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^emea \4LL RIGHTS RESERVED.'] THE SNAKE'S PASS. -— » :— By BRAM STOKER, M.A. CHAPTER XVIII. A GRIM WABNING. 'u ¿ ¡I' ¡J/ calU^ ) and rnalt-ing planA for the \X But, ^ery dreary! uk m\ y £ -^T) 3 W" We did not Til MX *r' £ ° over on ^1* Yw & V rid Hah t'ie ^on<*ay> as we fciwff ^Sf\ that Joyce £ >-07 and Norah ^Sf\ that Joyce £ >-07 and Norah .5? get home until late in the evening, da* ?Qldbet'red- Early, however, on the Tr*« l r—Tuesday—we drove over. Joyce i °Qt, and Dick left me at the foot of the ^orah' ]*° w^en ^e k°u9t fou^d Tthhe dear &'rl showed me her new dresses Too mnch pride and presently going to her 111 PQt on one of them, and came baok to see how she looked.. Her face was adnf-r *ith blushes. Needless to say, that I new dress, aidid her father, who wfen came ia' j en she went away to take of* the dress beckoned me outside. When we got *J from the house be turned to me: his 0,5 *as very jrrave, and he seemed even <"Th*'gllteDed than angry. A«ereg somethin' I was tonld Trhil* 1 that I think ye ought to know." „ °n, Mr. Joyce!" oomebody has been-sayin' hard things '"Out Norah I" About ftorah! Surely there is nobody £ £ enough or bad enough to speak evil of *'There's wan!" He turned as he spoke, looked instinctively in the direction of ^Ufdook's bouse. Oh, Murdock! has he threatened—what hft say y "Y ? Well, I don't know. I could only get it ^*1 somebody was say in' somethin an that it would be well to have things so that no Wan could say any thin' that we couldn't Prove. It was a frind tonld me—and that's an he would tell f Mayhap he didn't, know Jhy more himself; but I kuew him to be a frind 1" Audit was a friendly act, Mr. Joyce, l *ve no doubt that Murdock has been sending [wicked lies about us all! But, thank 4 a a ^ew da7B we w' ^e moving, « doesn't matter muoh what he can do.' r it won't matter much in wan way. JJ* be'g not goin', all the same, to throw j.jn on me child. If he goes on I'll folly 1" v won't go °n, Wr. Joyce. Before long Tni T out of the neighbourhood altogether. Jte« yon the truth, I have bought the t Q°ie t>f b|8 1&nd and | get possession of it ?nn? £ rrow> and then I'll never let him set jv- **6re again. When once he is out of on h he WIll bave too much other wickednes3 tl„ to have time to meddle with us! ^n' hats thrue enough! Well well wait ca^e6^ happens—but we'll be mighty «< aH the same." os> i*Q,te right,"I said, we cannot be too bv>i5^ *n *Qoh a matter!" Then we went int" the house, and met Norah coming > room in her red petticoat, which she liked. She whispered to me! oh, so tv "fought, dear, you would like me to be to*J?d Norah to-day. It is our last day C^aer in the old way." Then hand-in- Dn it*e went down to the Cliff Fields, and sat 0" tbe table-rock for the last time, and feasted ^7es on the glorious ..prospect, whilst we «ach' other our bright dreams of the Qre. v 11 the autumn twilight weoame back to the a^?*eJ Di°k had in the meantime come in, i We both stayed for tea. I saw that t^iclc *d something to tell me, but he waited until 6 Were going home before he spoke. It was a sad parting with Norah that night, °f it was the last day together before shy off to school. For myself, I felt that ^atever might be in the future—and I hoped ?'r niuch—it was the last time that I might *>y the firelight with the old Norah. She, !2°> was sad, and when she told me the cause J W sadness I found th3t it was the same as ^°wn. 1g, ja'Qtl oh Arthur, my darling, T shall try f0r. 8"*U try to be worthy of my great good ar and of you! she said, as she put her °n '1-ound my neck, and, leaning her head «. T? k°»om, began to cry. Hid Norah. Hush, my darling I" I Joq" y°n must not say suoh things to me— life' *re worthy of all the good gifts of i niJ dearl my dear! I am only t,,Y dearl my dear I I am only «that you may be snatched away from me hajJ^108.terrible misfortune—1 shall not be you are safely away from the tfanin* this fateful mountain aud are be- ««rv ? new life." idorro/ °n° more ^ay' s^e 8a' We ,T We mu8t sett,e UP everything—and I k°W ir do for father—poor father W^ ah he is to me. Please God Arthur, *ll k:* he able some day to re-pay him for ayfftt igoodneas to me How inexpressibly >h*]j i'j Was to me to hear her say we Ah» fkle> as she nestled up oloae to me. of night! Ah! that night -the On tv he day when, for the last time, 1 sat lovgj6 table-rook with the old Norah that I *ho 1s0 WeH. it almost seemed as if Fate, ^°omOVv9 oontra,'i gl*re an" 'Rht made on purpose that day «o » and of such flawless happiness! <qfi*e went back to Carnaclif Dick void afu h*t had been exercising his mind all the t0TJ50°n. When he had got to the bog ho th0li„, Jhat it had risen so muoh that he Uoj.