A to Z Classics - Bram Stoker - The Complete Novels

One thing I will say, that I never felt so much at one with my kind; and before going to bed I sat down and wrote a letter of instructions to my agent, directing him to make accurate personal inquiries all over the estate, and at the forthcoming rent-day make such remissions of rent that would relieve any trouble, or aid in any plan of improvements such as his kinder nature could guess at or suggest.

I need not say that for a long time I did not sleep, and although my thoughts were full of such hope and happiness that the darkness seemed ever changing into sunshine, there were, at times, such harrowing thoughts of difficulties to come — in the shape of previous attachments; of my being late in my endeavours to win her as my wife; of my never being able to find her again — that, now and again, I had to jump from my bed and pace the floor. Towards daylight I slept, and went through a series of dreams of alternating joy and pain. At first, hope held full sway, and my sweet experience of the day became renewed and multiplied; again, I climbed the hill and saw her and heard her voice; again, the tearful look faded from her eyes; again, I held her hand in mine and bade good-bye, and a thousand happy fancies filled me with exquisite joy. Then doubts began to come. I saw her once more on the hill-top, but she was looking out for some other than myself, and a shadow of disappointment passed over her sweet face when she recognised me. Again, I saw myself kneeling at her feet and imploring her love, while only cold, hard looks were my lot; or I found myself climbing the hill, but never able to reach the top, or on reaching it finding it empty. Then I would find myself hurrying through all sorts of difficult places — high, bleak mountains, and lonely wind-swept strands, dark paths through gloomy forests, and over sun-smitten plains, looking for her whom I had lost, and in vain trying to call her, for I could not remember her name. This last nightmare was quite a possibility, for I had never heard it.

I awoke many times from such dreams in an agony of fear; but after a time both pleasure and pain seemed to have had their share of my sleep, and I slept the dreamless sleep that Plato eulogises in the “Apologia Socratis.”

I was awakened to a sense that my hour of rising had not yet come by a knocking at my door. I opened it, and on the landing without saw Andy standing, cap in hand.

“Hullo, Andy!” I said. “What on earth do you want?”

“Yer ‘an’r’II parden me, but I’m jist off wid Misther Sutherland; an’ as I undherstand ye was goin’ for a walk, I made bould t’ ask yer ‘an’r if ye’ll give a missage to me father?”

“Certainly, Andy, with pleasure.”

“Maybe ye’d tell him that I’d like the white mare tuk off the grashan’ gave some hard ‘atin’ for a few days, as I’ll want her brung into Wistport before long.”

“All right, Andy. Is that all?”

“That’s all, yer ‘an’r.”

Then he added, with a sly look at me:

“Maybe ye’ll keep yer eye out for a nice bit o’ bog as ye go along.”

“Get on, Andy,” said I. “Shut up, you ould corn-crake!” I felt I could afford to chaff with him, as we were alone.

He grinned, and went away. But he had hardly gone a few steps when he returned and said, with an air of extreme seriousness:

“As I’m goin’ to Knockcalltecrore, is there any missage I kin take for ye to Miss Norah?”

“Oh, go on!” said I. “What message should I have to send, when I never saw the girl in my life?”

For reply he winked at me with a wink big enough to cover a perch of land, and, looking back over his shoulder so that I could see his grin to the last, he went along the corridor, and I went back to bed.

It did not strike me till a long time afterwards — when I was quite close to Knocknacar — how odd it was that Andy had asked me to give the message to his father. I had not told him I was even coming in the direction — I had not told anyone; indeed, I had rather tried to mislead when I spoke of taking a walk that day, by saying some commonplace about “the advisability of breaking new ground,” and so forth. Andy had evidently taken it for granted; and it annoyed me somewhat that he could find me so transparent. However, I gave the message to the old man, to which he promised to attend, and had a drink of milk, which is the hospitality of the West of Ireland farmhouse. Then, in the most nonchalant way I could, I began to saunter up the hill.

I loitered awhile here and there on the way up. I diverted my steps now and then as if to make inquiry into some interesting object. I tapped rocks and turned stones over, to the discomfiture of various swollen pale-colored worms and nests of creeping things. With the end of my stick I dug up plants, and made here and there unmeaning holes in the ground, as though I were actuated by some direct purpose known to myself and not understood of others. In fact, I acted as a hypocrite in many harmless and unmeaning ways, and rendered myself generally obnoxious to the fauna and flora of Knocknacar.

As I approached the hill-top my heart beat loudly and fast, and a genuine supineness took possession of my limbs, and a dimness came over my sight and senses. I had experienced something of the same feeling at other times in my life — as, for instance, just before my first fight when a school-boy, and when I stood up to make my maiden speech at the village debating society. Such feelings — or lack of feelings — however, do not kill; and it is the privilege and strength of advancing years to know this fact.

I proceeded up the hill. I did not whistle this time, or hum, or make any noise; matters were far too serious with me for any such levity. I reached the top, and found myself alone! A sense of blank disappointment came over me, which was only relieved when, on looking at my watch, I found that it was as yet still early in the forenoon. It was three o’clock yesterday when I had met — when I had made the ascent.

As I had evidently to while away a considerable time, I determined to make an accurate investigation of the hill of Knocknacar — much, very much, fuller than I had made as yet. As my unknown had descended the hill by the east, and would probably make the ascent — if she ascended at all — by the same side; and as it was my object not to alarm her, I determined to confine my investigations to the west side. Accordingly, I descended about half way down the slope, and then commenced my prying into the secrets of Nature under a sense of the just execration of me and my efforts on the part of the whole of the animate and inanimate occupants of the mountain-side.

Hours to me had never seemed of the same inexhaustible proportions as the hours thus spent. At first I was strong with a dogged patience; but this in time gave way to an impatient eagerness that merged into a despairing irritability. More than once I felt an almost irresistible inclination to rush to the top of the hill and shout, or conceived an equally foolish idea to make a call at every house, cottage, and cabin in the neighborhood. In this latter desire my impatience was somewhat held in check by a sense of the ludicrous; for, as I thought of the detail of the doing it, I seemed to see myself, when trying to reduce my abstract longing to a concrete effort, meeting only jeers and laughter from both men and women in my seemingly asinine effort to make inquiries regarding a person whose name even I did not know, and for what purpose I could assign no sensible reason.

I verily believe I must have counted the leaves of grass on portions of that mountain. Unfortunately, hunger or thirst did not assail me, for they would have afforded some diversion to my thoughts. I sturdily stuck to my resolution not to ascend to the top until after three o’clock, and I gave myself much kudos for the stern manner in which I adhered to my resolve.