Here his voice broke, and there arose from all a deep wailing sound,
which rose and rose till the woods around us seemed broken by a mighty
and long-sustained sob. The orator saw that his purpose was
accomplished, and with a short sentence finished his harangue: "But the
need of our nation still remains!" Then, with an eloquent gesture to me
to proceed, he merged in the crowd and disappeared. How could I even attempt to follow such a speaker with any hope of
success? I simply told them what I had already done in the way of help,
saying:

"As you needed arms, I have got them. My agent sends me word through the
code between us that he has procured for me--for us--fifty thousand of
the newest-pattern rifles, the French Ingis-Malbron, which has surpassed
all others, and sufficient ammunition to last for a year of war. The
first section is in hand, and will soon be ready for consignment. There
are other war materials, too, which, when they arrive, will enable every
man and woman--even the children--of our land to take a part in its
defence should such be needed. My brothers, I am with you in all things,
for good or ill!" It made me very proud to hear the mighty shout which arose. I had felt
exalted before, but now this personal development almost unmanned me. I
was glad of the long-sustained applause to recover my self-control. I was quite satisfied that the meeting did not want to hear any other
speaker, for they began to melt away without any formal notification
having been given. I doubt if there will be another meeting soon again. The weather has begun to break, and we are in for another spell of rain. It is disagreeable, of course; but it has its own charm. It was during a
spell of wet weather that the Lady of the Shroud came to me. Perhaps the
rain may bring her again. I hope so, with all my soul. RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_. _April_ 23, 1907. The rain has continued for four whole days and nights, and the low-lying
ground is like a quagmire in places. In the sunlight the whole mountains
glisten with running streams and falling water. I feel a strange kind of
elation, but from no visible cause. Aunt Janet rather queered it by
telling me, as she said good-night, to be very careful of myself, as she
had seen in a dream last night a figure in a shroud. I fear she was not
pleased that I did not take it with all the seriousness that she did. I
would not wound her for the world if I could help it, but the idea of a
shroud gets too near the bone to be safe, and I had to fend her off at
all hazards. So when I doubted if the Fates regarded the visionary
shroud as of necessity appertaining to me, she said, in a way that was,
for her, almost sharp:

"Take care, laddie. 'Tis ill jesting wi' the powers o' time Unknown." Perhaps it was that her talk put the subject in my mind. The woman
needed no such aid; she was always there; but when I locked myself into
my room that night, I half expected to find her in the room. I was not
sleepy, so I took a book of Aunt Janet's and began to read. The title
was "On the Powers and Qualities of Disembodied Spirits." "Your
grammar," said I to the author, "is hardly attractive, but I may learn
something which might apply to her. I shall read your book." Before
settling down to it, however, I thought I would have a look at the
garden. Since the night of the visit the garden seemed to have a new
attractiveness for me: a night seldom passed without my having a last
look at it before turning in. So I drew the great curtain and looked
out. The scene was beautiful, but almost entirely desolate. All was ghastly
in the raw, hard gleams of moonlight coming fitfully through the masses
of flying cloud. The wind was rising, and the air was damp and cold. I
looked round the room instinctively, and noticed that the fire was laid
ready for lighting, and that there were small-cut logs of wood piled
beside the hearth. Ever since that night I have had a fire laid ready. I was tempted to light it, but as I never have a fire unless I sleep in
the open, I hesitated to begin. I went back to the window, and, opening
the catch, stepped out on the terrace. As I looked down the white walk
and let my eyes range over the expanse of the garden, where everything
glistened as the moonlight caught the wet, I half expected to see some
white figure flitting amongst the shrubs and statues. The whole scene of
the former visit came back to me so vividly that I could hardly believe
that any time had passed since then. It was the same scene, and again
late in the evening. Life in Vissarion was primitive, and early hours
prevailed--though not so late as on that night. As I looked I thought I caught a glimpse of something white far away. It
was only a ray of moonlight coming through the rugged edge of a cloud. But all the same it set me in a strange state of perturbation. Somehow I
seemed to lose sight of my own identity. It was as though I was
hypnotized by the situation or by memory, or perhaps by some occult
force. Without thinking of what I was doing, or being conscious of any
reason for it, I crossed the room and set light to the fire. Then I blew
out the candle and came to the window again. I never thought it might be
a foolish thing to do--to stand at a window with a light behind me in
this country, where every man carries a gun with him always. I was in my
evening clothes, too, with my breast well marked by a white shirt. I
opened the window and stepped out on the terrace. There I stood for many
minutes, thinking. All the time my eyes kept ranging over the garden. Once I thought I saw a white figure moving, but it was not followed up,
so, becoming conscious that it was again beginning to rain, I stepped
back into the room, shut the window, and drew the curtain. Then I
realized the comforting appearance of the fire, and went over and stood
before it. Hark! Once more there was a gentle tapping at the window. I rushed over
to it and drew the curtain. There, out on the rain-beaten terrace, stood the white shrouded figure,
more desolate-appearing than ever. Ghastly pale she looked, as before,
but her eyes had an eager look which was new. I took it that she was
attracted by the fire, which was by now well ablaze, and was throwing up
jets of flame as the dry logs crackled. The leaping flames threw fitful
light across the room, and every gleam threw the white-clad figure into
prominence, showing the gleam of the black eyes, and fixing the stars
that lay in them. Without a word I threw open the window, and, taking the white hand
extended to me, drew into the room the Lady of the Shroud. As she entered and felt the warmth of the blazing fire, a glad look
spread over her face. She made a movement as if to run to it. But she
drew back an instant after, looking round with instinctive caution. She
closed the window and bolted it, touched the lever which spread the
grille across the opening, and pulled close the curtain behind it. Then
she went swiftly to the door and tried if it was locked.