The Human Chord | Page 5

of his
waistcoat as he looked keenly about him over the darkening landscape.
Treeless and desolate hills rose on all sides. A few tumbled-down
cottages of grey stone lay scattered upon the lower slopes among
patches of shabby and forlorn cultivation. Here and there an outcrop of
rock ran skywards into somber and precipitous ridges. The October
wind passed to and fro over it all, mournfully singing, and driving loose
clouds that seemed to drop weighted shadows among the peaks.
III
And it was here that Mr. Skale stopped abruptly, looked about him, and
then down at his companion.
"Bleak and lonely--this great spread of bare mountain and falling cliff,"
he observed half to himself, half to the other; "but fine, very, very fine."
He exhaled deeply, then inhaled as though the great draught of air was
profoundly satisfying. He turned to catch his companion's eye. "There's
a savage and desolate beauty here that uplifts. It helps the mind to
dwell upon the full sweep of life instead of getting dwarfed and lost
among its petty details. Pretty scenery is not good for the soul." And
again he inhaled a prodigious breastful of the mountain air. "This is."
"But an element of terror in it, perhaps, sir," suggested the secretary
who, truth to tell, preferred his scenery more smiling, and who, further,
had been made suddenly aware that in this somber setting of bleak and
elemental nature the great figure of his future employer assumed a
certain air of grandeur that was a little too awe-inspiring to be pleasant.
"In all profound beauty there must be that," the clergyman was saying;
"fine terror, I mean, of course--just enough to bring out the littleness of
man by comparison."
"Perhaps, yes," agreed Spinrobin. His own insignificance seemed

peculiarly apparent at that moment in contrast to Mr. Skale who had
become part and parcel of the rugged landscape. Spinrobin was a lost
atom whirling somewhere outside on his own account, whereas the
other seemed oddly in touch with it, almost merged and incorporated
into it. With those deep breaths the clergyman absorbed something of
this latent power about them--then gave it out again. It broke over his
companion like a wave. Elemental force of some kind emanated from
that massive human figure beside him.
The wind came tearing up the valley and swept past them with a rush as
of mighty wings. Mr. Skale drew attention to it. "And listen to that!" he
said. "How it leaps, singing, from the woods in the valley up to those
gaunt old cliffs yonder!" He pointed. His beard blew suddenly across
his face. With his bare head and shaggy flying hair, his big eyes and
bold aquiline nose, he presented an impressive figure. Spinrobin
watched him with growing amazement, aware that an enthusiasm
scarcely warranted by the wind and scenery had passed into his manner.
In his own person, too, he thought he experienced a birth of something
similar--a little wild rush of delight he was unable to account for. The
voice of his companion, pointing out the house in the valley below,
again interrupted his thoughts.
"How the mountains positively eat it up. It lies in their very jaws," and
the secretary's eyes, traveling into the depths, made out a cluster of grey
stone chimneys and a clearing in the woods that evidently represented
lawns. The phrase "courage and imagination" flashed unbidden into his
mind as he realized the loneliness of the situation, and for the
hundredth time he wondered what in the world could be the
experiments with sound that this extraordinary man pursued in this
isolated old mansion among the hills.
"Buried, sir, rather," he suggested. "I can only just see it--"
"And inaccessible," Mr. Skale interrupted him. "Hard to get at. No one
comes to disturb; an ideal place for work. In the hollows of these hills a
man may indeed seek truth and pursue it, for the world does not enter
here." He paused a moment. "I hope, Mr. Spinrobin," he added, turning
towards him with that gentle smile his shaggy visage sometimes wore,

"I hope you will not find it too lonely. We have no visitors, I mean;
nothing but our own little household of four."
Spinrobin smiled back. Even at this stage he admits he was exceedingly
anxious to suit. Mr. Skale, in spite of his marked peculiarities, inspired
him with confidence. His personal attraction was growing every minute;
that vague awe he roused probably only increased it. He wondered who
the "four" might be.
"There's nothing like solitude for serious work, sir," replied the younger
man, stifling a passing uneasiness.
And with that they plunged down the hillside into the valley, Mr. Skale
leading the way at a terrific pace, shouting out instructions and
warnings from time to time that