You and I are too good friends to
have sense of distrust or annoyance come between us--which would surely
happen if I had to keep thinking that you or anyone else might be
watching me." RUPERT'S JOURNAL--_Continued_. _April_ 27, 1907. After a spell of loneliness which has seemed endless I have something to
write. When the void in my heart was becoming the receptacle for many
devils of suspicion and distrust I set myself a task which might, I
thought, keep my thoughts in part, at any rate, occupied--to explore
minutely the neighbourhood round the Castle. This might, I hoped, serve
as an anodyne to my pain of loneliness, which grew more acute as the
days, the hours, wore on, even if it should not ultimately afford me some
clue to the whereabouts of the woman whom I had now grown to love so
madly. My exploration soon took a systematic form, as I intended that it should
be exhaustive. I would take every day a separate line of advance from
the Castle, beginning at the south and working round by the east to the
north. The first day only took me to the edge of the creek, which I
crossed in a boat, and landed at the base of the cliff opposite. I found
the cliffs alone worth a visit. Here and there were openings to caves
which I made up my mind to explore later. I managed to climb up the
cliff at a spot less beetling than the rest, and continued my journey. It was, though very beautiful, not a specially interesting place. I
explored that spoke of the wheel of which Vissarion was the hub, and got
back just in time for dinner. The next day I took a course slightly more to the eastward. I had no
difficulty in keeping a straight path, for, once I had rowed across the
creek, the old church of St. Sava rose before me in stately gloom. This
was the spot where many generations of the noblest of the Land of the
Blue Mountains had from time immemorial been laid to rest, amongst them
the Vissarions. Again, I found the opposite cliffs pierced here and
there with caves, some with wide openings,--others the openings of which
were partly above and partly below water. I could, however, find no
means of climbing the cliff at this part, and had to make a long detour,
following up the line of the creek till further on I found a piece of
beach from which ascent was possible. Here I ascended, and found that I
was on a line between the Castle and the southern side of the mountains. I saw the church of St. Sava away to my right, and not far from the edge
of the cliff. I made my way to it at once, for as yet I had never been
near it. Hitherto my excursions had been limited to the Castle and its
many gardens and surroundings. It was of a style with which I was not
familiar--with four wings to the points of the compass. The great
doorway, set in a magnificent frontage of carved stone of manifestly
ancient date, faced west, so that, when one entered, he went east. To my
surprise--for somehow I expected the contrary--I found the door open. Not wide open, but what is called ajar--manifestly not locked or barred,
but not sufficiently open for one to look in. I entered, and after
passing through a wide vestibule, more like a section of a corridor than
an ostensible entrance, made my way through a spacious doorway into the
body of the church. The church itself was almost circular, the openings
of the four naves being spacious enough to give the appearance of the
interior as a whole, being a huge cross. It was strangely dim, for the
window openings were small and high-set, and were, moreover, filled with
green or blue glass, each window having a colour to itself. The glass
was very old, being of the thirteenth or fourteenth century. Such
appointments as there were--for it had a general air of desolation--were
of great beauty and richness,--especially so to be in a place--even a
church--where the door lay open, and no one was to be seen. It was
strangely silent even for an old church on a lonesome headland. There
reigned a dismal solemnity which seemed to chill me, accustomed as I have
been to strange and weird places. It seemed abandoned, though it had not
that air of having been neglected which is so often to be noticed in old
churches. There was none of the everlasting accumulation of dust which
prevails in places of higher cultivation and larger and more strenuous
work. In the church itself or its appending chambers I could find no clue or
suggestion which could guide me in any way in my search for the Lady of
the Shroud. Monuments there were in profusion--statues, tablets, and all
the customary memorials of the dead. The families and dates represented
were simply bewildering. Often the name of Vissarion was given, and the
inscription which it held I read through carefully, looking to find some
enlightenment of any kind. But all in vain: there was nothing to see in
the church itself. So I determined to visit the crypt. I had no lantern
or candle with me, so had to go back to the Castle to secure one. It was strange, coming in from the sunlight, here overwhelming to one so
recently accustomed to northern skies, to note the slender gleam of the
lantern which I carried, and which I had lit inside the door. At my
first entry to the church my mind had been so much taken up with the
strangeness of the place, together with the intensity of wish for some
sort of clue, that I had really no opportunity of examining detail. But
now detail became necessary, as I had to find the entrance to the crypt. My puny light could not dissipate the semi-Cimmerian gloom of the vast
edifice; I had to throw the feeble gleam into one after another of the
dark corners. At last I found, behind the great screen, a narrow stone staircase which
seemed to wind down into the rock. It was not in any way secret, but
being in the narrow space behind the great screen, was not visible except
when close to it. I knew I was now close to my objective, and began to
descend. Accustomed though I have been to all sorts of mysteries and
dangers, I felt awed and almost overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness and
desolation as I descended the ancient winding steps. These were many in
number, roughly hewn of old in the solid rock on which the church was
built. I met a fresh surprise in finding that the door of the crypt was open. After all, this was different from the church-door being open; for in
many places it is a custom to allow all comers at all times to find rest
and comfort in the sacred place. But I did expect that at least the
final resting-place of the historic dead would be held safe against
casual intrusion. Even I, on a quest which was very near my heart,
paused with an almost overwhelming sense of decorum before passing
through that open door. The crypt was a huge place, strangely lofty for
a vault. From its formation, however, I soon came to the conclusion that
it was originally a natural cavern altered to its present purpose by the
hand of man. I could hear somewhere near the sound of running water, but
I could not locate it.