« 't well to seek the cause. He had dajj. ouoe to the place where Murdook had Clia,«P the stream that ran over into th<> an^ had found that the natural 1?' t'le SroQnd had so far aided 'lis hat the great stones thrown into *jhtf become solidified with the rubbi. h e new weight of the risen bog into a .e"8Q;e mass, and unless some heroic re> snch as blowing up the dam, sbould be taken, the bog would continue to risenntil it should flow over the loweat part of the solid banks containing it. "As sure as we are here, Art," Ile saiii, that man will do himself to death. I am convinced that if the present state of things goes on, with the bog at its present height, and with this terrible rainfall, there will be another shifting of the bog-and then, God help him, and perhaps others too! I -I-,old him of the danger, and explained it to hini- but he only laughed at me and called me a fool and a traitor-that I was doing it to prevent him getting his treasure--big treasure, forsooth !—and then he went again into those terrible blasphemies--so I oame away; but he ia a lost man, and I don't see how we can stop him." I said earnestly: "Dick, there's no danger to them—the Joyces—is there P" "ISo!" he answered, it not the -lightest— their house is on the rock, high over the spot, and quite away from any possible danger." Then we relapsed into silence, Ik we each tried to think out a solution. That night it rained more heavily th,¡,o ever. The downfall was almost tropical—as it can be on the West Coast-and the rain on the iron roof of the stable behind the hotel sounded like thunder; it war the last thing in my ears before I went to sleep. I That night again I kept dreaming—dream- ing in the same nightmare fashion is before. But although the working of my imagination centred round Knockoalltccrore and all it contained, and although I suffered dismal tortures from the hideous dreams of ruin and disaster which afflicted me, T did not on thrs occasion arouse the household, [n the morn ing when we met Dick looked at mv pal: face and said: 11 Dreaming again. Art! Well. please God, it's all nearly over now. One more da;t, and Norah will bo away from Knockcallte- crore." The thought gave me much relief. The next morning—on Thursday. th< '2Stb of October-we should be on our way to Galw* en route for London, whilst Dick would receive on my behalf possession of the property which I had purchased from Murdook. Indeed, his tenure ended at noon this very day. hut. we thought it wiser to postpone taking possession until after Norah had left. Although Norah s departure meant a long absence from the woman I loved, I could not regret it, for it was after all but a long road to the end I wished for. The two years would soon be over. And then I-and then life would begin in real earnest, and along its path. or sorrow as of joy Norah and I should walk with eoual steps. Alas! for dreaming! The dreams of the daylight are often more delusive than enD those born of the glamour of noonlight or starlight, or of the pitohy darkness c th* night i It bad been arranged that we were not on this day to go over to Knookoalltecrore. Norah and her father wanted tho day together. Miss Joyce, Norah'ff aunh. who usually had lived with them, was coming buok to look after the house. So after breakfast Dick and I smoked and lounged about, and went over some business matters, and we arranged many things to be done daring any absence. The rain stil) continued to pour down in a perfect delage-the roadway outside the hotel was running like a river, and the wind swept the rain-clouds so that the) dropc struck like bail. Every now and again, as the gusts gathered in force, the rain seemed to drive past like a sheet of water; and,looking out of the window, we could see dripping men and women trying to make headway against the storm. Dick said to me: n If this rain holds on much longer i* will be a bad job for Murdock. There is IOvery fear that if the bog should break undeu the flooding he will suffer at once. Whaft an obstinate fool he in-he. won't take any warn- ing I almost feel like a oriminal in letting him go to bis death-roffian though be in. and yet what can one do? We are all power- less if anything should happen." After this we were silent. I fpokp the next: Tell me, Diok, is there any euthly possi- bility of any harm coming to Joyce'? house in case the bog should shift again ? is it quite certain that they are all safe ? "Quite certain, old fellow. You may set your mind at rest on that score. In so far as the bog is concerned, she and her father are in no danger. The only way they could run any risk of danger would be by their going to Murdook's house, or by being by chance lower down on the hill, and I do not think that such a thing is likely to happen." This set my mind more at ease, and while Dick sat down to write some letter? I conti- nued to look at the rain. By and bye I went down to the tap-room, where there 4were always