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Page 38
My view is--and it was formed, as is shown by my diary, before
my personal adventure--that in this part of England there is a
vast subterranean lake or sea, which is fed by the great number of
streams which pass down through the limestone. Where there is a
large collection of water there must also be some evaporation,
mists or rain, and a possibility of vegetation. This in turn
suggests that there may be animal life, arising, as the vegetable
life would also do, from those seeds and types which had been
introduced at an early period of the world's history, when
communication with the outer air was more easy. This place had
then developed a fauna and flora of its own, including such
monsters as the one which I had seen, which may well have been the
old cave-bear, enormously enlarged and modified by its new
environment. For countless aeons the internal and the external
creation had kept apart, growing steadily away from each other.
Then there had come some rift in the depths of the mountain which
had enabled one creature to wander up and, by means of the Roman
tunnel, to reach the open air. Like all subterranean life, it had
lost the power of sight, but this had no doubt been compensated for
by nature in other directions. Certainly it had some means of
finding its way about, and of hunting down the sheep upon the
hillside. As to its choice of dark nights, it is part of my theory
that light was painful to those great white eyeballs, and that it
was only a pitch-black world which it could tolerate. Perhaps,
indeed, it was the glare of my lantern which saved my life at that
awful moment when we were face to face. So I read the riddle. I
leave these facts behind me, and if you can explain them, do so; or
if you choose to doubt them, do so. Neither your belief nor your
incredulity can alter them, nor affect one whose task is nearly
over.
So ended the strange narrative of Dr. James Hardcastle.
The Brazilian Cat
It is hard luck on a young fellow to have expensive tastes, great
expectations, aristocratic connections, but no actual money in
his pocket, and no profession by which he may earn any. The fact
was that my father, a good, sanguine, easy-going man, had such
confidence in the wealth and benevolence of his bachelor elder
brother, Lord Southerton, that he took it for granted that I, his
only son, would never be called upon to earn a living for myself.
He imagined that if there were not a vacancy for me on the great
Southerton Estates, at least there would be found some post in
that diplomatic service which still remains the special preserve
of our privileged classes. He died too early to realize how
false his calculations had been. Neither my uncle nor the State
took the slightest notice of me, or showed any interest in my
career. An occasional brace of pheasants, or basket of hares,
was all that ever reached me to remind me that I was heir to
Otwell House and one of the richest estates in the country. In
the meantime, I found myself a bachelor and man about town,
living in a suite of apartments in Grosvenor Mansions, with no
occupation save that of pigeon-shooting and polo-playing at
Hurlingham. Month by month I realized that it was more and more
difficult to get the brokers to renew my bills, or to cash any
further post-obits upon an unentailed property. Ruin lay right
across my path, and every day I saw it clearer, nearer, and more
absolutely unavoidable.
What made me feel my own poverty the more was that, apart from
the great wealth of Lord Southerton, all my other relations were
fairly well-to-do. The nearest of these was Everard King, my
father's nephew and my own first cousin, who had spent an
adventurous life in Brazil, and had now returned to this country to
settle down on his fortune. We never knew how he made his money,
but he appeared to have plenty of it, for he bought the estate of
Greylands, near Clipton-on-the-Marsh, in Suffolk. For the
first year of his residence in England he took no more notice of me
than my miserly uncle; but at last one summer morning, to my very
great relief and joy, I received a letter asking me to come down
that very day and spend a short visit at Greylands Court. I was
expecting a rather long visit to Bankruptcy Court at the time, and
this interruption seemed almost providential. If I could only get
on terms with this unknown relative of mine, I might pull through
yet. For the family credit he could not let me go entirely to the
wall. I ordered my valet to pack my valise, and I set off the same
evening for Clipton-on-the-Marsh.
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