Kitabı oku: «The Birthright», sayfa 15

CHAPTER XVIII
HOW I LEFT BEDRUTHEN STEPS AND, AFTER MEETING TAMSIN TRUSCOTT, SOUGHT FOR NAOMI

I know not why, but when the stranger acted in this way he seemed to put a bridle on my tongue. The name of my love was on my lips, but I could not utter it.

"Are you afraid to tell, Jasper Pennington?" he asked, eagerly.

"It is not for you to know," I replied; "besides, she may be dead. I have been told that she – " Then I stopped, for my heart seemed to grow too big for my bosom.

"Died of a broken 'art," mumbled Eli. "The Trezidders killed 'er."

"Tell me more!" cried the stranger, excitedly. Then he added, in calmer tones, "I may be able to help you."

But I did not speak, whereupon he walked to and fro the cave, making all sorts of ejaculations, and at times looking savagely at me, as though I were his enemy.

Presently, however, he grew calm and thoughtful; he seemed to be musing over what I had told him, as though he had an interest in it. This surprised me greatly, and set me thinking who he could be, until plans of action for myself began to form themselves in my brain.

After I had thought awhile I went out of the cave and stood in the bay called Bedruthen Steps. Accustomed as I had been all my life to the sight of a fine rock-bound coast, I could not help being awed at the scene. The great rocks which lift their mighty heads in Kynance Cove were not equal to these. Often while living at Cap'n Jack's house I had wandered along the many-coloured cliffs which stretch from Kynance to the Lizard, and had seen the waves leap on them, sometimes playfully, sometimes in mad anger, while thousands of streamlets ran down their rugged sides afterward, as if to laugh at the anger of the sea; but never had I seen anything so fine, so awe-inspiring as this. For a moment it made me forget the objects dearest to my heart. The tide was not high enough to reach the mouth of the cave at which I stood; at the same time the angry seas rolled madly along the sand, and were churned into foam by the great rocks along the beach. I had heard about rocks standing as sentinels, but never until then did I realise the meaning of the words. That day, however, the meaning of such language was quite plain. The cliffs stood from three to four hundred feet high, almost perpendicular, save here and there where some narrow gully sloped somewhat. These cliffs were dark gray, rough, jagged and forbidding, and seemed to quietly mock the roving, rushing sea which beat upon them.

Along the beach, perhaps a hundred yards or more from the cliffs, a number of huge rocks stood alone. I suppose at some time they must have slipped from the mainland, but that was undoubtedly in the far-back past. One of them, I remember, was shaped like a spire, and seemed to look with derision on the foaming waters that sometimes nearly covered it, and at others left it standing ill all its majesty on the white, hard sand.

"Surely," I thought, "God has been lavish of His grandeur here," and even as this came into my mind the relentlessness and the cruelty of the sea impressed me. Everything made me feel my littleness, my impotence. A strong man would be but as a bit of rotten wood if he were thrown into it; those cliffs would beat the life out of him, while the white foam, which looked so soft and inviting, covered that which would smash the sides of a boat as easily as a man snaps a piece of wood across his knee.

A feeling of despair possessed me again, for I was utterly lonely. It is true Eli stood by my side saying loving words and fondling me, while the stranger walked to and fro the cave; but no one felt my grief or understood it. By-and-by, however, my mood began to change; the roaring sea, the gray, leaden sky, the mighty cliffs inspired me, they urged me to action. I must find out the truth about Naomi; ay, I must find her, for, standing there that morning, I could not believe that she was dead.

A few minutes later I had made preparations to leave the cave and go away from the neighbourhood of Bedruthen Steps.

"Where do you go, Jasper Pennington, and what are your plans?" asked the stranger.

"That is a matter which concerns myself," I replied, not very graciously. A moment later, however, I felt I had acted like a cur, for this man had endangered his life to save mine, and but for him I might not have been alive. "Forgive me," I continued; "my mind is much distracted, and I scarcely know what I say."

"Perchance I could help you, if you would trust me," he said.

"I can scarcely trust myself," I replied, "much less a stranger."

"Am I stranger?" he cried, with an hysterical laugh, just as though he were a madman.

"If you are not, who and what are you?" I asked. "What is your name?"

"Name!" he said, wildly. "Esau is my name, my true name."

"Why your true name?"

"Because I have sold my birthright."

"Your birthright! To whom did you sell it?"

