<h2>CHAPTER XIV<br/> <span class="f8">A SECRET SHARED</span></h2>
<p class="cap"><span class="upper">“There</span> is so much to tell” I said “that I
hardly know where to begin. Perhaps I
had better tell you all here, where we are
alone and not likely to be disturbed. We have come so
fast that we have lots of time and we need not hurry.
When you have had your lunch I shall tell you all.”</p>
<p>“Oh please don’t wait till then,” she said, “I am all
impatience. Let me know right away.”</p>
<p>“Young woman” I said sternly “you are at present
insincere. You <em>know</em> you are ravenously hungry, as
you should be after a twenty mile ride; and you are
speaking according to your idea of convention and not out
of your heart. This is not convention; there is nothing
conventional in the whole outfit. Eat the food prepared
for you by the thoughtfulness of a very beautiful and
charming girl!” She held up a warning finger and
said:</p>
<p>“Remember ‘<i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Bon Camarade</i>—without prejudice.’”</p>
<p>“All right” I answered “so it shall be. But if the
lady wants to hold me up for criminal libel I shall undertake
to repeat the expression when, and where, and
how she will. I shall repeat the assertion and abide by
the consequences.” She went on eating her sandwiches,
not, I thought, displeased. When we had both finished
she turned to me and said:</p>
<p>“Now!” I took from my pocket the rescript of<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</SPAN></span>
Don Bernardino de Escoban’s narrative and handed it to
her. She looked at it, turned over the pages, and glanced
at them as she went. Then she returned to the beginning,
and after reading the first few lines, said to me with
an eager look in her eyes:</p>
<p>“Is this really the translation of the secret writing?
Oh, I am so glad you have succeeded. You are cute!”
She took out her watch, and having looked at it, went
on: “We have loads of time. Won’t you read it for
me? It will be so much nicer! And let me ask you
questions.”</p>
<p>“Delighted!” I answered, “But would it not be better
if I read it right through first, and then let you ask
questions! Or better still you read it yourself right
through, and then ask.” I had a purpose in this. If I
had to read it, my eyes must be wholly engrossed in my
work; but if she read, I need never take them off her
face. I longed to see the varying expression with which
she would follow every phase of the strange story. She
thought for a few seconds before answering, and as she
thought looked me straight in the eyes. I think she read
my secret, or at any rate enough of it to fathom my
wish; nothing else could account for the gentle blush that
spread over her face. Then she said in quite a meek
tone:</p>
<p>“I shall read it myself if you think it best!”</p>
<p>I shall never forget that reading. Her face, always
expressive, was to me like an open book. I was by this
time quite familiar with de Escoban’s narrative, as I had
with infinite patience dug it out letter by letter from
the cipher in which it had been buried for so long. As
also I had written it out fair twice over, it was little
wonder that I knew it well. As she read I so followed
that I could have told to a sentence how far she had got
in the history. Once she unconsciously put her hand to<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</SPAN></span>
her throat and felt the brooch; but immediately drew it
away again, glancing for a moment at me from under
her eyelashes to see whether I had observed. She saw
I had, shook her head with a smile, and read on.</p>
<p>When she had finished reading, she gave a long sigh
and then held out her hand to me saying:</p>
<p>“Bravo! I congratulate you with all my heart!” Her
touch thrilled me; she was all on fire, and there was a
purposeful look in her face which was outside and beyond
any joy that she could have with regard to any success
of mine. This struck me so much that I said impulsively:</p>
<p>“Why are you so glad?” She answered instinctively
and without thought:</p>
<p>“Because you will keep it from the Spaniards!” Then
she stopped suddenly, with a gesture of self repression.</p>
<p>I felt a little piqued. I would have thought that her
concern would have been rather individual than political.
