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==== XIX ====
I Left the house, feeling that Mrs. Catherick had helped me a step
Once out of sight of the church, I pressed forward briskly on my way to
forward, in spite of herself. Before I had reached the turning which
Knowlesbury.
led out of the square, my attention was suddenly aroused by the sound
of a closing door behind me.
I looked round, and saw an undersized man in black on the door-step of
The road was, for the most part, straight and level. Whenever I looked
a house, which, as well as I could judge, stood next to Mrs.
back over it I saw the two spies steadily following me. For the greater
Catherick's place of abode--next to it, on the side nearest to me. The
part of the way they kept at a safe distance behind. But once or twice
man did not hesitate a moment about the direction he should take. He
they quickened their pace, as if with the purpose of overtaking me,
advanced rapidly towards the turning at which I had stopped. I
then stopped, consulted together, and fell back again to their former
recognised him as the lawyer's clerk, who had preceded me in my visit
position. They had some special object evidently in view, and they
to Blackwater Park, and who had tried to pick a quarrel with me, when I
seemed to be hesitating or differing about the best means of
asked him if I could see the house.
accomplishing it. I could not guess exactly what their design might
be, but I felt serious doubts of reaching Knowlesbury without some
mischance happening to me on the way. These doubts were realised.
I waited where I was, to ascertain whether his object was to come to
I had just entered on a lonely part of the road, with a sharp turn at
close quarters and speak on this occasion. To my surprise he passed on
some distance ahead, and had just concluded (calculating by time) that
rapidly, without saying a word, without even looking up in my face as
I must be getting near to the town, when I suddenly heard the steps of
he went by. This was such a complete inversion of the course of
the men close behind me.
proceeding which I had every reason to expect on his part, that my
curiosity, or rather my suspicion, was aroused, and I determined on my
side to keep him cautiously in view, and to discover what the business
might be in which he was now employed. Without caring whether he saw me
or not, I walked after him. He never looked back, and he led me
straight through the streets to the railway station.
The train was on the point of starting, and two or three passengers who
Before I could look round, one of them (the man by whom I had been
were late were clustering round the small opening through which the
followed in London) passed rapidly on my left side and hustled me with
tickets were issued. I joined them, and distinctly heard the lawyer's
his shoulder. I had been more irritated by the manner in which he and
clerk demand a ticket for the Blackwater station. I satisfied myself
his companion had dogged my steps all the way from Old Welmingham than
that he had actually left by the train before I came away.
I was myself aware of, and I unfortunately pushed the fellow away
smartly with my open hand. He instantly shouted for help. His
companion, the tall man in the gamekeeper's clothes, sprang to my right
side, and the next moment the two scoundrels held me pinioned between
them in the middle of the road.
There was only one interpretation that I could place on what I had just
The conviction that a trap had been laid for me, and the vexation of
seen and heard. I had unquestionably observed the man leaving a house
knowing that I had fallen into it, fortunately restrained me from
which closely adjoined Mrs. Catherick's residence. He had been probably
making my position still worse by an unavailing struggle with two men,
placed there, by Sir Percival's directions, as a lodger, in
one of whom would, in all probability, have been more than a match for
anticipation of my inquiries leading me, sooner or later, to
me single-handed. I repressed the first natural movement by which I
communicate with Mrs. Catherick. He had doubtless seen me go in and
had attempted to shake them off, and looked about to see if there was
come out, and he had hurried away by the first train to make his report
any person near to whom I could appeal.
at Blackwater Park, to which place Sir Percival would naturally betake
himself (knowing what he evidently knew of my movements), in order to
be ready on the spot, if I returned to Hampshire. Before many days
were over, there seemed every likelihood now that he and I might meet.
Whatever result events might be destined to produce, I resolved to
A labourer was at work in an adjoining field who must have witnessed
pursue my own course, straight to the end in view, without stopping or
all that had passed. I called to him to follow us to the town. He
turning aside for Sir Percival or for any one. The great
shook his head with stolid obstinacy, and walked away in the direction
responsibility which weighed on me heavily in London--the
of a cottage which stood back from the high-road. At the same time
responsibility of so guiding my slightest actions as to prevent them
the men who held me between them declared their intention of charging
from leading accidentally to the discovery of Laura's place of
me with an assault. I was cool enough and wise enough now to make no
refuge--was removed, now that I was in Hampshire. I could go and come
opposition. "Drop your hold of my arms," I said, "and I will go with
as I pleased at Welmingham, and if I chanced to fail in observing any
you to the town." The man in the gamekeeper's dress roughly refused.
necessary precautions, the immediate results, at least, would affect no
But the shorter man was sharp enough to look to consequences, and not
one but myself.
to let his companion commit himself by unnecessary violence. He made a
sign to the other, and I walked on between them with my arms free.