"To the devil!" he cried, his eyes glittering. "My birthright was my manhood; it was a clear conscience, it was the power to fearlessly think of the past, and to – " He stopped suddenly, then he went on again: "Perhaps Cain is the truer name, but I know not; call me Esau."

"Yes, he's mad," I said to myself. "I can trust him with nothing – nothing." Still, I humoured him. "You have been very good to me," I said. "Some time, if I live and gain my own, I will repay you."

He came to me again, his eyes still shining brightly, and he looked eagerly into mine, as though, too, he had decided to impart something to me; but a second later an expression of doubt rested on his face. "No," I heard him say; "I must do it myself, and alone, if I can – if I can."

We parted then. I made my way up the side of a sloping place along the cliff, while Eli followed close at my heels. When we reached the grassy headland I looked back, and saw the stranger still standing at the mouth of the cave. I looked around me. Not a house of any sort was to be seen; only a rugged, bleak coastline was visible. I saw, however, that some of the land was cultivated, and so I knew that there must be some farmhouses in the near distance.

After walking for about a quarter of an hour we came to a lane, but it was grass-grown, and was evidently but seldom used. I looked around me and espied a gray church tower. This gladdened my heart, for it was pleasant to think of the House of God situated in a bleak, barren countryside. I was about to make my way toward it when I heard the click of a labourer's pick. I jumped on a fence and saw a man hedging.

"What is the name of that church?" I asked.

"St. Eval, sur."

I looked at the man more closely. He looked far more intelligent than the ordinary labourer. "Do you know much about this neighbourhood?" I asked.

"I've lived 'ere oal my life, sur."

"Do you know of any convent in this neighbourhood?"

"Convent, convent?" he repeated, questioningly.

"Yes," I replied; "a place that belongs to the Catholics – a place where priests and nuns live."

He looked at me suspiciously, as though he suspected that I had evil motives in asking such a question. "No, sur," he said presently. Then he gave a start, and I turned and saw that Eli had come to my side. "Is he – is he the devil?" he gasped.

"No; only a dwarf."

"You'm sa big and 'ee sa small, it do seem funny," he laughed, nervously.

"What is the nearest town?" I asked.

"St. Columb, sur."

I made up my mind to go to St. Columb, and was asking the man how far it was, when another thought struck me. "There's a parson at St. Eval, I suppose?"

"Aw, iss, sur; hes 'ouse ed'n fur from the church."

"Is he a man that you like?"

"Aw, iss, sur; everybody do like the passon."

I made my way toward St. Eval, and after half an hour's walking found a church and perhaps a dozen houses. I was not long in finding the vicarage, for it was the only house of importance in the neighbourhood.

Parson Thomas received me very kindly. He was a little man, well fed, and apparently on good terms with every one. I don't think he knew much about religion as Mr. John Wesley taught it, but he was kind-hearted and full of merriment. Moreover, if he neglected people's souls, he did not neglect their bodies. He insisted on giving me refreshments, and although he looked very curiously at Eli, he sent him into the kitchen and gave instructions that he must be looked after.

"I am a bachelor," laughed the jolly vicar. "So much the better all around. I've no one to bother me. I've got my dogs and my horses. At St. Ervan there is a pack of hounds, and I've the best hunter within six parishes. I have a service every Sunday afternoon in the church, and so far we have no Methodists. I've some good wine, good home-brewed ale, and plenty of cider. I rear most of the flesh eaten in the house, and am happy – ha, ha! Now, what can I do for you?"

I asked if he knew of any religious house belonging to the Catholics in the neighbourhood.

"There are a few Catholic families," he said.

"Who are they?"

"Well, there was a Catholic family at Trevose House – an old house built on the cliff not far from Trevose Head. At least, Mrs. Penryn was a Catholic, and the girl was brought up a Catholic. A priest from Padstow used to visit the house."

"Do you know anything about them?" I asked.

"Mrs. Penryn is dead; her husband – well, it's a sad story. Poor fellow, he committed suicide well upon twenty years ago. Everything was left to the daughter. She has gone to the West to stay till she's of age, or married, under the guardianship of a Richard Tresidder. I think I heard something about Tresidder's son marrying Naomi, but I'm not sure."

"Did the priest who visited Trevose belong to any religious community? – I mean, is there a convent or nunnery at Padstow?"