That in such a matter even before racial hatred would
have come gladness at the well-doing of even such a
friend—without prejudice—as I was. Looking at me, she
seemed to see through me and said</p>
<div class="centered"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“With her two white hands extended, as if praying one offended:”<br/></span></div>
</div></div>
<p>“Oh, I am sorry! I did not mean to hurt you. I
can’t explain yet; not to-day, which is for comradeship
only.—Yes without prejudice”—for she saw my look and
answered it “But some day you will understand.” She
was so evidently embarrassed and pained at having for
some reason which I did not comprehend to show reticence
to me who had been so open with her, that I felt
it my duty to put her at ease. This I tried to do by
assuring her that I quite understood that she had some
good reason, and that I was quite content to wait. I
could not help adding before I stopped: “This is a<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</SPAN></span>
small thing to have to wait for after all; when I have
to wait for something so much more important.” The
warning finger was held up again with a smile.</p>
<p>Then we went over the whole of the narrative again, I
reading this time and she stopping to ask me questions.
There was not much to ask; all the story was so plain
that the proceeding did not take very long. Then she
asked me to explain how I had come to decipher the
cryptogram. I took out my pocket book and proceeded
to make a key to the cipher, explaining as I went on the
principle. “To me,” I said, “it is very complete, and can
be used in an infinity of ways. Any mode of expression
can be used that has two objects with five varieties of
each.” Here she interrupted me. As I was explaining
I was holding out my hands with the fingers spread as
a natural way of expressing my meaning. She saw at
once what had escaped me, and clasping her hands exclaimed
impulsively:</p>
<p>“Like your two hands! It is delightful! Two hands,
and five fingers on each. We can talk a new deaf and
dumb alphabet; which no one but ourselves can understand!”
Her words thrilled through me. One more
secret to share with her; one more secret which would be
in perpetual exercise, in pursuance of a common thought.
I was about to speak when she stopped me with a gesture.
“Sorry!” she said. “Go on; explain to me! We can
think of variety later!” So I continued:</p>
<p>“So long as we have means that are suitable, we have
only to translate into the biliteral, and we who know this
can understand. Thus we have a double guard of secrecy.
There are some who could translate into symbols with
which they are familiar, symbols with which they are not;
but in this method we have a buffer of ignorance or mystery
between the known and the unknown. There is
also this advantage; the cipher as it stands is sufficiently<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</SPAN></span>
on a basis of science or at any rate of order, that its key
is easily capable of reproduction. As you have seen, I
can make a key without any help. Bacon’s biliteral
cipher is scientifically accurate. It can, therefore, be easily
reproduced; the method of exclusions is also entirely
rational, so that we need have no difficulty in remembering
it. If two people would take the trouble to learn the
symbols of the biliteral, as kept after the exclusions and
which are used in this cipher, they might with very little
practice be able to write or read off-hand. Indeed the
suggestion, which you have just made, of a deaf-and-dumb
alphabet is capital. It is as simple as the daylight!
You have only to decide whether the thumb or the little
finger means 1 or 2; and then reproduce by right hand
or left, and using the fingers of each hand, the five symbols
of the amended biliteral, and you can talk as well
and as easily as do the deaf mutes!” Again she spoke
out impulsively:</p>
<p>“Let us both learn off by heart the symbols of our
cipher; and then we shan’t want even to make a key. We
can talk to each other in a crowd, and no one be the wiser
of what we are saying.”</p>
<p>This was very sweet to me. When a man is in love, as
I was, anything which links him to his lady, and to her
alone, has a charm beyond words. Here was a perpetual
link, if we cared to make it so, and if the Fates would
be good to us.</p>
<p>“The Fates!” With the thought came back Gormala’s
words to me at the beginning. She had told me,
and somehow I seemed to have always believed the same,
that the Fates worked to their own end and in their own
way. Kindness or unkindness had no part in their workings;
pity had no place at the beginning of their interest,
no more than had remorse at the end. Was it possible that
in the scheme of Fate, in which Gormala and I and<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</SPAN></span>
Lauchlane Macleod had places, there was also a place for
Marjory? The Witch-woman had said that the Fates
would work their will, though for the doing of it came
elements out of past centuries and from the ends of the
earth. The cipher of Don de Escoban had lain hidden