WeWhen reachedI left the turning instation the road,winter andevening there,was closebeginning beforeto us,close werein.
There was little hope of continuing my inquiries after dark to any
the suburbs of Knowlesbury. One of the local policemen was walking
useful purpose in a neighbourhood that was strange to me. Accordingly,
along the path by the roadside. The men at once appealed to him. He
I made my way to the nearest hotel, and ordered my dinner and my bed.
replied that the magistrate was then sitting at the town-hall, and
This done, I wrote to Marian, to tell her that I was safe and well, and
recommended that we should appear before him immediately.
that I had fair prospects of success. I had directed her, on leaving
home, to address the first letter she wrote to me (the letter I
expected to receive the next morning) to "The Post-Office, Welmingham,"
and I now begged her to send her second day's letter to the same
address.
I could easily receive it by writing to the postmaster if I happened to
We went on to the town-hall. The clerk made out a formal summons, and
be away from the town when it arrived.
the charge was preferred against me, with the customary exaggeration
and the customary perversion of the truth on such occasions. The
magistrate (an ill-tempered man, with a sour enjoyment in the exercise
of his own power) inquired if any one on or near the road had witnessed
the assault, and, greatly to my surprise, the complainant admitted the
presence of the labourer in the field. I was enlightened, however, as
to the object of the admission by the magistrate's next words. He
remanded me at once for the production of the witness, expressing, at
the same time, his willingness to take bail for my reappearance if I
could produce one responsible surety to offer it. If I had been known
in the town he would have liberated me on my own recognisances, but as
I was a total stranger it was necessary that I should find responsible
bail.
The whole objectcoffee-room of the stratagemhotel, wasas nowit disclosedgrew tolate me.in the Itevening, hadbecame beena
perfect solitude. I was left to reflect on what I had accomplished
so managed as to make a remand necessary in a town where I was a
that afternoon as uninterruptedly as if the house had been my own.
perfect stranger, and where I could not hope to get my liberty on bail.
Before I retired to rest I had attentively thought over my
The remand merely extended over three days, until the next sitting of
extraordinary interview with Mrs. Catherick from beginning to end, and
the magistrate. But in that time, while I was in confinement, Sir
had verified at my leisure the conclusions which I had hastily drawn in
Percival might use any means he pleased to embarrass my future
the earlier part of the day.
proceedings--perhaps to screen himself from detection
altogether--without the slightest fear of any hindrance on my part. At
the end of the three days the charge would, no doubt, be withdrawn, and
the attendance of the witness would be perfectly useless.
The vestry of Old Welmingham church was the starting-point from which
My indignation, I may almost say, my despair, at this mischievous check
my mind slowly worked its way back through all that I had heard Mrs.
to all further progress--so base and trifling in itself, and yet so
Catherick say, and through all I had seen Mrs. Catherick do.
disheartening and so serious in its probable results--quite unfitted me
at first to reflect on the best means of extricating myself from the
dilemma in which I now stood. I had the folly to call for writing
materials, and to think of privately communicating my real position to
the magistrate. The hopelessness and the imprudence of this proceeding
failed to strike me before I had actually written the opening lines of
the letter. It was not till I had pushed the paper away--not till, I
am ashamed to say, I had almost allowed the vexation of my helpless
position to conquer me--that a course of action suddenly occurred to my
mind, which Sir Percival had probably not anticipated, and which might
set me free again in a few hours. I determined to communicate the
situation in which I was placed to Mr. Dawson, of Oak Lodge.
At the time when the neighbourhood of the vestry was first referred to
I had visited this gentleman's house, it may be remembered, at the time
in my presence by Mrs. Clements, I had thought it the strangest and
of my first inquiries in the Blackwater Park neighbourhood, and I had
most unaccountable of all places for Sir Percival to select for a
presented to him a letter of introduction from Miss Halcombe, in which
clandestine meeting with the clerk's wife. Influenced by this
she recommended me to his friendly attention in the strongest terms. I
impression, and by no other, I had mentioned "the vestry of the church"
now wrote, referring to this letter, and to what I had previously told
before Mrs. Catherick on pure speculation--it represented one of the
Mr. Dawson of the delicate and dangerous nature of my inquiries. I had
minor peculiarities of the story which occurred to me while I was
not revealed to him the truth about Laura, having merely described my
speaking. I was prepared for her answering me confusedly or angrily,
errand as being of the utmost importance to private family interests
but the blank terror that seized her when I said the words took me
with which Miss Halcombe was concerned. Using the same caution still,
completely by surprise. I had long before associated Sir Percival's
I now accounted for my presence at Knowlesbury in the same manner, and
Secret with the concealment of a serious crime which Mrs. Catherick
I put it to the doctor to say whether the trust reposed in me by a lady
knew of, but I had gone no further than this. Now the woman's paroxysm
whom he well knew, and the hospitality I had myself received in his
of terror associated the crime, either directly or indirectly, with the
house, justified me or not in asking him to come to my assistance in a
vestry, and convinced me that she had been more than the mere witness
place where I was quite friendless.
