Chapter XXII: The Mile-Castle

Olwen opened her eyes. She was lying full length upon the ground, and it was very dark. She could smell damp earth, and for a minute she thought she was dead and buried. Her head swam and ached, but she could move her hands, and she began cautiously to feel about her. There was a coat under her, and some kind of pillow supported her head: but she was very cold. She shivered, and felt deadly sick. What had happened?

"Mr. Guyse!" she called sharply, and when nobody answered she cried out aloud in terror.

All was very still, she could not hear a sound. With a dreadful effort she sat upright, and putting up her hand to her head, found that it was bandaged. So dizzy did the exertion make her that she leaned sideways, unable to sit erect. Her sore head found itself in contact with rough stone. She gasped, in pain and fear--fear of the black, lonely silence. Leaning so, she wept a while, helplessly, then made an attempt to rise, but was forced to lie down again abruptly.

A hammer was beating in her brain, thump, thump, thump. It impeded thought. All attempt to remember how she came to be in her present plight failed. With the feeling that she was hopelessly defeated, that she could not struggle with pitiless circumstances, she lay down again and sobbed weakly, the tears rolling down undried, since she had searched her pockets in vain for the handkerchief which should have been there.

Just as she was wondering how much longer she could bear her misery, she heard a slight sound, like the lifting of a latch. Then came breathing and a footstep. "Ninian?" she cried, affrighted.

"All right, I'm here," was the reply, and her relief took the form of a new burst of blinding tears.

She heard him moving vaguely, cautiously, but could see nothing. He seemed to be putting something down on the ground. Then she felt him approach. Now he was crouching at her side. There came the scrape of a match, and its flicker showed her his haggard face.

"Well, you're alive," he said, "and that's something, you know."

She struggled to keep back the tears. "Where--where are we?" she managed to articulate. His grin somehow reassured her.

"Where you were so anxious to find yourself--in the mile-castle," he replied.

The match died away, and again utter darkness fell. She had glimpsed the narrow confines of the shelter which covered them.

"I expect you feel pretty bad?" His voice sounded anxiously beside her.

"Yes--no. Don't ask me," she sobbed. "I'm such a silly--fool--I can't help it. I'll--stop in a minute."

"Of course," he said, "I know. Never mind. We shall do fine. I'm sure I've done the right thing. We're safe inside the only shelter I know of within three miles; but the snow and the dark are both upon us. Poor little girl!"

"N-never mind. It can't be helped! I shall feel better presently."

"Sure thing. Meanwhile----" he had found her hand and held it, "You are as cold as a stone."

She shuddered as she answered "Yes."

"The trouble is that I can't light a fire. The silly blighter who designed this mansion built it without a chimney. I've been out in search of fuel. No wood to be found, nothing but dead grass, bracken and thorns. It's a bit damp and would smoke us out, I'm afraid, if I ventured to light it."

"Oh, but we can go on--soon. When I feel--able."

"Nothin' doin'. You could no more walk three miles against this storm than you could fly, in your present plight. And in spite of what I said about your feather-weight, I couldn't carry you--at least not till I've had a good rest. It was as much as I could do to get you up here. I don't know how I did it!"

"Tell me," she answered faintly; but he replied:

"Presently, when you're a bit more recovered. Now I've got a drop of comfort. Sunia put a thermos flask full of hot tea into my rucksack. I am going to give you a cup of that, which will warm you a bit. I have my electric torch in my pocket, but I fear it won't last long. I know it needs recharging. Let me give you a hot drink, cover you up as warmly as I can, and then I'll try and make Wade's road to the south. I might, perhaps, find the Twice-Brewed Inn with luck."

She cried out vehemently. "Oh, no, no! I don't think I could bear to be left. Don't go! Don't go! You would not be able to find your way in this storm, and--and if you were lost nobody would ever find me, or know where I am, would they?"

He was silent. He knew that for him to wander out into the now impenetrable darkness, with the storm rising every moment, would be a mad venture. He had suggested it half because he thought she might expect it of him, or at least, that she might feel more at ease if he were not there. It was an awkward situation, but fortunately for the man, she left him in no doubt as to her own feelings in the matter. Her hands were clutching his coat, he could feel the rigors that shook her slight body.

"Don't be angry with me, but you mustn't go! Oh, please don't go unless--unless you think it is horrid of me; do what you yourself think will be best! I don't want to be unrea-rea-reasonable."

He took the groping hands and held them firmly. "To tell you the truth," he said quietly, "I believe that the best chance for you and me to come through this night alive is for us to stay together. At least we are in shelter, and if the snow gets piled up around the walls we shall be more sheltered still. We have some wraps, and if two people huddle closely together they are twice as warm as one would be alone."

"You r-really think so? You are not s-saying so just to pacify me?"

"I really think so, you poor kiddie. Now I am going to give you that tea, and we will have a few minutes' light upon the subject."