"No. Let me see – oh, yes, I remember now; my friend Page, from Mawgan, was telling me about it. Close to Mawgan Church is the Manor House of Lord Arundell. I daresay you will have heard of it – Lanksome. It is a delightful spot. Well, the Arundell family has always remained Catholic, and were terribly bitter against the Reformation. The present Arundells came into possession about thirty-five or forty years ago, and it is quite a home for priests and Catholics generally. Some of the priests, I believe, visited Trevose from there."

"But it is not a convent or nunnery?"

"Oh, no; not that I am aware of. It is simply the headquarters of the Catholics in this district. I have heard it said that some young Catholic girls, religiously inclined, have been taken there as novitiates, but I doubt its truth; not that the place is not admirably suited for such a purpose. It is surrounded by a high wall, over which no one can see, and in one of the walls is a secret chamber in which it is said a priest was concealed for eighteen months in the reign of Elizabeth. At present, however, it is not recognised as a convent."

"But it is a Catholic centre?"

"Oh, bless you, yes; the place is full of Catholic priests, nuns from France, and what not. I should not like to say what is done within those walls. That house is full of secrets, and the people who go to Mawgan Church, which is adjoining it, look upon Lanherne as a home of mystery. The servants are silent, the priests are silent, the very atmosphere seems full of secrets."¹

I did not stay long with Parson Thomas after this, although his hospitality seemed to know no bounds. I had heard enough to set me thinking, and I determined to go to Mawgan that very evening. The time was now three in the afternoon, and soon night would be upon us. Still, there would be another hour of daylight, and I started to walk in the direction of Mawgan Forth, while Eli trudged close by my heels.

We had been walking, perhaps, half an hour, when I saw, as I was passing by a farmhouse close to which the road ran, a woman on horseback. Below us we saw the sands of Mawgan Forth, but no house was near save the farmhouse to which I have referred.

"It is some woman riding home from St. Columb Market, I suppose," I said as her horse climbed the hill.

"No," said Eli; "no, Maaster Jasper. 'Tes Tamsin Triscott, Tamsin Fraddam; that's who et es."

"Tamsin!" I cried; "surely no!"

A few seconds later, however, I saw that Eli was right.

"Master Jasper Pennington!" she cried, as she saw me, and the blood mounted violently to her face. "You are free, then?"

This she said in a tone of disappointment almost amounting to anger.

"Yes, Tamsin," I replied. "What do you know about my imprisonment?"

"I suppose you got him away?" she said to Eli, angrily, without noticing my question.

"Iss," grunted Eli; "I ded, ded'n I, Jasper?" and the dwarf laughed gleefully.

"And I meant to have done it," she said, as if musing to herself. "I have travelled a long way."

"What do you mean, Tamsin?" I asked.

She hesitated a minute, then she spoke like one in pain.

"I did my best, Jasper – believe that. But for me you would have been killed. Israel Barnicoat and others vowed it, but I persuaded father. I heard about your coming back, and I tried to find out where you had been taken. As soon as I knew I started to come. I would have set you free; I would, Jasper, I would."

My slow-thinking mind was trying to find its way to Tamsin's motives for acting thus, when she went on if possible more earnestly than before.

"She didn't care for you, Jasper; if she did, why were you imprisoned in her house?"

"Tamsin," I said, for I began to see her meaning, "do you know what is become of Naomi Penryn?"

"No," she said, sullenly.

"Tamsin," I went on, "I thank you for your goodness to me; I am glad I had a friend willing to travel so far to help me. But I am in great sorrow, Tamsin. I may tell you about it, I know; I love Naomi Penryn – love her like my own life. I have heard strange rumours about her, and my heart is very sad. I can trust you, Tamsin, I know that. Have you heard anything about her?"

She became very pale as I spoke, and I thought she would have fallen from her horse, but she recovered herself presently.

"Israel Barnicoat told me that she would not marry young Tresidder," she replied, "and that she asked to be taken to a convent until she came of age."

"Yes," I said, eagerly, "and what then?"

"I heard that she died there."

"And do you know where the convent is?"

"No; I know nothing! She is dead, that's all."

"Tamsin," I replied, "something tells me she is not dead. I have heard this again and again, and I cannot believe it. I am going to search for her until I find her."

"Why do you not believe she's dead?" she asked, like one in anger.

"I have reasons," I answered. "They are real to me, although they might not be real to you. Besides, I cannot think of her as dead. Tamsin, suppose you loved a man, would you rest upon hearsay in such a case?"

"I would search until I died," she cried. "If he were alive I would find him; if he were dead I would die too."

"Then you can feel for me," I said, "for I love Naomi Penryn. I shall love her till I die, and if she be dead, I shall want to die, too."

Then the girl gave a heartrending cry. "Don't, Jasper Pennington," she said, "don't!"

I looked around me and saw that Eli had wandered toward the Porth. I was glad for this, for I realised what her words meant.

"Tamsin Truscott," I said, "I never had a sister; will you be one to me? For I love you as truly as ever brother loved sister. Can you care for me as a sister cares for a brother?"

I said this because I wanted to be true to Naomi, and because I determined to dispel from Tamsin's mind all thoughts of me as one who could ever love her. I wanted to appeal to all that was best and truest in her, too, believing, as I have always believed, that by this means alone can we get the best that people are capable of giving.

For some minutes she seemed like one fighting a great battle, then she said quietly, "Yes, Jasper Pennington, I will do for you all that a sister would do."

"Then, Tamsin," I said, "if it should please God to let me find my love, would you befriend her?"

"Yes," she gasped.

"It seems as though she hath many enemies," I went on, "and there be many who plot against her. If I find her among friends all may be well, but if I were to find her among enemies and rescue her, I know of no place to take her where she would be safe."

For a little while Tamsin sobbed as though her heart would break; and at that time I thought it was because she pitied both me and Naomi.

Presently she said, quietly, "If you should ever find the one you mean alive, and she needs a home, take her to my aunt's at Porth Mullion. She is a good woman, my mother's sister, and hates my father's ways. She will do anything I ask her."

"What is her name?" I asked, "and how shall I find her?"

"Her name is Mary Crantock, and there are but three houses at Porth Mullion. Hers is a white house, with a wooden porch painted green. The other houses have no porches."

"And how will she know about me?"

"I will ride there to-morrow and tell her."

"And where will you go to-night?"

"I will ride to St. Columb. I have another aunt who lives there."

Then a great fear came into my heart, and, almost without thinking, I had caught hold of Tamsin's hand.

"Tamsin Truscott," I said, "you once told me you loved me. I may trust you, may I not? As God is above us, you will be true if ever I need you?"

"As surely as what I once told you is true, as surely as God is above us, you may trust me."

Then she turned her horse's head, and rode rapidly toward the St. Columb road.

Now, in describing my meeting with Tamsin, I have failed to record many things. I have not told of the many questions she asked regarding my imprisonment or my escape, nor of the answers I gave, because they do not bear directly on the history I am writing. Besides, it is difficult to remember many things after the lapse of long years. So many things were said, however, that it was nearly dark when she rode away from me.

From Mawgan Porth it is about two miles to Mawgan Church, and I was anxious to get there before night had quite come upon us. So, calling Eli to my side, we hurried across the Porth, and then went up a narrow lane, where we met a man who directed us to Mawgan Church.

A quarter of an hour later we were descending into the vale of Lanherne, and in the light of the departing day I could see the tower of the church rising from the trees among which it nestled. The sight seemed to give wings to my feet, and so fast did I go that Eli had great difficulty in keeping close to me. Eagerly did I jump across the brook that ran down the valley, after which I ran along by the churchyard wall, and a few seconds later I stood before the gray walls of Lanherne Manor House.

CHAPTER XIX
TELLS HOW I CLIMBED THE WALL OF THE MANOR HOUSE GARDEN, AND WHAT I SAW

My first impulse on seeing the house was to go boldly up to the door and ask for Naomi Penryn, but a second's reflection told me that such an act would be madness. I remembered the words of Parson Thomas. This house was the property of a man widely known and respected, and while it was given over to Papist ways and usages, I could not ask questions as though it were a public institution. My brain, slow to work as it was, told me that I must act warily, and in such a way as to arouse as little suspicion as possible. On looking back over my plan of action, however, I can see how foolish I was, and how, but for the kind providence of God, I did that which was calculated to frustrate the dearest desire of my heart.

This, however, is what I did. I waited for some few minutes in a state of indecision, then it occurred to me that I had better find an inn, so that I might leave Eli in a place of safety, and on looking round I quickly found a kiddleywink. Here I left Eli, and after telling the landlady to cook some supper, I again went back to the front of the old Manor House. Fearing to be seen, I wandered around the place, and saw that the walls around the garden were over fifteen feet high, and that from no position could I look over, except by climbing one of the huge trees that grew in the near distance. Never in my life had I realised the meaning of silence as I realised it then. Not a breath of wind stirred, and beyond the sound of the brook as it rippled down the valley, nothing was to be heard. To me it seemed like the home of the dead. "How can I discover what is behind those walls?" I asked myself, but no answer was forthcoming.

Twice did I walk around the house and gardens, and was about to go back to the inn again, when I heard the sound of singing. I listened intently, and discovered that the singers were within the Manor House, and from the number of voices and the nature of the singing, I concluded that the inmates were taking part in some religious service. I stood like one entranced, for the music was very sweet, and it seemed to my excited imagination that Naomi's voice mingled with the rest. Presently it died away, and I heard the sound of footsteps. But there was no loud voices or confusion, neither was there any laughter; all was quiet, orderly, and subdued.

The night was not dark, for the clouds which hung so heavily in the sky during the morning had been swept away, and innumerable stars shone brightly.

As I watched, I saw a man, who, from his garb, I took to be a priest. I went up to him and saw that I was right in my surmise.

"I am a stranger to these parts," I said, "and have travelled far to-day. May I ask if this is a monastery or religious house?"

"No, young man, it is not a monastery, but the house of a Catholic gentleman."

"I heard the sound of many voices just now. I thought I heard a mass being sung," I said.

"You are right, young man."

"If it had been a monastery I should have asked for shelter to-night," I said; "and from the number of voices singing mass, I concluded that it was a religious institution."

"Souls that are weary are admitted here for rest and guidance and help," he replied, "and some have passed from here to some religious home. This is by the kindness of the owner of this house. But why do you ask? Are you a Catholic? Are you, amid so much heresy, a member of the true fold?"

At this time I wished that I had prepared for a meeting with a priest, so that I might have been in a better position to have fulfilled my desires. I wished, too, that, instead of being slow to think, I had been clever to make plans, and quick to act upon them. Still, I determined to do the best I could.

"I am but a wanderer, father," I said, "and my mind hath been torn by many doubts. I have been troubled, too, about one who is very dear to me, who is of the Catholic faith, and who, I am told, found her way to a convent or a religious home, to find rest and peace. I know not where she is, and whether she has found the peace that she hoped for. I have heard that it was in this neighbourhood that she sought to find what she desired."

"Is she young or old, young man?" said the priest, looking keenly at me.

"She is young," I replied, "scarcely twenty, I should think."

"And her name?"

"Her name is Naomi Penryn," I replied; "she once lived at Trevose, close by the great headland."

I thought he gave a start, and he seemed to measure me, as though he thought of trying whether he or I was the stronger man.

"Alas!" he said, presently, "she is dead."

"Dead!" I repeated, and my heart became cold.

"Yes. She came here some time ago. She was very pale and fragile when she came. She was in sore distress, too. But she received the consolation of the Church, and died in the faith."

At this all my strength seemed to ebb away from me, and my hands became nerveless.

"How long is it since she died?" I asked.

"About three weeks ago," he replied.

"And where was she buried?"

"I would show you her grave," he replied, "but the house is not mine. I grieve to see your sorrow, but there is consolation, young man. Trouble for our young sister no longer, for she is with the blessed. I am sorry I cannot offer you food and shelter; but it is only four miles to St. Columb, and you will find accommodation there."

"But surely there is an inn here?" I suggested.

"Yes; but it is not a place you would care to stay at, and you will fare far better at St. Columb. Good-night."

Then he left me, and I went away toward the kiddleywink like one dazed. I made no pretence of eating the supper which had been prepared, neither did I speak to Eli, who looked at me pityingly; and I saw that tears dropped from his strange-looking, cross eyes, and rolled down his ugly, misshapen face.

All hope had now gone from me; I felt I had no desire to win back my own, or even to live. My life had more and more become bound up in that of Naomi Penryn, until now, when I could no longer comfort myself with the hope that she lived, nothing was of value to me.

"Eli," I said, presently, "you had better go to bed. You will need all your strength."

"Why, Maaster Jasper?"

"Because to-morrow I shall go with you back to St. Eve."

"And what then, Maaster Jasper?"

"I do not know," I said; "it does not matter what becomes of me now."

