Burgo's Romance

by T. W. Speight

At half-past two the same old woman brought him his dinner, passing the dishes to him one by one as before, and receiving in return the breakfast things left from morning. "If you please, sir," she said, "I was to tell you that if there's anything you specially want, would you write it down on a piece of paper and give it to me." Thereupon she handed him through the aperture pen, ink, and a couple of sheets of paper.

Burgo gave vent to a low whistle of surprise. Then, after considering for a few moments, he sat down and wrote as under:

"If it be your intention to detain me here for any length of time, you may, if you please, add to the burden of my obligations by letting me have my portmanteau and contents, which will be found at the inn of the 'Golden Owl,' in Crag End. If, at the same time, you will settle my little bill there, I will recoup you the amount.

"I enclose a note to the landlord authorising him to give up my chattels to whomsoever you may send for them."

The note to Tyson which he enclosed was signed "Burgo Lumsden."

The old woman took the notes, favoured him with another leer, and went.

As Burgo sat eating his dinner to the accompaniment of an excellent bottle of claret, having agreed to thrust his cares aside for a while, his thoughts went wandering hither and thither as they listed, touching now on things serious and now on others which were just as trivial. Among other matters which thus casually claimed his thoughts he found himself wondering again what purpose the sliding panel in the door had been originally intended to serve. But after a time a light broke on him. "This must have been one of the rooms occupied by the old fellow Tyson told me about, who used to shut himself up in the tower for weeks at a time, and it was doubtless put to the same use by him that it is put to now. His laboratory was sacred ground; no foot save his own must cross its threshold; and his food was handed to him through the aperture as mine is to-day." In the lack of all possibility of getting at the facts of the case, it seemed as likely an explanation as could have been arrived at.

Burgo got through the afternoon as he best could. He spent a considerable portion of the time resting his elbows on the window-sill, his head supported by his hands, gazing out at the heaving expanse of water which bounded the whole visible line of his horizon, watching with his eyes, while far away in thought, an occasional moving pennon of smoke on the line where sky and water seemed to meet, or the gleam of a white sail in the offing. In his ears was the soft, murmurous thunder of the tide, for ever either coming or going. A portion of the lower half of the window formed a casement which was now flung wide open. The autumn airs blew soft and sweet; in their caresses lingered a memory of departed summer.

As he stood thus he could not help telling himself that all which had befallen him since he left the "Golden Owl" at nine o'clock the previous night was more like a fragment of some distempered dream than the grim reality it had proved itself to be. That he should have been assaulted, kidnapped, and locked up in an old border tower was an incident such as might well have happened even as lately as a hundred years ago, but which seemed an anachronism, and altogether out of keeping with the prosaic realities of the last quarter of the nineteenth century. And yet, incredible as it might be deemed, it had happened to him. He was there a prisoner, and when or in what way his imprisonment would end, he could guess no more than the man in the moon. It might be that the design was to keep him safe under lock and key till his uncle's illness should have terminated in the only way it was intended it should terminate, and that, he felt sure, would not be till after the 12th of October. Or, again, it might be that even then steps were being taken to remove his uncle still further away, perhaps to some place abroad, where no helping hand would avail to reach him. It seemed monstrous to imagine that such a hellish plot could be carried out with impunity at this time of day, and all the safeguards which the law has devised against wrong-doing quietly ignored and treated as if they had no existence. Yes, it did indeed seem monstrous; but, as most of us have learnt to our cost, facts are stubborn things.

It was nearly dark before the old woman made her appearance for the third time. Following the unlocking of the door, somewhere below stairs came the sound of a dog's deep baying, mingled with a man's voice addressing some one in imperative accents. Although it was not yet seven o'clock the old lady had brought Burgo his supper. He had not been used to such a primitive arrangement of his meals, but it would have been folly to complain. When he had exchanged his empty dishes for full ones, the woman said: "I've a lot o' things downstairs for you--a lamp, and a couple o' blankits, and a piller, and your porkmantle--which I'll now fetch up; but afore I open the door and give 'em to you, you must pass me your sacred word of honour not to try to leave the room. I can't hear a word, as you know, but if you're ready and willing to swear not to try to escape, sinnify the same by holding up your right hand."