of it--she was also the accomplice, beyond a doubt.
What had been the nature of the crime? Surely there was a contemptible
I obtained permission to hire a messenger to drive away at once with my
side to it, as well as a dangerous side, or Mrs. Catherick would not
letter in a conveyance which might be used to bring the doctor back
have repeated my own words, referring to Sir Percival's rank and power,
immediately. Oak Lodge was on the Knowlesbury side of Blackwater. The
with such marked disdain as she had certainly displayed. It was a
man declared he could drive there in forty minutes, and could bring Mr.
contemptible crime then and a dangerous crime, and she had shared in
Dawson back in forty more. I directed him to follow the doctor
it, and it was associated with the vestry of the church.
wherever he might happen to be, if he was not at home, and then sat
down to wait for the result with all the patience and all the hope that
I could summon to help me.
The next consideration to be disposed of led me a step farther from
It was not quite half-past one when the messenger departed. Before
this point.
half-past three he returned, and brought the doctor with him. Mr.
Dawson's kindness, and the delicacy with which he treated his prompt
assistance quite as a matter of course, almost overpowered me. The
bail required was offered, and accepted immediately. Before four
o'clock, on that afternoon, I was shaking hands warmly with the good
old doctor--a free man again--in the streets of Knowlesbury.
Mrs. Catherick's undisguised contempt for Sir Percival plainly extended
Mr. Dawson hospitably invited me to go back with him to Oak Lodge, and
to his mother as well. She had referred with the bitterest sarcasm to
take up my quarters there for the night. I could only reply that my
the great family he had descended from--"especially by the mother's
time was not my own, and I could only ask him to let me pay my visit in
side." What did this mean?
a few days, when I might repeat my thanks, and offer to him all the
explanations which I felt to be only his due, but which I was not then
in a position to make. We parted with friendly assurances on both
sides, and I turned my steps at once to Mr. Wansborough's office in the
High Street.
There appeared to be only two explanations of it. Either his mother's
Time was now of the last importance.
birth had been low, or his mother's reputation was damaged by some
hidden flaw with which Mrs. Catherick and Sir Percival were both
privately acquainted? I could only put the first explanation to the
test by looking at the register of her marriage, and so ascertaining
her maiden name and her parentage as a preliminary to further inquiries.
On the other hand, if the second case supposed were the true one, what
The news of my being free on bail would reach Sir Percival, to an
had been the flaw in her reputation? Remembering the account which
absolute certainty, before night. If the next few hours did not put me
Marian had given me of Sir Percival's father and mother, and of the
in a position to justify his worst fears, and to hold him helpless at
suspiciously unsocial secluded life they had both led, I now asked
my mercy, I might lose every inch of the ground I had gained, never to
myself whether it might not be possible that his mother had never been
recover it again. The unscrupulous nature of the man, the local
married at all. Here again the register might, by offering written
influence he possessed, the desperate peril of exposure with which my
evidence of the marriage, prove to me, at any rate, that this doubt had
blindfold inquiries threatened him--all warned me to press on to
no foundation in truth. But where was the register to be found? At
positive discovery, without the useless waste of a single minute. I
this point I took up the conclusions which I had previously formed, and
had found time to think while I was waiting for Mr. Dawson's arrival,
andthe Isame hadmental wellprocess employedwhich it. Certain portionshad ofdiscovered the conversationlocality of the
concealed crime, now lodged the register also in the vestry of Old
talkative old clerk, which had wearied me at the time, now recurred to
Welmingham church.
my memory with a new significance, and a suspicion crossed my mind
darkly which had not occurred to me while I was in the vestry. On my
way to Knowlesbury, I had only proposed to apply to Mr. Wansborough for
information on the subject of Sir Percival's mother. My object now was
to examine the duplicate register of Old Welmingham Church.
These were the results of my interview with Mrs. Catherick--these were
Mr. Wansborough was in his office when I inquired for him.
the various considerations, all steadily converging to one point, which
decided the course of my proceedings on the next day.
