Wish to God the amberlance----"

Her cry cut into his words as she flung herself forward. Her fingers
wrenched at the key of the locked door and turned it, in spite of the
detaining hands that seemed light as leaves upon her shoulder, and as
easily shaken off. Unhearing, unheeding, she forced her way into the
glare of electric light flooding the little room--beating down on to the
table and its sheeted burden. Before she reached it, knowledge had
dropped upon her like a mantle. Her face was grey as the one from which she drew the merciful coverings,
but her eyes went fearlessly to that which she sought. Against the rough tweed of the shoulder lay a long, corn-gold hair. VI

THE GOTH


Young Cargill smiled as Mrs. Lardner finished her account. "And do you really think that the fact that the poor chap was drowned
had anything to do with it?" he asked. "Why, you admit yourself that he
was known to have been drinking just before he fell out of his boat!" "You may say what you like," returned his hostess impressively, "but
since first we came to live at Tryn yr Wylfa only four people besides
poor Roberts have defied the Fates, and each of them was drowned within
the year. "They were all tourists," she added with something suspiciously like
satisfaction. "I am not a superstitious man myself," supplemented the Major. "But you
can't get away from the facts, you know, Cargill." Cargill said no more. He perceived that they had lived long enough in
retirement in the little Welsh village to have acquired a pride in its
legend. The legend and the mountains are the two attractions of Tryn yr
Wylfa--the official guidebook devotes an equal amount of space to each. It will tell you that the bay, across which the quarry's tramp steamers
now sail, was once dry land on which stood a village. Deep in the water
the remains of this village can still be seen in clear weather. But
whosoever dares to look upon them will be drowned within the year. A
local publication gives full details of those who have looked--and
perished. The legend had received an unexpected boom in the drowning of Roberts,
which had just occurred. Roberts was a fisherman who had recently come
from the South. One calm day in February he had rowed out into the bay
in fulfilment of a drunken boast. He was drowned three days before
Midsummer. After dinner young Cargill forgot about it. He forgot almost everything
except Betty Lardner. But, oddly enough, as he walked back to the hotel
it was just Betty Lardner who made him think again of the legend. He was
in love, and, being very young, wanted to do something insanely heroic. To defy the Fates by looking on the sunken village was an obvious outlet
for heroism. He must have thought a good deal about it before he fell asleep, for he
remembered his resolution on the following morning. After breakfast he sauntered along the brief strip of asphalt which the
villagers believe to be a promenade. He was not actually thinking of the
legend; to be precise, he was thinking of Betty Lardner, but he was
suddenly reminded of it by a boatman pressing him for his custom. "Yes," he said abruptly. "I will hire your boat if you will row me out
to the sunken village. I want to look at it." The Welshman eyed him suspiciously, perceived that he was not joking,
and shook his head. "Come," persisted Cargill, "I will make it a sovereign if you care to do
it." "Thank you, but indeed, no, sir," replied the Welshman. "Not if it wass
a hundred sofereigns!" "Surely you are not afraid?" "It iss not fit," retorted the Welshman, turning on his heel. It was probably this opposition that made young Cargill decide that it
would be really worth while to defy the legend. He did not approach the only other boatman. He considered the question
of swimming. The knowledge that the distance there and back was nearly
five miles did not render the feat impossible, for he was a champion
swimmer. But he soon thought of a better way. He went back to the hotel and
sought out Bissett. Bissett was a fellow member of the Middle Temple, as
contentedly briefless as himself. And Bissett possessed a motor-boat. Bissett was not exactly keen on the prospect. "Don't you think it is rather a silly thing to do?" he reasoned. "Of
course it's all rot in a way--it must be. But isn't it just as well to
treat that sort of thing with respect?" Eventually he agreed to take the motor-boat to within a few hundred
yards of the spot. They would tow a dinghy, in which young Cargill could
finish the journey. It took young Cargill half-an-hour to find the spot. But he did find it,
and he did look upon, and actually see, all that remained of the sunken
village. He felt vaguely ashamed of himself when he returned to dry land. He
noticed that several of the villagers gave him unfriendly glances; and
he resolved that he would say nothing of the matter to the Lardners. They were having tea on the lawn when he dropped in. He thought that
Mrs. Lardner's welcome was a trifle chilly. After tea Betty executed a
quite deliberate man[oe]uvre to avoid having him for a partner at
tennis. But he ran her to earth later, when they were picking up the
balls. "How _could_ you?" was all she said. "I--I didn't know you knew," he stammered weakly. "Of course everybody knows! It was all over the village before you
returned. "Can't you see what that legend meant to us?" she went on. "It was a
thing of beauty. And now you have spoilt it. It's like burning down the
trees of the Fairy Glen. You--you _Goth_!" "But suppose I am drowned before the year is out--like Roberts?" he
suggested jocularly. "Then I will forgive you," she said. And to Cargill it sounded exactly
as if she meant what she said. A few days later he returned to town. For six months he thought little
about the legend. Then he was reminded of it. He had been spending a week-end at Brighton. On the return journey he
had a first-class smoker in the rear of the train to himself. Towards
the end of the hour he dozed and dreamt of the day he had looked on the
sunken village. He was awakened when the train made its usual stop on
the bridge outside Victoria. It had been a pleasant dream, and he was still trying to preserve the
illusion when his eye fell lazily on the window, and he noticed that
there was a dense fog. "Bit rough on the legend that I happened to be a Londoner!" he mused. "It isn't easy to drown a man in town!" He stood up with the object of removing his dressing-case from the rack. But before he reached it there was the shriek of a whistle, a violent
shock, and he was hurled heavily into the opposite seat. It was not a collision in the newspaper sense of the word. No one was
hurt. A local train, creeping along at four miles an hour, had simply
missed its signal in the fog and bumped the Brighton train. Young Cargill, in common with most other passengers put his head out of
the window. He saw nothing--except the parapet of the bridge. "By God!" he muttered.