a lot of peasants, whose quaint speeoh amused and interested me. When I came in one of their, whom I recognised as one of our navvies at Knook- nacar, was telling something, for the others all stood round him. Andy was the first, to see me, and said as I entered: Ye'll have to go over it al» agin, Mue, Here's his an'r, that is just death on to bogs- an' the like," he added, looking at me slyly. What is it ? I asked. Oh, not much, yer 'an' except that the bog up at Knocknacar has run away intirely, Whin the wather rose in it, the big outtin' we med tuk it all out, like buttermilk out iv a jug. Begor there never was seen such a flittin' since the wurrld begun. An' more be- token, the quare part of it is that it hasn't left the bit iv a hole behind it at all, but it' all mud an' wather at the prisint minit. I knew this would interest Dick exceed- ingly, so I went for him. When he heard it he got quite excited, and insisted that we should off to Knocknacar at once. Accordingly, Andy was summoned, the mare was harnessed, and, with what protection we could get in the way of wraps, we went off to fenock- naoar through the rainstorm. As we went along wa got some idea of the. damage done and being done by the wonder- ful rainfall. Not only the road was like a river, and the mountain streams were roaring torrents, but in places the road was flooded to such a dangerous depth that we dared not have attempted the passage only that, through our repeated journeys, we all knew the road "^However, ws got at last to Knock- nacar, and there found that the state- ment we heard was quite true, lh* boe had been flooded to suoh a degree that it had burst out through the cutting which we had made, and had poured I in a great stream over all the sloping moor- land on which we had opened it. The brown bog and black mud lying all over the stony space looked like one of the lava streams which mark the northern side of Vesuvius. Dick went most carefully all over the ground wherever we could venture, and took a num- ber of notes. Indeed, the day was beginning to draw in, when, dripping and ohilled, we prepared for our return journey through the rain. Andy had not been wasting his time in the shebeen, and was in one of his most jocular humours, and when we too were forti- fied with steaming hot punch we were able to listen to his fun without wanting to kill him. On the journey back, Dick—when Andy allowed him speech—explained to me the various phenomena which we had noticed. When we got back to the hotel it was night. Had the weather been fine we might have ex- pected a couole more hours of twilight j but with the mass of driving clouds overhead, and the steady downpour of rain, and the fierce rush of the wind, there was left to us not the slightest suggestion of day. We went to bed early, for I bad to riso by daylight for our journey on the morrow. After lying awake for some time listening to the roar of the storm and the dash of the rain, and wondering if it were to go on for ever, I sank into a troubled sleep. It seemed to me that all the nightmares which had individually afflicted me during the last week returned to assail me collec- tively on the present occasion. I was a aort of Mazeppa in the world of dreams. Again and again the fatal hill and all its mystic and terrible associations haunted me!—again the snakes writhed around and took terrible forms! Again she I loved was in peril Again Murdock seemed to arise in new form" of terror and wickedness I Again the lost treasure was sought under terrible condi- tions and once again I seemed to sit on tha table-rock with Norah and to see the whole mountain rush down on us in a dread avalanche and turn to myriad snakes as it came 1 And again Norah seemed to oall to me, flelp I help I Arthur 1 Save me! Save meAnd again, as was most natural, I found myself awake on the floor of my room, though this time I did not scream -wet and quivering with some nameless terror, and with Norah's despairing cry in my ears. But even in the first instant of my awaken- ing I had taken a resolution which forthwith I proceeded to carry into effect. These ter- rible di-eams-whenoesopver they came- must not have come in vain. The grim warning must not be despised Norah was in danger, and I must go to her at All hazards t I threw on my clothes and went and woke Dick. When J. told him my intention he jumped up at once and began to dress, whilst [ ran downstairs and found Andy, and set him to get out the car at once. "Is it goin' out agin in the sbtorm ye are ? Begor ve'd not go widout some rayson, In' I'm not the bhoy to be behiud whin ye want me. I'll be ready, yer' an'r, in two .kips iv a dead salmon!" and Andy proceeded to make, or rather complete, his toilet, and hur- ried out to the stable to get the car ready. In the meantime Dick had got two lanterns and a dash, and