He was a jovial, red-faced, easy-looking man--more like a country
squire than a lawyer--and he seemed to be both surprised and amused by
my application. He had heard of his father's copy of the register, but
had not even seen it himself. It had never been inquired after, and it
was no doubt in the strong room among other papers that had not been
disturbed since his father's death. It was a pity (Mr. Wansborough
said) that the old gentleman was not alive to hear his precious copy
asked for at last. He would have ridden his favourite hobby harder than
ever now. How had I come to hear of the copy? was it through anybody
in the town?
The morning was cloudy and lowering, but no rain fell. I left my bag
I parried the question as well as I could. It was impossible at this
at the hotel to wait there till I called for it, and, after inquiring
stage of the investigation to be too cautious, and it was just as well
the way, set forth on foot for Old Welmingham church.
not to let Mr. Wansborough know prematurely that I had already examined
the original register. I described myself, therefore, as pursuing a
family inquiry, to the object of which every possible saving of time
was of great importance. I was anxious to send certain particulars to
London by that day's post, and one look at the duplicate register
(paying, of course, the necessary fees) might supply what I required,
and save me a further journey to Old Welmingham. I added that, in the
event of my subsequently requiring a copy of the original register, I
should make application to Mr. Wansborough's office to furnish me with
the document.
It was a walk of rather more than two miles, the ground rising slowly
After this explanation no objection was made to producing the copy. A
all the way.
clerk was sent to the strong room, and after some delay returned with
the volume. It was of exactly the same size as the volume in the
vestry, the only difference being that the copy was more smartly bound.
I took it with me to an unoccupied desk. My hands were trembling--my
head was burning hot--I felt the necessity of concealing my agitation
as well as I could from the persons about me in the room, before I
ventured on opening the book.
On the blankhighest pagepoint atstood the beginning, to which I firstchurch--an turnedancient, wereweather-beaten
building, with heavy buttresses at its sides, and a clumsy square tower
traced some lines in faded ink. They contained these words--
in front. The vestry at the back was built out from the church, and
seemed to be of the same age. Round the building at intervals appeared
the remains of the village which Mrs. Clements had described to me as
her husband's place of abode in former years, and which the principal
inhabitants had long since deserted for the new town. Some of the
empty houses had been dismantled to their outer walls, some had been
left to decay with time, and some were still inhabited by persons
evidently of the poorest class. It was a dreary scene, and yet, in the
worst aspect of its ruin, not so dreary as the modern town that I had
just left. Here there was the brown, breezy sweep of surrounding
fields for the eye to repose on--here the trees, leafless as they were,
still varied the monotony of the prospect, and helped the mind to look
forward to summer-time and shade.
As I moved away from the back of the church, and passed some of the
"Copy of the Marriage Register of Welmingham Parish Church. Executed
dismantled cottages in search of a person who might direct me to the
under my orders, and afterwards compared, entry by entry, with the
clerk, I saw two men saunter out after me from behind a wall. The
original, by myself. (Signed) Robert Wansborough, vestry-clerk."
tallest of the two--a stout muscular man in the dress of a
Below this note there was a line added, in another handwriting, as
gamekeeper--was a stranger to me. The other was one of the men who had
follows: "Extending from the first of January, 1800, to the thirtieth
followed me in London on the day when I left Mr. Kyrle's office. I had
of June, 1815."
taken particular notice of him at the time; and I felt sure that I was
not mistaken in identifying the fellow on this occasion.
Neither he nor his companion attempted to speak to me, and both kept
I turned to the month of September, eighteen hundred and three. I
themselves at a respectful distance, but the motive of their presence
found the marriage of the man whose Christian name was the same as my
in the neighbourhood of the church was plainly apparent. It was exactly
own. I found the double register of the marriages of the two brothers.
as I had supposed--Sir Percival was already prepared for me. My visit
And between these entries, at the bottom of the page?
to Mrs. Catherick had been reported to him the evening before, and
those two men had been placed on the look-out near the church in
anticipation of my appearance at Old Welmingham. If I had wanted any
further proof that my investigations had taken the right direction at
last, the plan now adopted for watching me would have supplied it.
I walked on away from the church till I reached one of the inhabited
Nothing! Not a vestige of the entry which recorded the marriage of Sir
houses, with a patch of kitchen garden attached to it on which a
Felix Glyde and Cecilia Jane Elster in the register of the church!
labourer was at work. He directed me to the clerk's abode, a cottage
at some little distance off, standing by itself on the outskirts of the
forsaken village. The clerk was indoors, and was just putting on his
greatcoat. He was a cheerful, familiar, loudly-talkative old man, with
a very poor opinion (as I soon discovered) of the place in which he
lived, and a happy sense of superiority to his neighbours in virtue of
the great personal distinction of having once been in London.
