Adventure Magazine Cover — page 117: what you’re looking at

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Black Magic so please your worship, will you not go over the bridge?” — “T’m a poor Christian,” the shepherd whined and crossed himself. “‘T believe you are a very poor Christian,”’ Mr. Rymingtowne agreed, and peered at. his face through the gloom. ‘Do you think the bridge leads to—heaven?”’ The shepherd began to shiver. ‘‘No, no, no!”’ his teeth chattered. ‘‘You’m a con- juror and I will not go over the bridge!” “Sir, you deceive yourself,” said Mr. Rymingtowne firmly and took him firmly by the ear and hauled him on to the planks. “It is very likely that you deceive me. Nevertheless ”? And he continued to haul. Sothey proceeded to cross the bridge, the shepherd shuffling and hanging back and squealing and clasping anguished hands about the hand that held his ear. When they came close to the pier on which the mid planks hung perilous, the-shepherd, gripping Mr. Rymingtowne’s hand, flung all his weight back and checked. There was a moment of sway and struggle. shepherd’s clumsy feet dislodged the planks. They slipped and fell with a splash. The two men drew back together from the swift eddying water. Mr. Rymingtowne kept his hold of the ear. “‘Ah! So you did not altogether de- ceive me, my friend!” he said quietly. ‘“‘ And how did you know that the bridge had been made ready for me to cross?” ‘Oh dear, oh dear!”’ the shepherd whined. ‘Sir Ralph said as I was idiot!” “Sir Ralph?” Mr. Rymingtowne re- peated. For the first time something of anger came into his voice. “Ay, and I think Sir Ralph will say that if you were not an idiot you had never blundered into my hands and blundered into warning me!”’ ‘“‘Dearie me,” said the shepherd sadly. ‘And so it is, to be sure, and an idiot I be, or I would not have let you lead me by the ear,’”’—suddenly he freed himself—“or ever let you find me when I was a-hiding, neither!’’ As he spoke he sped away with hardly a sound of footfall and was lost in the dark. He was too sudden, too swift a Mr. Rymingtowne, who, after a futile spring at him, stood still, staring. It was some time before Mr. Rymingtowne walked slowly back down stream to the bridge in the vil- lage. He was gay with thought. He found the shepherd interesting. ; Then the 873 He had often looked in the eyes of death. On the peril escaped he wasted little thought. He had no doubt that he was in debt to Sir Ralph. Who but his reverend cousin could gain anything by killing him? Sir Ralph’s part was plain enough—as plain as that there was no proof against him. For what proof of anything in a loose plank? So of Sir Ralph Mr. Rymingtowne’s mind made short work. He had seen too much of life in Italy to be excited by any villainy. But the shepherd entertained him. Either the lad was a very sublime fool, or—or he was beyond understanding. But if he were a fool, how had he managed so neat an escape at the first moment he chose? And if he were not a fool, what in the world was he at? The more Mr. Rymingtowne thought, the more he was delighted by enigmas. He went to sleep upon them. Til EARLY in the morning, Sir Ralph was up. The piety of his temper compelled him to go sing matins before he attended to business. It is in- structive to imagine his sensations as he knelt in prayer. From the church he hurried breathless up the river-bank. Sure enough, there in the middle of the bridge the planks were gone. He peered down into the clear gray-green water with hope and horror. He was disappointed. Thereafter he felt faint and sought his rectory for food and drink. He could not eat, but a long draught of double ale stopped his shivering. Also it excited him, so that he must needs find out at once whether his man were dead or no. He hurried away to the manor-house. As he came round the yew hedge of the herb-garden he met Mr. Rymingtowne face to face. He started back fairly into the hedge, clutching at it with nervous hands. - He flushed purple and his veins knotted in his temples. Mr. Rymingtowne laughed genially. But in a moment the priest had command of his voice if not of his com- plexion: ‘‘God bless thee with a good day,” he said kindly. “Well done!” Mr. Rymingtowne ap- plauded. ‘Piety should ever bear ill luck bravely.” The priest had quite recovered himself. He put on a puzzled frown. ‘‘ Your jests are too cunning for me, cousin.” CoMmicbook CO