Part 3
To apply to their churlish neighbor would, they feared, only lead to quarrelling, and to avoid this Mr. M. got over the hedge late at night, and going quietly to the tree where the little rabbit was dangling in the moonlight, he cut it down. But as he was returning across the orchard a loud wild cry was heard, and Mrs. M. who from the cottage-porch had been all the time anxiously watching her husband’s movements and waiting for his return, saw the Bear of the Amstel run furiously among the trees and seize her husband by the arms. Weak in health and terrified by the unearthly cry and furious gestures of the madman, she sank fainting on the ground, and saw no more.
When she again recovered her senses, she found herself on a sofa and her husband bending over her, his pale agitated features telling that he had been sorely disturbed. His explanation was this: after he had cut down the dead rabbit and before returning to his own side of the hedge, he looked around to enjoy the quiet moonlight scene.
His neighbor’s house seemed all shut up for the night, no light was visible save that of the moon riding high in the heavens, and casting the shadows of the trees upon the grass, and the faint murmur of the Amstel flowing near, was the only sound that broke the stillness that reigned in that rural spot, so refreshing to the worn mind and body of one who was daily in the midst of the rush and roar of the busy city.
Thinking of the contrast between the hush of sleeping nature, and the turmoil of the restless world, he forgot for the moment that he was trespassing, when, as he turned to leave, he was painfully reminded of the fact by a startling sight that suddenly met his gaze.
There, near the hedge where the old apple-tree stood, and leaning against a beech, motionless as a statue, his pallid features made more pallid in the moonlight, and his eyes gleaming like coals of living fire, stood the tall form of the Bear of the Amstel evidently unconscious of his presence, and indeed of everything else save some deep-seated anguish that burned in his eyes, and worked in his haggard face. Spellbound, Mr. M. stood rooted to the spot, when he saw the old man raise his long lean arms, and, pointing to the old apple tree which he had been fixedly regarding, exclaim, in deep despairing tones:
“There, there, he stood! there he died—O, my son, my son!”
There was such an expression of utter hopeless misery in the tone and whole action of the poor man, that Mr. M. was filled with compassion, and his first thought was to hasten towards him, but remembering that he had no right in the orchard, and that his appearance at that late hour (for it was past midnight) would either alarm or exasperate his strange neighbor, he began to make his way as quietly as he could towards his own garden.
But although he made no noise, his movements attracted the man’s attention, and, as I have already told you, he darted among the trees with a wild fierce cry, and seized him by the arms, while his eyes gleamed with insanity, and it was plain that he was quite beside himself. Pointing to the old apple-tree, while he held his neighbor’s arm with a trembling grip, he whispered hoarsely,
“See, see, yonder he stands! and there, see! his little friend is with him!” then, covering his face with both hands, he wailed piteously.
Mr. M. tried in vain to comfort or restore him to reason; but, after a while, as he continued to speak, he seemed to regain consciousness, and, turning angrily on him, demanded what he did there, and whether he had come to inform the police of him. Then, breaking out into a fury, his features became terribly distorted, and striking Mr. M. violently, he roared,
“Be off with you! Be off, you spy!”
“Mr. Vilers,” said the latter, calmly, “I have no such intentions as you suppose, but would far rather help and comfort you if I could. The Lord Jesus Christ offers forgiveness to the worst of sinners, and whatever be your crime, He will not cast you out. From what you say, you seem to have lost your son by death?”
Scarcely had his son been mentioned, than his fury vanished as suddenly as it had arisen, and stretching his arms towards the old apple tree, which seemed somehow connected in his mind with his lost boy, he cried in bitter tones, “My son, my son!” and sank exhausted to the ground in a swoon.
Mr. M. was too much exhausted from his recent struggle with the poor maniac to raise him from the ground, and therefore hastened to arouse the old housekeeper, who, as soon as she understood what was the matter, hurriedly dressed herself, and followed to the orchard, wringing her hands in deep distress. Between them they managed to carry the old man to his house, and lay him on the bed, where, after some difficulty, they succeeded in restoring consciousness; but he no sooner became aware of the presence of a stranger, than his fury began to return, and Mr. M. thought it best to leave him.
“I fear,” said he to his wife, “that nothing can be done to help this unhappy man. Some terrible cause of distress appears to dwell on his mind, and drive him at times into fury.”
“With God all things are possible,” she replied, “and He in His infinite good-ness may yet point out a way in which one object with which we came here may he attained.”
To be Continued.
ML 05/28/1933