He fixed his torch, and set it down upon the ground while he found his rucksack and took out a cup and the thermos flask. Olwen was so unnerved that he had to hold the cup to her lips; but when once she tasted the tea, its effect was almost instantaneous.

"Ah, how good! How good!" she murmured. "Now you have some, too."

"Oh, I don't want the muck," said he. "Tea's not my line, you know. I wish I had a brandy flask here, though."

However, she would not allow him to go without the hot drink he so urgently required. She would take no excuse, and he saw that to refuse would be to distress her cruelly. He made a bargain, however. He would drink if she would eat a sponge cake. To this she agreed, but found she had promised more than she could perform. He was glad to finish a few sandwiches which they had left from lunch, and found himself feeling a little less fagged when he had done so.

Their refuge contained nothing except a few sheets of corrugated iron standing up against the wall, one or two hurdles, and a heap of sand in one corner. The sand was dry and soft.

The snow without had already stopped the whistling draught which had entered under the door. A hiatus between the walls and the roof let in plenty of air for ventilation. He put on his coat, which he had taken off to cover Olwen when he went out to look for fuel. Then he unrolled her own rain-coat, which had been pillowing her head, and wrapped her in it, taking his own overcoat up from the floor whereon he had spread it. Next he arranged some of the sand as a sitting-place for himself, with the main heap against his left elbow, to serve as a support. On this heap he set his electric torch, within hand's reach. Then he raised the exhausted girl from the ground, and carefully sat down with her in his arms, the arm which pillowed her head resting on the sandbank. He covered her feet with the grass and bracken he had brought in, and drew his own overcoat right over them both. She lay as though in a cradle, and as his back was supported against the wall behind, and he had arranged the hurdles so that his drawn-up knees would not slip, he felt that he could maintain his position for a long time without too much discomfort.

She gave a little sighing gasp as he settled her gently in his arms. She had closed her eyes, for her feelings overwhelmed her. He thought her either asleep or unconscious.

With a premonition that, as the night wore on, he might need light more than he needed it now, he switched off his torch. The black stillness enfolded the two of them. This time, however, it was not the horrible silence of desertion to Olwen, for she could feel the pumping of that vigorous and healthy organ which Ninian called his heart, very near her own ear.

For a considerable while they sat in silence, while by degrees a blessed warmth stole over the shivering girl. There was something most consoling in the close contact. Either the hot tea, or the wrappings, or the current of sympathy flowing between the two, was soothing the pain in her head, and making her feel more like herself. Her voice, coming from the engulfing darkness, made him start.

"I am remembering," she said. "A bit of rock came down ... and I fell. But we are not down, but up!--I don't understand! How could you possibly get me up here?"

He laughed. "Ask me an easier one. I simply don't know. I clung there like a stuck pig for a time, which seemed like an hour to me, with you hanging across my shoulder like a sack of coals. You were completely unconscious, and I was so panic-stricken that I believe I laughed out loud and long. However, after a time it occurred to me that I had better get a move on, and my mind began to work in a funny, jerky fashion. First I thought it would be much easier to get down than up, and instinctively I acted on that belief, and went down a step or two, in order to do which I had to move a little to one side. Then I looked below, and caught a peep of the ice. The rock you sent down had broken it to shivers, just exactly at the place where I should have to step. I know the lake is forty feet deep there, and I thought if you and I dropped in, that would just about finish us. Then I began to calculate the chances of getting to any kind of shelter before it grew dark or the snow came. I couldn't think of any blessed plan. Hotwells Farm is the nearest, and it is three miles if it's a step. All at once I remembered this little cubby hole, and I thought 'If I can only get her there I can at least lay her down while I run and fetch help.'"

"Oh, I'm so sorry," wailed a sad little voice from the regions of his waistcoat.

"Why are you sorry? Because I thought of this place?"

"No, but because it was my fault we went down the cliff. You wanted to go round."

"Shucks! How could you know the perishing old rock would punch you on the head? Well, when I thought of this place I saw that it was my one chance; but it meant going up and not down. Then it dawned upon my fuddle brains that I was much nearer the top than the bottom; and looking up from where I then stood I could see, almost as though it had been made on purpose for me, a kind of a goat path, running up sideways. Providentially, you had draped yourself around me just in the handiest way, so I set out ... I tell you it was nasty. I shall be surprised if they give me anything much worse to do in hell than that journey. I had to stop and rearrange myself and you afresh after every step. I had to crawl on hands and knees. I had to keep wiping the perspiration out of my eyes; and the blood from your head kept dripping down on the stones as I crawled and crept, with one arm to steady you and one arm and two legs to haul with. Two or three times I said to myself, 'You're done in at last.' But I wasn't. I got to the top one day, I think it was about two months after I started, and I laid you down."

He stopped. His breath was coming very quickly, and the arms that held her under the big coat tightened their grip. "Forgive me," he stammered.

"Forgive you?" she whispered, faintly interrogative.