"It's well you came so early, sir," said the old man, when I had
My heart gave a great bound, and throbbed as if it would stifle me. I
mentioned the object of my visit. "I should have been away in ten
looked again--I was afraid to believe the evidence of my own eyes. No!
minutes more. Parish business, sir, and a goodish long trot before
not a doubt. The marriage was not there. The entries on the copy
it's all done for a man at my age. But, bless you, I'm strong on my
occupied exactly the same places on the page as the entries in the
legs still! As long as a man don't give at his legs, there's a deal of
original. The last entry on one page recorded the marriage of the man
work left in him. Don't you think so yourself, sir?"
with my Christian name. Below it there was a blank space--a space
evidently left because it was too narrow to contain the entry of the
marriages of the two brothers, which in the copy, as in the original,
occupied the top of the next page. That space told the whole story!
There it must have remained in the church register from eighteen
hundred and three (when the marriages had been solemnised and the copy
had been made) to eighteen hundred and twenty-seven, when Sir Percival
appeared at Old Welmingham. Here, at Knowlesbury, was the chance of
committing the forgery shown to me in the copy, and there, at Old
Welmingham, was the forgery committed in the register of the church.
He took his keys down while he was talking from a hook behind the
My head turned giddy--I held by the desk to keep myself from falling.
fireplace, and locked his cottage door behind us.
Of all the suspicions which had struck me in relation to that desperate
man, not one had been near the truth.
"Nobody at home to keep house for me," said the clerk, with a cheerful
The idea that he was not Sir Percival Glyde at all, that he had no more
sense of perfect freedom from all family encumbrances. "My wife's in
claim to the baronetcy and to Blackwater Park than the poorest labourer
the churchyard there, and my children are all married. A wretched
who worked on the estate, had never once occurred to my mind. At one
place this, isn't it, sir? But the parish is a large one--every man
time I had thought he might be Anne Catherick's father--at another time
couldn't get through the business as I do. It's learning does it, and
I had thought he might have been Anne Catherick's husband--the offence
I've had my share, and a little more. I can talk the Queen's English
of which he was really guilty had been, from first to last, beyond the
(God bless the Queen!), and that's more than most of the people about
widest reach of my imagination.
here can do. You're from London, I suppose, sir? I've been in London a
matter of five-and-twenty year ago. What's the news there now, if you
please?"
Chattering on in this way, he led me back to the vestry. I looked
The paltry means by which the fraud had been effected, the magnitude
about to see if the two spies were still in sight. They were not
and daring of the crime that it represented, the horror of the
visible anywhere. After having discovered my application to the clerk,
consequences involved in its discovery, overwhelmed me. Who could
they had probably concealed themselves where they could watch my next
wonder now at the brute-restlessness of the wretch's life--at his
proceedings in perfect freedom.
desperate alternations between abject duplicity and reckless
violence--at the madness of guilty distrust which had made him imprison
Anne Catherick in the Asylum, and had given him over to the vile
conspiracy against his wife, on the bare suspicion that the one and the
other knew his terrible secret? The disclosure of that secret might, in
past years, have hanged him--might now transport him for life. The
disclosure of that secret, even if the sufferers by his deception
spared him the penalties of the law, would deprive him at one blow of
the name, the rank, the estate, the whole social existence that he had
usurped. This was the Secret, and it was mine! A word from me, and
house, lands, baronetcy, were gone from him for ever--a word from me,
and he was driven out into the world, a nameless, penniless, friendless
outcast! The man's whole future hung on my lips--and he knew it by this
time as certainly as I did!
The vestry door was of stout old oak, studded with strong nails, and
That last thought steadied me. Interests far more precious than my own
the clerk put his large heavy key into the lock with the air of a man
depended on the caution which must now guide my slightest actions.
who knew that he had a difficulty to encounter, and who was not quite
There was no possible treachery which Sir Percival might not attempt
certain of creditably conquering it.
against me. In the danger and desperation of his position he would be
staggered by no risks, he would recoil at no crime--he would literally
hesitate at nothing to save himself.