"And why, Maaster Jasper? Poor little Eli do love 'ee, love 'ee deearly."

"But my love is dead," I answered; and then I told him what the priest had told me.

His cross eyes shone brightly, and his mouth began to move just as I had seen his mother's move many times.

"I've found out things," he said, cunningly; "mawther 'ave tould me, I c'n vind out ef she's dead; ef she es, I c'n bring 'er back. Zay I shall, Maaster Jasper, 'n little Eli 'll do et."

"No," I cried, with a shudder; "Naomi, who is as pure as the angels of God, shall never be influenced by the powers of darkness."

At first I thought he was going to say some angry words, but he only fondled my hands and murmured loving words to me just as a mother murmurs to a tired or sick child.

"Poor Maaster Jasper, dear Maaster Jasper," then he went to bed, leaving me alone.

The landlady of the kiddleywink was a kind and motherly soul, and treated me with much sympathy, for she saw I was in trouble, and when I told her that I should not go to the bedroom with Eli, she prepared a bed for me on the window-seat, and left a candle burning for me.

But I could not sleep; when all the inn was quiet I went out into the night, and wandered around the old Manor House like a man bereft of his senses, as indeed I was. I found my way into the churchyard, and roamed among the grave-stones, wondering all the time where Naomi's grave was, and why the death of one who possessed so much property was so little thought of. Perhaps I stayed here two hours, and all the time I grew more and more fearful. It seemed to me that the dead were arising from their graves and denouncing me for disturbing them, while all around me evil things crawled, and mocked me in my sorrow. I thought I saw men and women, long dead, haunting the graves in which other bodies lay, and I fancied I heard them pleading to God to hasten the resurrection day. These and many more phantoms appeared to me until, with a cry of anguish, I rushed back to the kiddleywink again. The night had become clear, and the moon, which was half full, caused the church-tower and the Manor House to appear very plainly, and as I lay on the window-seat I could see both.

Toward morning I began to grow less fearful, although a great pain still gnawed at my heart. I remember, too, that I was making up my mind that when daylight came I would seek the priest to whom I had spoken, and ask him to show me Naomi's grave, when I heard a sobbing wail that seemed to come from a heart as broken and bleeding as my own.

I started up and listened for some seconds, but all was silent.

"Was I dreaming?" I asked myself, "or are the spirits of the dead come back?"

Scarcely had the thought passed my mind when I heard another cry, more piteous, if possible, than the other.

"Jasper, Jasper, my love, Jasper!" I heard. "Can you not deliver me?"

The cry was very real, and it had no suggestion of the grave. It was the voice of some one living.

"My God!" I cried; "it is Naomi!"

I looked at my watch; it was six o'clock, and thus wanted two hours to daybreak. Hurriedly I left the inn and went out again. A rimy frost had come upon every twig and bush and tree, and in the light of the moon the ice crystals sparkled as though the spirits had scattered myriads of precious stones everywhere. But I thought not of this. I made my way toward the spot from which I thought I had heard the sound come, and then listened intently. All was silent as death.

Near me was a tall tree. I made a leap at its lowest branches, and a few seconds later was fifteen or twenty feet from the ground. From this position I saw the whole garden. I looked long and steadily, but could discern nothing of importance. I continued to strain my ears to listen, but all was silent save the rippling of the brook that wended its way down the valley, and which seemed to deride me in my helplessness.

"It was all fancy," I said, bitterly – "all fancy; or perhaps I am mad."

I prepared to get down from the tree when I heard a sound like sobbing not thirty yards from me.

My heart thumped so loud that I could detect no words, but not so loud as to keep me from locating the sound. Yes, it came from a little house used as a summer bower. Instantly my mind was made up. I had no patience to consider whether my determination was wise or foolish. I madly dreamed that Naomi was near crying for my help. Else why should I hear my own name, or why should I think it was the voice of my love?

In another second I had leapt from the tree, and then ran along by the wall until I came close to the place where the bower had been placed.

I listened again. Yes, I heard sobs – sobs which came from a breaking heart!

The wall was, as I said, from fifteen to twenty feet high, but this did not deter me. I caught hold of an ivy branch, and by its aid sought to climb, but at the first pull I had torn it away. So there was nothing for me but to stick my fingers into the masonry and climb as best I could. How I managed I know not, but in a few seconds I had accomplished my purpose.