three centuries, only to be revived at its due time. Marjory
had come from a nation which had no existence when
the Don had lived, and from a place which in his time
was the far home of the red man and the wolf and the
bison and the bear.</p>
<p>But yet what was there to connect Marjory with Don de
Escoban and his secret? As I thought, I saw Marjory
who had turned her back to me, quietly take something
from her throat and put it into her pocket. Here was the
clue indeed.</p>
<p>The brooch! When I had taken it up from the sea
at the Sand Craigs I had returned it to her with only a
glance; and as I had often seen it since, without any mystery,
I had hardly noticed it. It rushed in on my mind
that it was of the same form as that described by Don de
Escoban as having been given by the Pope. I had only
noticed a big figure and a little one; but surely it could be
none other than a figure of St. Christopher. I should
have liked to have asked Marjory about it at once; but
her words already spoken putting off explanation, and
her recent act, of which I was supposed to know nothing,
in putting it out of sight, forbade me to inquire. All the
more I thought, however; and other matters regarding it
crowded into my mind.</p>
<p>The chain was complete, the only weak link being the
connection between Marjory and the St. Christopher
brooch. And even here there was a mystery, acknowledged
in her concealment, which might explain itself when
the time came.</p>
<p>Matters took such a grave turn for me with my latest<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</SPAN></span>
surmise, that I thought it would be well to improve the
occasion with Marjory, in so far as it might be possible
to learn something of her surroundings. I was barred
from asking questions by her own wish; but still I did not
like to lose the chance without an effort, so I said to her:</p>
<p>“We have learned a lot to-day, haven’t we?”</p>
<p>“Indeed we have. It hardly seems possible that a day
could make such a change!”</p>
<p>“I suppose we should take it that new knowledge
should apply new conditions to established fact?” I said
this with some diffidence; and I could see that the
change in my tone, much against my will, attracted her
attention. She evidently understood my wish, for she
answered with decision:</p>
<p>“If you mean by ‘new conditions’ any alteration of the
compact made between us for to-day—yes, I remember
‘without prejudice’—there is nothing in our new knowledge
to alter the old ones. Do remember, sir, that this
day is one set apart, and nothing that is not a very grave
matter indeed can be allowed to alter what is established
regarding it.”</p>
<p>“Then,” said I, “at all events let us learn the cipher—our
cipher as you very properly called it.”</p>
<p>“Oh no! surely?” this was said with a rising blush.</p>
<p>“Indeed, yes—I am glad to say!”</p>
<p>“Take care!” she replied, meaningly, then she added:</p>
<p>“Very well! Ours let it be. But really and truly I
have no right to its discovery; it makes me feel like a
fraud to hear you say so.”</p>
<p>“Be easy,” I replied. “You helped me more than I
can say. It was your suggestion to reduce the terms of
the biliteral; and it was by that means that I read the
cipher. But at any rate when we call it ‘ours’ it will content
me if the word ‘ours’”—I could not help repeating the
word for it was delight to me; it did not displease her<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</SPAN></span>
either, though it made her blush—“is applied not to invention
but to possession!”</p>
<p>“All right,” she said. “That is good of you. I
cannot argue with you. Amendment accepted! Come,
let us get on our wheels again. You have the key of <em>our</em>
cipher with you; you can tell me the items one by one,
and we will learn them as we go along.”</p>
<p>And so as we swept round Davan Lake, with the wind
behind us driving us along except just before we regained
the high road at Dinnet, I repeated the symbols of the
reduced biliteral. We went over and over them again
and again, till we were unable to puzzle each other questioning
up and down, ‘dodging’ as the school-boys say.</p>
<p>Oh, but that ride was delightful! There was some
sort of conscious equality between us which I could see
my comrade felt as well as myself. Down the falling
road we sped almost without effort, our wheels seeming
to glide on air. When we came to the bridge over the
railway just above Aboyne, where the river comes north
and runs in under a bank of shale and rock, we dismounted
and looked back. Behind us was our last view
of the gorge above Ballater, where the two round hills
stood as portals, and where the cloud rack hanging above
and beyond made a mystery which was full of delightful
fascination and no less delightful remembrance. Then
with a sigh we turned.</p>
<p>There, before us lay a dark alley between the closing
pines. No less mysterious, but seemingly dark and grim.</p>
<hr class="l1" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</SPAN></span></p>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />