overhanging the banks of Loch Malcolm, had suddenly given way and opened
without explosion, disclosing a profound abyss, into which the waters
were now wildly plunging.
In another instant, among the shattered rocks and rushing waves appeared
a canoe, which a vigorous arm propelled along the surface of the lake.
In the canoe was seen the figure of an old man standing upright. He was
clothed in a dark mantle, his hair was dishevelled, a long white beard
fell over his breast, and in his hand he bore a lighted Davy safety
lamp, the flame being protected by the metallic gauze of the apparatus.
In a loud voice this old man shouted, “The fire-damp is upon you!
Woe--woe betide ye all!”
At the same moment the slight smell peculiar to carburetted hydrogen was
perceptibly diffused through the atmosphere. And, in truth, the fall
of the rock had made a passage of escape for an enormous quantity of
explosive gas, accumulated in vast cavities, the openings to which had
hitherto been blocked up.
Jets and streams of the fire-damp now rose upward in the vaulted dome;
and well did that fierce old man know that the consequence of what he
had done would be to render explosive the whole atmosphere of the mine.
James Starr and several others, having hastily quitted the chapel, and
perceived the imminence of the danger, now rushed back, crying out in
accents of the utmost alarm, “Fly from the mine! Fly instantly from the
mine!”
“Now for the fire-damp! Here comes the fire-damp!” yelled the old man,
urging his canoe further along the lake.
Harry with his bride, his father and his mother, left the chapel in
haste and in terror.
“Fly! fly for your lives!” repeated James Starr. Alas! it was too late
to fly! Old Silfax stood there, prepared to fulfill his last dreadful
threat--prepared to stop the marriage of Nell and Harry by overwhelming
the entire population of the place beneath the ruins of the coal mine.
As he stood ready to accomplish this act of vengeance, his enormous
owl, whose white plumage was marked with black spots, was seen hovering
directly above his head.
At that moment a man flung himself into the waters of the lake, and swam
vigorously towards the canoe.
It was Jack Ryan, fully determined to reach the madman before he could
do the dreadful deed of destruction.
Silfax saw him coming. Instantly he smashed the glass of his lamp, and,
snatching out the burning wick, waved it in the air.
Silence like death fell upon the astounded multitude. James Starr, in
the calmness of despair, marvelled that the inevitable explosion was
even for a moment delayed.
Silfax, gazing upwards with wild and contracted features, appeared
to become aware that the gas, lighter than the lower atmosphere, was
accumulating far up under the dome; and at a sign from him the owl,
seizing in its claw the lighted match, soared upwards to the vaulted
roof, towards which the madman pointed with outstretched arm.
Another second and New Aberfoyle would be no more.
Suddenly Nell sprang from Harry’s arms, and, with a bright look of
inspiration, she ran to the very brink of the waters of the lake.
“Harfang! Harfang!” cried she in a clear voice; “here! come to me!”
The faithful bird, surprised, appeared to hesitate in its flight.
Presently, recognizing Nell’s voice, it dropped the burning match into
the water, and, describing a wide circle, flew downwards, alighting at
the maiden’s feet.
Then a terrible cry echoed through the vaulted roofs. It was the last
sound uttered by old Silfax.
Just as Jack Ryan laid his hand on the edge of the canoe, the old man,
foiled in his purpose of revenge, cast himself headlong into the waters
of the lake.
“Save him! oh, save him!” shrieked Nell in a voice of agony. Immediately
Harry plunged into the water, and, swimming towards Jack Ryan, he dived
repeatedly.
But his efforts were useless. The waters of Loch Malcolm yielded not
their prey: they closed forever over Silfax.
CHAPTER XIX. THE LEGEND OF OLD SILFAX
Six months after these events, the marriage, so strangely interrupted,
was finally celebrated in St. Giles’s chapel, and the young couple, who
still wore mourning garments, returned to the cottage. James Starr
and Simon Ford, henceforth free from the anxieties which had so long
distressed them, joyously presided over the entertainment which followed
the ceremony, and prolonged it to the following day.
On this memorable occasion, Jack Ryan, in his favorite character of
piper, and in all the glory of full dress, blew up his chanter, and
astonished the company by the unheard of achievement of playing,
singing, and dancing all at once.
It is needless to say that Harry and Nell were happy. These loving
hearts, after the trials they had gone through found in their union the
happiness they deserved.
As to Simon Ford, the ex-overman of New Aberfoyle, he began to talk of
celebrating his golden wedding, after fifty years of marriage with good
old Madge, who liked the idea immensely herself.
“And after that, why not golden wedding number two?”
“You would like a couple of fifties, would you, Mr. Simon?” said Jack
Ryan.
“All right, my boy,” replied the overman quietly, “I see nothing against
it in this fine climate of ours, and living far from the luxury and
intemperance of the outer world.”
Will the dwellers in Coal Town ever be called to witness this second
ceremony? Time will show. Certainly the strange bird of old Silfax
seemed destined to attain a wonderful longevity. The Harfang continued
to haunt the gloomy recesses of the cave. After the old man’s death,
Nell had attempted to keep the owl, but in a very few days he flew away.
He evidently disliked human society as much as his master had done, and,
besides that, he appeared to have a particular spite against Harry. The
jealous bird seemed to remember and hate him for having carried off Nell
from the deep abyss, notwithstanding all he could do to prevent him.
Still, at long intervals, Nell would see the creature hovering above
Loch Malcolm.
Could he possibly be watching for his friend of yore? Did he strive to
pierce, with keen eye, the depths which had engulfed his master?
The history of the Harfang became legendary, and furnished Jack Ryan
with many a tale and song. Thanks to him, the story of old Silfax and
his bird will long be preserved, and handed down to future generations
of the Scottish peasantry.
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