"I'm obliged to bring you this way, sir," he said, "because the door
I considered for a minute. My first necessity was to secure positive
from the vestry to the church is bolted on the vestry side. We might
evidence in writing of the discovery that I had just made, and in the
have got in through the church otherwise. This is a perverse lock, if
event of any personal misadventure happening to me, to place that
ever there was one yet. It's big enough for a prison-door--it's been
evidence beyond Sir Percival's reach. The copy of the register was
hampered over and over again, and it ought to be changed for a new one.
sure to be safe in Mr. Wansborough's strong room. But the position of
I've mentioned that to the churchwarden fifty times over at least--he's
the original in the vestry was, as I had seen with my own eyes,
always saying, 'I'll see about it'--and he never does see. Ah, It's a
anything but secure.
sort of lost corner, this place. Not like London--is it, sir? Bless
you, we are all asleep here! We don't march with the times."
After some twisting and turning of the key, the heavy lock yielded, and
In this emergency I resolved to return to the church, to apply again to
he opened the door.
the clerk, and to take the necessary extract from the register before I
slept that night. I was not then aware that a legally-certified copy
was necessary, and that no document merely drawn out by myself could
claim the proper importance as a proof. I was not aware of this, and my
determination to keep my present proceedings a secret prevented me from
asking any questions which might have procured the necessary
information. My one anxiety was the anxiety to get back to Old
Welmingham. I made the best excuses I could for the discomposure in my
face and manner which Mr. Wansborough had already noticed, laid the
necessary fee on his table, arranged that I should write to him in a
day or two, and left the office, with my head in a whirl and my blood
throbbing through my veins at fever heat.
The vestry was larger than I should have supposed it to be, judging
It was just getting dark. The idea occurred to me that I might be
from the outside only. It was a dim, mouldy, melancholy old room, with
followed again and attacked on the high-road.
a low, raftered ceiling. Round two sides of it, the sides nearest to
the interior of the church, ran heavy wooden presses, worm-eaten and
gaping with age. Hooked to the inner corner of one of these presses
hung several surplices, all bulging out at their lower ends in an
irreverent-looking bundle of limp drapery. Below the surplices, on the
floor, stood three packing-cases, with the lids half off, half on, and
the straw profusely bursting out of their cracks and crevices in every
direction. Behind them, in a corner, was a litter of dusty papers, some
large and rolled up like architects' plans, some loosely strung
together on files like bills or letters. The room had once been
lighted by a small side window, but this had been bricked up, and a
lantern skylight was now substituted for it. The atmosphere of the
place was heavy and mouldy, being rendered additionally oppressive by
the closing of the door which led into the church. This door also was
composed of solid oak, and was bolted at the top and bottom on the
vestry side.
"We might be tidier, mightn't we, sir?" said the cheerful clerk; "but
My walking-stick was a light one, of little or no use for purposes of
when you're in a lost corner of a place like this, what are you to do?
defence. I stopped before leaving Knowlesbury and bought a stout
Why, look here now, just look at these packing-cases. There they've
country cudgel, short, and heavy at the head. With this homely weapon,
been, for a year or more, ready to go down to London--there they are,
if any one man tried to stop me I was a match for him. If more than
littering the place, and there they'll stop as long as the nails hold
one attacked me I could trust to my heels. In my school-days I had
them together. I'll tell you what, sir, as I said before, this is not
been a noted runner, and I had not wanted for practice since in the
London. We are all asleep here. Bless you, WE don't march with the
later time of my experience in Central America.
times!"
"What is there in the packing-cases?" I asked.
I started from the town at a brisk pace, and kept the middle of the
road.
"Bits of old wood carvings from the pulpit, and panels from the
A small misty rain was falling, and it was impossible for the first
chancel, and images from the organ-loft," said the clerk. "Portraits of
half of the way to make sure whether I was followed or not. But at the
the twelve apostles in wood, and not a whole nose among 'em. All
last half of my journey, when I supposed myself to be about two miles
broken, and worm-eaten, and crumbling to dust at the edges. As brittle
from the church, I saw a man run by me in the rain, and then heard the
as crockery, sir, and as old as the church, if not older."
gate of a field by the roadside shut to sharply. I kept straight on,
with my cudgel ready in my hand, my ears on the alert, and my eyes
straining to see through the mist and the darkness. Before I had
advanced a hundred yards there was a rustling in the hedge on my right,
and three men sprang out into the road.
"And why were they going to London? To be repaired?"
I drew aside on the instant to the footpath. The two foremost men were
carried beyond me before they could check themselves. The third was as
quick as lightning. He stopped, half turned, and struck at me with his
stick. The blow was aimed at hazard, and was not a severe one. It
fell on my left shoulder. I returned it heavily on his head. He
staggered back and jostled his two companions just as they were both
rushing at me. This circumstance gave me a moment's start. I slipped
by them, and took to the middle of the road again at the top of my
speed.
