Out of the Silence (Sci-Fi Classic). Erle Cox

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СКАЧАТЬ words were on his lips, but words decreed by fate to remain unuttered in that hour.

      For the moment he had forgotten everything but the girl beside him, and the right hand relaxed its hold, and as it did a hare darted from the shadow of a log and flashed under Billy's nose. There came a swift jerk on the reins, and Alan recovered them in a flash, but too late.

      He set his teeth and strained his eyes into the patchy light to catch the first glimpse of dangers to avoid. Only once he turned to Marian. The rush of air had swept her hat back on her shoulders, and her hair was a flying cloud about her face. But in her eyes there was no trace of fear. "Don't mind me, Alan; I trust you absolutely."

      But for her presence he would almost have enjoyed the excitement, but the thought of danger to her turned his efforts to tightlipped savageness. He sawed Billy's leathery mouth as he had never done before, when, to his delight he felt Billy's mad rush falter. For the first time he had won in a straight-out fight, and though they took the curve on one wheel, by the time they came in sight of the white gate in the lane Billy was snorting angrily, but behaving like a normal animal otherwise.

      "I am sorry, so sorry, Marian. That was my fault," he said soberly; "I should have watched Billy more carefully." The girl turned slightly and rested her hand lightly on his sleeve. "Please, don't blame yourself, Alan. I want you to believe me when I tell you that all the time I felt perfectly safe, and I wouldn't have missed it for anything."

      Alan laughed grimly. "Precious little honour to me that I did. It is the first time that he has ever given in so soon." He reined Billy to a standstill at the gate, and as he did so a voice came from the shadow of the avenue beyond. "Is that you, lassie?" and there was a glow of a cigar in the darkness "Father!" she whispered. Then aloud, "Yes, father, Mr. Dundas has brought me home." The owner of the voice came forward into the light. "Oh! Dundas, come in, it's not too late for a glass of wine." Billy stirred uneasily and backed a little. "I'm afraid I cannot to-night. B.B.B. does not approve of late hours." He pressed Marian's hand tenderly as she rose. "Good night, Maid Marian," he said softly. "Good night, Alan. Oh! be careful going home," came the whispered answer. In a second she had jumped lightly to the ground. Billy half turned, and bored at the reins fretfully. Standing where the light fell full on her face, Marian looked up at him smiling. "Good night, Mr. Dundas, and thank you so much for the drive." Alan waved his hand as the dogcart turned with a jerk, and the next moment he was pelting down the lane homeward. Marian stood beside her father watching the two twinkling red stars as they disappeared in the distance. "Now that," said her father, "is a man, but I'm blessed if I like the horse. How did he behave on the way?" Marian slipped her arm round his shoulder, and looked up laughing. "If you will tell me whether you are referring to the man or the horse, I might be able to answer," she said. "Oh, lassie!" he said, taking her hand, and looking down at her fondly, "I think I'll inquire about both." Marian drew his head down and kissed him. "Daddy dear, as a judge of men and horses, I can honestly say that neither could have behaved better." Which, when one considers it, was a truly feminine answer. Nevertheless, she lay awake that night smiling happily with her thoughts.

      Fortunately for Alan, Billy's performance had taken the edge off his appetite for bolting that night at least, for with his thoughts in a state of chaos he paid little attention to either road or horse. That one glimpse of Marian's eyes as he had raised her hand to his lips had been a revelation, and he knew, although no word had passed between them, that he had awakened in her the love that until then he had known nothing of, and the wonder of it held him spellbound.

      He spent a longer time than usual rubbing Billy down after his arrival at 'Cootamundra,' and when he had finished he brought his hand down with a resounding whack on the back of the contentedly munching pony. "Billy, you little devil; I don't know whether I ought to shoot you, or pension you off on three feeds of oats a day. I must ask Marian." He walked over to the homestead, and looked at its darkened solitude distastefully.

      He unlocked his door, but in attempting to light his lamp found that it was empty, and spent five minutes striking matches to find a candle before he could refill it. He splashed his clothes with kerosene, and before he had finished his task he had declared to all his household gods that 'batching' was a rotten game.

      CHAPTER VI

       Table of Contents

      Dundas was feeling "Monday morningish." He over cooked his eggs and the bread he fried refused to crisp, and its doughiness and the extra annoyance of having let the water boil too long before making his tea started him on his day's work with a distinct feeling of dissatisfaction with the world.

      He knew he was shirking work, and owned up to himself. There was only one remedy, work itself. In his heart he felt that Marian could and would wait, and then he felt dissatisfied with himself that he could let it go at that. And so he turned to, and after a while his self-training asserted itself. By ten o'clock he had finished his walls, and when he came to make a start on the roof he had no room for thoughts foreign to the matter in hand.

      At last it was finished. When he had fitted a heavy towerbolt to his shed next day, Alan felt he could go on with the real work, and discover what was to be discovered without endangering his secret. It was with a feeling of intense satisfaction that he started again with pick and shovel, after clearing away the planks with which he had covered the spot where he had first found the archway. As his work advanced, his delving showed that the opening was about three feet wide, and was evidently recessed for a considerable depth; how far he did not at once try to ascertain. His first object was to clear the entire doorway. In order to give himself plenty of room, he sank a shaft about four feet square, having one of its sides formed by the door-pierced wall. It was no easy task, for the iron shed seemed to absorb all the sun's heat, while its doorway gave little light and less air. Indeed, it took him the whole day to sink seven feet, when, as he anticipated, his pick uncovered the foot of the entrance. By six o'clock next morning he was making his first tentative strokes with his pick in the doorway he had uncovered. On either side was the hard smooth surface of the wall showing a clearly defined three by seven opening, filled with almost brickhard clay, and on this he set to work with a will. He commenced by breaking it down well in the upper half, and in less than an hour found his progress barred by some obstacle that defied both pick and crowbar, at a depth of about eighteen inches. By no means discouraged, for he expected such a development, he continued to clear away the clay with undiminished vigour, and soon found that his advance had been stopped by a smooth surface, which, until he had completed its clearance, he decided not to examine. By midday his task was completed, and, on returning to work after lunch, he brought with him one of the acetylene lamps from his dogcart, for the light from the shed door was insufficient to reveal the interior of the recess where his work had ceased. When the white clear light was flashed inwards, he was for a while at a loss as to the real nature of the obstacle. The discoloration from the clay and the lapse of ages had tinted the whole to a dull red that made it appear as if the back were composed of the same rocklike cement as the walls. Kneeling in the archway Alan rubbed the surface with his moistened finger. In a moment the dry clay worked to a paste, and, as he continued rubbing, from the spot where he cleaned the clinging dust, there showed up the dull but unmistakable glow of bronze-like metal.

      "I've been a navvy; now I might as well turn charwoman," was his mental note on the situation. He armed himself with a scrubbing brush and a bucket of water, and by dint of much labour and splashing he thoroughly cleaned from every vestige of clay or grit the metal surface of the door, giving special attention to the corners. While he worked one fact was strongly forced on his mind. However long the metal had been in its place, the surface showed no sign of corrosion. From its absolutely unmarked smoothness it might to all appearances only have been erected a day. Although over and over again in breaking down the clay the point of his pick had come heavily against it, there was not even a scratch or dent left. Another point which puzzled him not a little was СКАЧАТЬ