately the mountain rumbled, and dusted a chair for my reception. It swung in his vast hand like a signboard from an inn. Relatively, I had some fear of sitting on it; it looked for a moment so like a doll’s.

“Mr. Portlock,” I murmured, casting down my eyes, “I--I am your humble servant, sir.”

He bowed--bagged, would be the better expression. The whole weight of his chin was against his recovery; but he managed it, with an effort.

“You--you are very good to give me shelter,” said I. “I’m afraid we--we shall crowd you dreadfully, sir.”

A low gale vibrated in him somewhere. I seemed to be able to detach certain indistinct utterances from it, of which “welcome: what can do: Maid Marian” were the clearest.

I made an effort to respond fitly--struggled, and was dumb. Then, in a moment--I saw George with his hand to his mouth--the demon exploded in me.

“Were you--were you always like that?” I shrieked, and fell across my chair-back, half hysteric.

The poor fellow may have laughed himself--there was no guessing what emotions that curtain of flesh concealed--but he looked, if anything, more abashed than offended.

“Hush!” said George, recovering himself, “or I must drag you back, miss.”

We shook, facing one another with gleaming eyes and teeth.

“Didn’t I tell you,” he gasped, “that he was a thread-paper of a man once?”

He went and clapped a hand on the mountain’s shoulder.

“Come, Johnny, no offence,” said he. “None knows better than her ladyship that your heart’s in the right place.”

I subdued myself by a vast effort, and rose, and went to conciliate the poor creature.

“Haven’t I reason to?” I said. “And--and I put my faith in you, sir; and--and faith moves mountains”--and I was near off again.

He shifted, and flushed faintly, and delivered himself once more.

“’Tis the wittles--have done it.”

“He means,” said George, “that he’s made up for lost time and opportunities, since his promotion.”

“Ay, ’twas the nerves,” went on the oracle--“kep’ me down--once. Shook, I did--hear thunder. Walk a mile round--avoid row. When the crows holloa’d--see funeral pass--turned blood water. ’Twas lack ballast--that was it.”

“Of course,” said George, “that was it. What a coward you was, Johnny, in your thin time. D’you remember the day we shot the home covers, with a great person for company, and the sky came raining cobwebs, so that we were near stifled with ’em; and you stuck your head in a bush, till we gave you with our ramrods something better than cobwebs to roar about?”

“Ay, I do,” said the mountain, and rumbled again. “Not much cobweb--’bout me now.”

Well, I told him that one couldn’t have too much of a good thing; and very soon we were fast friends. But that morning George haled me back into shelter before much was said; and afterwards our acquaintance ripened by fits and starts. The very immobility of the creature was our and his salvation. There was no conscious expression to betray itself on that vast desert of a countenance. Periodically, he was visited by the steward; fitfully, by units of the hunt which his lordship sought to lay on his vanished brother’s trail. He was never, so far as I knew, suspected; and with the deepening of winter the chase slackened.

And, in the meantime, what was I doing there, buried alive like a recreant novice in the wall? Wilt thou believe, Alcide, that I, with all my free aspirations, could have remained at peace in the little prison for a day? Well, with rare excursions beyond, and those not till I had been long immured, I lived there for more than a year, and was near all the time as happy as a swallow under the eaves. It is love makes the dimensions of our estate.