“Saddle the mare for Mr. Craike, Nick,” Oliver ordered. “I’ll get my horse out.”
Nick responding, “Ay, ay, sir,” set down his broom, and stared at me. A seaman surely, he was as brown as the old rogues; the silver rings in his ears, and the tattoo-marks on his bare arms, accorded ill with his shabby rig of a groom.
I waited by the stable-door until Nick brought out the mare; Oliver followed, leading a powerful black horse; and making down to the gates, he leaped to saddle. I, rejoicing at the prospect of a better mount than ever it had been my lot to ride, disdained Nick’s assistance into saddle, and rode out after Oliver. I had already a hope of friendship with this strong, uncouth, young kinsman of mine. I thought to find him in his disposition no more a pattern of my uncle than he resembled the gentleman in his fashion and graces. Yet I feared to confide in any of the folk of the house, and I resolved to keep my own counsel until I knew more of my cousin. Indeed, he gave me no opportunity for conversation. He made off at a gallop down the drive; and I had much ado to keep within sight of him. He did not ride for the gates, but swerving off to the left, he rode down through the park to the wall, where it was crumbling and broken. Setting his horse to the breach, he leaped it; and I following, he led me at a gallop down towards the sea.
The joy of the morn dispelled for a time my thoughts of the gloomy house and its folk. The sun was now clear; the breeze blew sweetly from the sea; little white clouds sailed over a blue heaven. We came out of the wood into open country; we swept through green meadows and drained lands; he rode like the very devil, taking hedge and ditch; he did not pause till we were riding out through a break in the cliffs. The shingly beach of a little cove was before us; the waters rolling in and the foam scudding. I saw the white gulls wheel and dip; fishing boats were out at sea; no dwelling was in sight; the beach was all our own. Oliver, dismounting, secured his bridle to a stunted tree, and silently walked down with me over the rocks to the beach; drawing apart from me to strip. I had no proper realisation of his strength till I saw him racing out into the sea—it seemed to me to break with a dangerous wash upon the beach; he splashed out with the sunlight white upon him, and the waters foaming against him; he swam far out then and rode back with the breakers. I, being accustomed only to inland waters, was nigh drowned, when I attempted to follow him; I was no more his match as swimmer than as horseman. I was dressed, and glowing with warmth and health, ere he desisted and pulled on his clothes.
“Faith, cousin,” said I, “I would I had your strength and courage. Had I dared swim out as you, I’d have drowned for sure.”
He nodded, not ill-pleased, and said, grinning, “I should have wagered you you’d not dare. If you’d have drowned—” but broke off and turned from me.
“You mean, if I’d have drowned,” said I, “it would have been all to the advantage of other folk?”
“What does it matter what I meant? Hark’ee, cousin, while you’re in the house, whatever’s done to get you out of it, I’m not for profiting by it.”
“You mean you’re my friend.”
“I didn’t say so,” he answered heavily. “I’m saying that I’m not for profiting at your cost—d’ye understand me?” He did not face me, but stood staring seawards. I said nothing, but waited. He burst out presently, “You’ve a notion by now how old Edward came by his money. If he have money? If all this talk among the rogues about him be more than the chattering of old fools? They talk of a secret store he keeps by him at the house. They talk, when they fancy none’s listening to ’em, of gold and jewels. They vow he’s hid his store in the house, and none knows where save himself. From their talk ’twas evilly come by. There’s blood upon it—every coin and gew-gaw; there’s a curse upon it; they say no man’ll ever profit by it; and every rogue among them itches to set his claws upon it, curse or no curse.” He laughed and waved his hand seawards. “We’re an ill race, we Craikes,” he muttered. “We’ve been of the sea and the coasts year in, year out. The sea calls every man of us down to it—you and I’ll be sailing yet, cousin; the sea calls us and the sea has us in the end. Did you hear the beat of the sea like drums through the night, cousin? Did you hear the wind crying?”