A Monk of Cruta

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

"You shall not go there! The place is horrible! You shall not go!"

He stood still, and looked at me in wonderment. We had crossed the park now, and were on the edge of the bare moorland. His figure alone stood out in solitary relief against the sky. I was half mad with fear and dismay. He did not understand. How could he?

"It is at Cruta that I can learn all that there still is for me to learn," he said. "I shall start for there to-night."

Oh! it was horrible! What could I say? How was I to stop him? How much dare I tell? I caught hold of his hands, and held them tightly.

"Paul, I want to ask you something! When you heard from the convent that relations had claimed me and taken me away, and then, a year afterwards, you found me there—in London—a dancing girl, what did you think?"

He answered me at once and without hesitation. "I thought that you had misled the Lady Superior,—that you were weary of your life there, and had run away."

I shook my head. "I knew that you thought so and I never denied it. But it was not so! I was not unhappy at the convent, but one day I was sent for and bidden prepare for a journey. Some relatives had sent for me, and I was to go. And to where? It was to Cruta! Paul, it was old Count of Cruta who claimed me. I cannot tell you anything of the time I spent there, shut up in the gloomy castle; it was horrible beyond all words. Even the memory of it makes me shudder. If only I could tell you! But I must not! I can tell you this, though. In less than six months I felt myself going mad; and one night I stole down to the beach and unfastened a small boat and rowed away, scarcely caring what happened to me so that I could but escape from that awful place. It was a desperate chance. I was out all day without food or water, rowing and drifting until Cruta lay like a speck in the distance. Then by chance I was picked up by an English yacht, and they brought me to London. I arrived there helpless and miserable, and, ah! how lonely! I dared not go back to the convent for fear I should be sent back to Cruta. There was only you. I went to your bankers, and they told me that you were abroad—on the Continent. By chance they asked me there my name, and by chance again I told them it truthfully. They told me that they had money for me there. I had only to sign a receipt, and they gave me more than I asked for—ten times more. Then I remembered the address of an English girl who had been at the convent with me, and she gave me a home for a time. It was through her dancing mistress that I became—a dancing girl. I have told you this, Paul, because I want you to promise me not to go to Cruta. It is an evil place. They are mad there. Promise me!"

He looked at me gravely and very tenderly; but his tone was firm. "Adrea, it is necessary that I go there," he said. "I cannot rest for a moment until I know for certain whether a story which I have just been told is a true one. The proof lies in Cruta! It is no whim which is taking me there! I must go!"

My heart was sick with dread. Yet what could I do? I said nothing; only I covered my face with my hands and wept.