showed them *o me. We may as well have them with up. We do not know what we may Nlaiit in thia :tor'n.' It was now past one o'clock, and the night was pitchy dark. The rain still fell, and high overhead we could hear the ceaseless rushing of the wind. It was a luoky thing that both Andy and the mare knew the road thoroughly, for otherwise we never could have got on that night. As it was, we had to go much more slowly ihan "Ve had ever gone before. I wao in a perfect fever. Eyery seoond's delay seemed to me like *n aour, I feared- nay, mow, I had a deep conviction-that sorre dreadful thing was happening, and 1 bad over me a terrible dread that we should arrive too late. As we drew closer to the mountain and recognised our whereabouts by the various landmarks my dread seemed to grow. The night waa now well on, and there were signs of the storm abating; occasionally the wind would fall, off a little, and the rain beat witb less dreadful violence. In such moments some kind of light would be seen in the sky—or, to speak more correctly, the darkness would be less complete -and then the new squall which followed would seem by contrast with the calm to smite us with renewed violence. In one of these lulls we saw for an instant the mountain rise before us, its bold outline being shown darkly against a sky less black. But the vision was swept away in an instant after by a squall and a cloud of blinding rain, leaving only a dreadful memory of some field, or grim disaster. Then we went on ourway even more hopelessly; for earth and aky, whioh in that brief instant we had been able to dis- tinguish, were now hidden under one unutter- able pall of gloom. fi On we went slowly. There was now in the air a thunderous feeling, and we expected each moment to be startled by the lightning's flash or the roar of heaven's artillery. Masses of mist or sea fog now began to be borne landward by the passing squalls. In the time that elapsed between that one momentary glimpse of Knookcalltecrore aud our arrival at the foot of the boreen a whole lifetime seemed to me to have elapsed, and in my thoughts and harrowing anxieties I recalled- as drowning men are said to do before death -every moment, every experience since I had first come within sight of the western sea. The blackness of my fears seemed only a carrying inward of the surrounding darkness, which was made more pronounced by the flickering of our lanterns, and more dread by the souuds of the tempest with whioh it was laden. When we stopped in the boreen, Dick and I hurried up the hill, whilst Andy, with whom we left one of the lanterns, drew the horse under the comparative shelter of the wind-swept alders which lined the entrance to the lane. He wanted a short rest before proceeding to Mrs. Kelligan's, where he was to stop the remainder of the night, so as to be able to come for us in the morning. As we came near Murdock's oottage Dick pressed my arm. Look!" he called to me, putting his mouth to my ear so that I could hear him, for the storm swept the hill fiercely here, and a special current of wind came whirling up through the Shleenanaher. Look! he is up even at this hour. There must be some villainy afloat! When we got up a little farther he called to me again in the same way. -1 The nearest point to the bog is here; let us look at it." We diverged to the left, and in a few minutes were down at the edge of the bog. It seemed to us to be different from what it had been. It was raised considerably above its normal height, and seemed quivering all over in a very strange way. Dick said to me very gravely: We are just in time. There's something going to happen here." H Let us hurry to Joyoe's," I said, and see if all is safe there." is We should warn them first at Murdock's, he said. There may not be a moment to lose." We hurried back to the boreen and ran on to Murdock's, opened the gate, and ran up the path. We knocked at the door, but there was no answer. We knocked more loudly still, but there came no reply. is We had better make certain," said Dick, and I could hear him more easily now, for we were in the shelter of the porch. We opened the door, which was only on the latch, and went in. In the kitchen a candle was burning, and the fire on the hearth was blazing, so that it could not have been long since the inmates had left. Dick wrote a line of warning in his pocket-book, tore out the leaf, and placed it on the table where it could not fail to be seen by any one entering the room. We then hurried out and up the lane to Joyce's. As we drew near we wore surprised to find a light in Joyce's window also. I got to the windward side of Dick, aud shouted to him: If A light here, also t there must be some- thing strange going on." We hurried as fast as we could up to the house. As we drew olose the door was opened, and through a momentary lull we