"That's it, sir, to be repaired, and where they were past repair, to be
The two unhurt men pursued me. They were both good runners--the road
copied in sound wood. But, bless you, the money fell short, and there
was smooth and level, and for the first five minutes or more I was
they are, waiting for new subscriptions, and nobody to subscribe. It
conscious that I did not gain on them. It was perilous work to run for
was all done a year ago, sir. Six gentlemen dined together about it,
long in the darkness. I could barely see the dim black line of the
at the hotel in the new town. They made speeches, and passed
hedges on either side, and any chance obstacle in the road would have
resolutions, and put their names down, and printed off thousands of
thrown me down to a certainty. Ere long I felt the ground changing--it
prospectuses. Beautiful prospectuses, sir, all flourished over with
descended from the level at a turn, and then rose again beyond.
Gothic devices in red ink, saying it was a disgrace not to restore the
Downhill the men rather gained on me, but uphill I began to distance
church and repair the famous carvings, and so on. There are the
them. The rapid, regular thump of their feet grew fainter on my ear,
prospectuses that couldn't be distributed, and the architect's plans
and I calculated by the sound that I was far enough in advance to take
and estimates, and the whole correspondence which set everybody at
to the fields with a good chance of their passing me in the darkness.
loggerheads and ended in a dispute, all down together in that corner,
Diverging to the footpath, I made for the first break that I could
behind the packing-cases. The money dribbled in a little at first--but
guess at, rather than see, in the hedge. It proved to be a closed
what CAN you expect out of London? There was just enough, you know, to
gate. I vaulted over, and finding myself in a field, kept across it
steadily with my back topack the road.broken carvings, Iand heardget the menestimates, passand pay the gate,printer's
bill, and after that there wasn't a halfpenny left. There the things
still running, then in a minute more heard one of them call to the
are, as I said before. We have nowhere else to put them--nobody in the
other to come back. It was no matter what they did now, I was out of
new town cares about accommodating us--we're in a lost corner--and
their sight and out of their hearing. I kept straight across the
this is an untidy vestry--and who's to help it?--that's what I want to
field, and when I had reached the farther extremity of it, waited there
know."
for a minute to recover my breath.
My anxiety to examine the register did not dispose me to offer much
It was impossible to venture back to the road, but I was determined
encouragement to the old man's talkativeness. I agreed with him that
nevertheless to get to Old Welmingham that evening.
nobody could help the untidiness of the vestry, and then suggested that
we should proceed to our business without more delay.
"Ay, ay, the marriage-register, to be sure," said the clerk, taking a
Neither moon nor stars appeared to guide me. I only knew that I had
little bunch of keys from his pocket. "How far do you want to look
kept the wind and rain at my back on leaving Knowlesbury, and if I now
back, sir?"
kept them at my back still, I might at least be certain of not
advancing altogether in the wrong direction.
Marian had informed me of Sir Percival's age at the time when we had
Proceeding on this plan, I crossed the country--meeting with no worse
spoken together of his marriage engagement with Laura. She had then
obstacles than hedges, ditches, and thickets, which every now and then
described him as being forty-five years old. Calculating back from
obliged me to alter my course for a little while--until I found myself
this, and making due allowance for the year that had passed since I had
on a hill-side, with the ground sloping away steeply before me. I
gained my information, I found that he must have been born in eighteen
descended to the bottom of the hollow, squeezed my way through a hedge,
hundred and four, and that I might safely start on my search through
and got out into a lane. Having turned to the right on leaving the
the register from that date.
road, I now turned to the left, on the chance of regaining the line
from which I had wandered. After following the muddy windings of the
lane for ten minutes or more, I saw a cottage with a light in one of
the windows. The garden gate was open to the lane, and I went in at
once to inquire my way.
"I want to begin with the year eighteen hundred and four," I said.
Before I could knock at the door it was suddenly opened, and a man came
running out with a lighted lantern in his hand. He stopped and held it
up at the sight of me. We both started as we saw each other. My
wanderings had led me round the outskirts of the village, and had
brought me out at the lower end of it. I was back at Old Welmingham,
and the man with the lantern was no other than my acquaintance of the
morning, the parish clerk.
"Which way after that, sir?" asked the clerk. "Forwards to our time or
His manner appeared to have altered strangely in the interval since I
backwards away from us?"
had last seen him. He looked suspicious and confused--his ruddy cheeks
were deeply flushed--and his first words, when he spoke, were quite
unintelligible to me.
"Backwards from eighteen hundred and four."
"Where are the keys?" he asked. "Have you taken them?"
