A Monk of Cruta

by E. Phillips Oppenheim

This evening I have had an adventure! I am thankful, for it has occupied my thoughts for awhile; and for anything that does that I am grateful. I had been in the house all day, restless and nervous, and towards dusk I put on my cloak and a thick veil, and went out into the street. I scarcely noticed which way I went. It was all the same to me. A dull purple bank of clouds hung low down in the west, and the air was close and still. By-and-by I heard thunder, and big raindrops fell upon the pavement. A storm was threatening, and I longed for it to come and clear the air.

I must have been walking for nearly an hour, when it came at last, and the rain fell in great sheets. I looked around for a cab, but there was none in sight. I had no idea where I was,—London is so vast and large,—and though, by the distant roar of wheels, I could tell that I was not far from a great thoroughfare, the street in which I was seemed to be deserted. Just by my side was a dark tunnel, gloomy and vault-like in appearance; but in that downpour any refuge was welcome, and I stepped back underneath it. It was like going into the bowels of the earth; and, every now and then, there was a roar over my head which made me almost dizzy. But, from round the corner, I could see that it was only the sound of trains passing and repassing, so I decided to stay until I could see a cab.

Opposite to me was a man with a truck-load of oranges, and by his side a boy seated before a red-hot swinging can, containing chestnuts. There was no one else in the street, although at the bottom of it crowds of people and a constant stream of vehicles were hurrying along. On the other side of the way was a tall and grim-looking building, discoloured with smoke and age. It was evidently a hospital or institution of some sort. The windows were long and narrow, and one or two of them, I could see, were of stained glass. There was no brass plate by the front door, nor any sign. In the absence of anything else to do, I began to frame surmises as to what the place might be. The spotlessly white doorsteps and polished bell interested me; they seemed out of tone with the character of the place and its surroundings, so utterly bare and dreary. I began to wish that a caller would come and ring the bell, so that I could get a peep at the interior. But no one did, although I noticed that more than one hurrying passer-by glanced up at it curiously.

The thunder died away, but the rain still came down heavily. If it had not been for my curious interest in that great ugly building opposite, I should have risked a wetting, and made my way down to the busy thoroughfare in the distance. But I was anxious to see some one enter or leave the place, or for something to happen which would give me an idea as to its character; so I waited. Half an hour passed, and my curiosity remained unsatisfied. There was no sign of life about the place; not even a tradesman had called, nor had that forbidding-looking portal once been opened. It was still raining fast, but there were signs of finer weather, and right overhead was a break in the clouds. I should certainly be able to leave now in a few minutes; but, strangely enough, all my impatience seemed gone. The grim-looking building opposite had fascinated me. I had no desire to leave the place until I had found out all about it.

It was odd, that curiosity of mine; all my days I shall wonder at it. On the face of it, it seemed so unreasonable, and yet it led to so much. I have no creed, and I know nothing about philosophies, or perhaps to-night's adventure might have meant even more to me. But, indeed, it seems as though some unseen hand led me out and brought me into that deserted street. From to-night there must be changes in my life; I cannot escape from them. As yet I am too much in a whirl to ask myself whether I wish to.

To return to that house. When I saw that the storm was clearing, and that I should be able to leave in a few minutes, I determined to make an effort to satisfy my curiosity. I crossed the road, and addressed the man who was sitting on the handles of his barrow of oranges.

"Do you know what place that is opposite?" I asked, pointing across the road.

He took out a filthy pipe from his mouth, and spat upon the pavement. I think that he must have noticed my look of disgust, for he answered me surlily, "No, I don't!"

I turned to the boy. "Do you?" I asked.

He shook his head. "Not for certain, ma'am. I believe it's some sort of a Roman Catholic place, though. Them gents in long clothes and shovel hats is allus going in and hout. 'Ullo, Bill! Here she be again! She's a-trying it on, ain't she?"