heard the voice of Miss Joyoe, Norah's aunt:- Is that you, Norah ? No," I answered. Oh! is it you, Mr. Arthur? Thank God ye've come! I'm in such terror about Phelim an' Norah. They are both out in the shtorm, an' I'm nigh disthraoted about them." By this time we were in the house, and oould hear each other speak, although not too well even here, for again the whole force of the gale struok the front of the house and the noise was great. çt Where is Norah ? Is she not here?" "Oh, no! God help us! Wirrastru! wirrastru I" The poor woman was in such a state of agitation and abject terror that it was with some difficulty we could learn from her enough to understand what had occurred. The suspense of trying to get her to speak intelligibly was agonising, for now every moment was preoious; but we could not do anything or make any effort whatever until we had learned all that had occurred. At last, however, it was conveyed to us that early in the evening Joyce had gone out to look after the cattle, and had not since re- turned. Late at night old Moynahan had come to the door half drunk, and hiccoughed a message that Joyce had met with an accident and was then in Murdock's house.! He wanted Norah to go to him there, but Norah only was to go and no one else. She had at once suspected that it was some trap of Murdock's for some evil purpose, but still she thought it better to go, and accordingly called to Hector, the mastiff, to come with her, she remarking™ her aunt, I am safe with him, at any rate." But Hector did not come. He had been restless, and groaning for an hour before, and now on looking for him they had found him dead. This helped to confirm Norah's suspicions, and the two poor women were in an agony of doubt as to what they should do. Whilst they were discussing the matter Moynahan had returned -this time even drunker than before-and repeated his message, but with evident reluo- tanoe. Norah had accordingly set to work to cross-examine him, and after a while he admitted that Joyce was not in Murdook's house at all-that he had been sent with the message and told when he had delivered it to go away to Mother Kelligan's and not to tell anything whatever of the night's proceedings -no matter what might happen or what might be said. When he had admitted this much he had been so overcome with fright at what he had done that he began to cry and moan, and say that Murdook would kill him for telling on him. Norah told him he oould remain in the cottage where he was, if he would tell her where her father was, so that she could go to look for him; but he said that he had sworn most solemnly that he did not know, but that Murdook knew, for he told him that there would be no chance of seeing him at his own house for hours yet that night. This had determined Norah that she would go out herself, although the storm was raging wildly, to look for her father. Moynahan, however, would not stay in the oottage, as he said he would be afraid to, un- less Joyce himself were there to protect him, for if there were no one but women in the house Murdook would come and murder him and throw his body into the bog, as he bad often threatened. So Moynahan had gone out into the night by himself, and Norah had shortly after gone out also, and from that moment she-Miss Joyce-had not set eyes on her, and feared that some harm had hap- pened. This the poor sou, told us in such an agony of dread and grief that it was pitiful to hear her, and we could but forgive the terrible delay. I was myself in deadly fear, for every kind of harrowing possibility rose before me as the tale was told. Jt was quite evident that Murdook was bent on some desperate scheme of evil; he ølther intended to mur- der Norah or to oompromiM in lome terrible way. I was almost afraid to think of the subjeot. It was plain to me that by this means he hoped, not only to gratify his revenge, but to gee some lever to use against us, one and all, so as to secure his efforts in searohing for the treasure. In my rage against the cowardly hound, I almost lost sight of the need for thankfulness for one great peril avoided. .11 However, there was no time at present for further thought-aotion, prompt and decisive, was vitally necessary. Joyce was absent-we had no clue as to where he could be. Norah was alone on the mountain, and with the possibility of Murdook assailing her, for he, too, was abroad-as we knew from the f&ot of his being away from his house. We lost not a moment, but went out again into the storm. We did not, however, take the lantern with us, as we found by experience that its occasional light was in the long run an evil, as we ooold not by its light see any distance, and the grey of the coming dawn was beginning to show through the abating storm, with a faint indication that before long we should have some light. (To be continued.)