CHAPTER XVII.DOCTOR COPICUS.
Howlong I lay in the swoon I know not; but, on my coming out of it, a strange, shrill voice sounded in my ears.
I looked up, to behold a man who stood by the side of a settee whereon I lay. He was a very tall, lean, aged man, dressed in a scarlet robe; and I knew him: ’twas he whom the Englishman had called the Doctor. I was fallen into the hands of the Master of the Haunted Island!
The place was a little chamber, or cell, of stone. There was another there, and him, also, I recognised from the Englishman’s account; a young man, slender and pale, habited in black—who but the secretary, Ambrose?
The Doctor observed me. “So!” said he softly, “The spirit hath returned to his ark of flesh. He hath returned void.... No slightest olive-branch of knowledge....”
He smiled on me; then, beckoning Ambrose after him, he went stoopingly from the place, the door shutting to upon them almost without sound.
I looked about me. The cell was plainly but handsomely furnished, the settee whereon I layhaving coverings of China silk, wrought in many colours with pictures of dragons. A little table of cedar stood beside. The floor was covered with a mat of grasses, woven in strands of red and green. There was no lamp; the light, which was bright as day, proceeding I knew not whence. The cell was provided with air, it appeared, by a row of round holes, the size of musket-bores, pierced along the walls.
Soon Ambrose returned, bearing upon a salver a dainty repast of fish, fowl, and fruit; and, having set it down upon the little table, he asked me pleasantly how I did.
“Very well, I thank you,” said I, “but you, Ambrose, do scarce look as hearty as you ought, dwelling, as you do, in the Promised Land!”
He stared at me, then laughed a shrill laugh.
“So you know of us,” said he, “who told you? Ouvery?”
“No,” said I, “but another.”
“Another? and who was he? But tell me, pray, how Ouvery died. He was a notable villain.”
“He was so,” said I. “But who told you that he was dead?”
“Why,” said he, “the Doctor had it from one of your men.”
“They are, then, fallen into his hands?” said I.
“They have joined us,” said he. “The Doctor spoke with them whilst you and your Indian were gone away into the island, and they came over to us.”
“He must be a wondrous talker, then,” said I. “He must have——”
“A golden tongue,” said he.
“But what of the Indian?” said I. “He is not dead?”
“Nay, we found him with you in the boat. Both of you lay swooning; but the Indian revived apace, and is now with the rest of your company.”
On that a phantom hope came upon my mind, and I said:
“Is my brother.... Is the Captain alive also?”
“I do not know,” said Ambrose; but I thought he lied to me, and I said hotly:
“He was foully murdered in this evil——”
“Soft! soft!” said he, cutting me short, “if you will take my counsel,” said he in a low voice, “you’ll chasten your tongue. If the Doctor had heard you, you’ld not have an hour to live! And let me tell you, death is most dreadful here!”
I shuddered; but tried to conceal it, asking quickly:
“What manner of man is Doctor Copicus? Is he a magician? Is the island enchanted? What do you here?”
But he answered:
“I may not tell you these things. The Doctor will do so in his own good time. And I stay too long. Farewell. For the present, farewell.”
And, deaf to the importunities that I made, he rose and went from the cell.
I reckoned up what I had learnt. ’Twas but little. One mystery, indeed, was resolved: that of the deserted ship. But of the island and its Master (save his name), I had learnt nothing. It did appear, however, that the presence of the man Ouvery amongst us at our first setting out, was known to Doctor Copicus; whence, in all probability, it followed he was by him sent to my brother, to ensnare him and to occasion the mutiny and our voyaging hither.
But to what end? What motives had persuaded Doctor Copicus to cause the coming of a renegade King’s ship? Perhaps, I thought, he might want the ship, her ordnance, her men.
I next turned my thoughts upon the ghostly figure that had frighted us. Was it supernatural? Sure it must be! For what cunning, short of sorcery, could possibly have contrived that horrible and diabolical appearance? Nay, had the thing been contrived by Doctor Copicus to terrify us, how was it feasible that he wished to frighten us away, after (by my surmise) having enticed us to the island?
I was deep in these cogitations, when, on a sudden, a shadow and a fear fell upon me; and, looking round, I saw that Doctor Copicus again stood within the cell. I met his gaze—but could not support it, so searching was it.
“So, my lad,” said he, in mild and gentle tones, “hast made a good recovery. A sound mind in a sound body nature mends apace. Welcome, Francis Clayton, welcome to the Promised Land!”
“Sir,” replied I, “I thank you, but ask your pardon if I know not what you mean by the Promised Land.”
“Ha! and yet I supposed you not utterly unversed in Holy Writ!”
But a sudden anger for the man came upon me as I recalled my brother’s death, and I said passionately:
“But what hath Holy Writ, forsooth, to do with an island in the South Sea, and a horde of cut-throat pirates?”
I was mad to have said it! A spasm crossed the face of Doctor Copicus, and left it terrible. His hands shook. He was silent, and the silence was to me as the gathering of doom.
“Durst—durst insult me!” cried he at last, hissing out the words, “Durst insult my disciples and my work? Durst outbrave me, ye viper? I’ll cure you! Ha!”
He took a step towards the door; but a sudden faintness came over him. He staggered, and had fallen; but I sprang forward and bore him up, supporting him to the settee. He lay there heavily and still.
The countenance of the Doctor looked very old and haggard then, and white as the venerable locks that fell straggling upon his lofty forehead. His eyes were dim; his breathing came in gasps. Verily I thought his hour was come. But, while I stood wondering how the death of the man would work on my fortunes, a change came over him. He fetched a deep breath, and his brows drew together. He made, as I could see, amighty effort of his will. He collected his powers. He rose up from the settee, standing firmly upon his feet!
It was masterful; it was magnificent. The man, who, but a moment past, had been, as it should seem, upon the threshold of death, did now stand up with the vigour of an iron strength! But his anger was passed, and he said even gently as he turned to me:
“Lad, why do you vex me, courting death, and worse than death? My intents towards you are fair, and fairer than you could possibly imagine. Hearken! I would give you riches, and fame, and knowledge—the knowledge that lieth at the door of life!”
But hereupon Ambrose returned; the Doctor spoke to him briefly in the Latin tongue, and betook himself from the cell.