He opened the door of one of the presses--the press from the side of
"What keys?" I repeated. "I have this moment come from Knowlesbury.
which the surplices were hanging--and produced a large volume bound in
What keys do you mean?"
greasy brown leather. I was struck by the insecurity of the place in
which the register was kept. The door of the press was warped and
cracked with age, and the lock was of the smallest and commonest kind.
I could have forced it easily with the walking-stick I carried in my
hand.
"Is that considered a sufficiently secure place for the register?" I
"The keys of the vestry. Lord save us and help us! what shall I do?
inquired. "Surely a book of such importance as this ought to be
The keys are gone! Do you hear?" cried the old man, shaking the lantern
protected by a better lock, and kept carefully in an iron safe?"
at me in his agitation, "the keys are gone!"
"Well, now, that's curious!" said the clerk, shutting up the book
"How? When? Who can have taken them?"
again, just after he had opened it, and smacking his hand cheerfully on
the cover. "Those were the very words my old master was always saying
years and years ago, when I was a lad. 'Why isn't the register'
(meaning this register here, under my hand)--'why isn't it kept in an
iron safe?' If I've heard him say that once, I've heard him say it a
hundred times. He was the solicitor in those days, sir, who had the
appointment of vestry-clerk to this church. A fine hearty old
gentleman, and the most particular man breathing. As long as he lived
he kept a copy of this book in his office at Knowlesbury, and had it
posted up regular, from time to time, to correspond with the fresh
entries here. You would hardly think it, but he had his own appointed
days, once or twice in every quarter, for riding over to this church on
his old white pony, to check the copy, by the register, with his own
eyes and hands. 'How do I know?' (he used to say) 'how do I know that
the register in this vestry may not be stolen or destroyed? Why isn't
it kept in an iron safe? Why can't I make other people as careful as I
am myself? Some of these days there will be an accident happen, and
when the register's lost, then the parish will find out the value of my
copy.' He used to take his pinch of snuff after that, and look about
him as bold as a lord. Ah! the like of him for doing business isn't
easy to find now. You may go to London and not match him, even THERE.
Which year did you say, sir? Eighteen hundred and what?"
"Eighteen hundred and four," I replied, mentally resolving to give the
"I don't know," said the clerk, staring about him wildly in the
old man no more opportunities of talking, until my examination of the
darkness. "I've only just got back. I told you I had a long day's
register was over.
work this morning--I locked the door and shut the window down--it's
open now, the window's open. Look! somebody has got in there and taken
the keys."
The clerk put on his spectacles, and turned over the leaves of the
He turned to the casement window to show me that it was wide open. The
register, carefully wetting his finger and thumb at every third page.
door of the lantern came loose from its fastening as he swayed it
"There it is, sir," said he, with another cheerful smack on the open
round, and the wind blew the candle out instantly.
volume. "There's the year you want."
As I was ignorant of the month in which Sir Percival was born, I began
"Get another light," I said, "and let us both go to the vestry
my backward search with the early part of the year. The register-book
together. Quick! quick!"
was of the old-fashioned kind, the entries being all made on blank
pages in manuscript, and the divisions which separated them being
indicated by ink lines drawn across the page at the close of each entry.
I reached the beginning of the year eighteen hundred and four without
I hurried him into the house. The treachery that I had every reason to
encountering the marriage, and then travelled back through December
expect, the treachery that might deprive me of every advantage I had
eighteen hundred and three--through November and October--through----
gained, was at that moment, perhaps, in process of accomplishment. My
impatience to reach the church was so great that I could not remain
inactive in the cottage while the clerk lit the lantern again. I
walked out, down the garden path, into the lane.
No! not through September also. Under the heading of that month in the
Before I had advanced ten paces a man approached me from the direction
year I found the marriage.
leading to the church. He spoke respectfully as we met. I could not
see his face, but judging by his voice only, he was a perfect stranger
to me.
I looked carefully at the entry. It was at the bottom of a page, and
"I beg your pardon, Sir Percival----" he began.
was for want of room compressed into a smaller space than that occupied
by the marriages above. The marriage immediately before it was
impressed on my attention by the circumstance of the bridegroom's
Christian name being the same as my own. The entry immediately
following it (on the top of the next page) was noticeable in another
way from the large space it occupied, the record in this case
registering the marriages of two brothers at the same time. The
register of the marriage of Sir Felix Glyde was in no respect
remarkable except for the narrowness of the space into which it was
compressed at the bottom of the page. The information about his wife
was the usual information given in such cases. She was described as
"Cecilia Jane Elster, of Park-View Cottages, Knowlesbury, only daughter
of the late Patrick Elster, Esq., formerly of Bath."
I noted down these particulars in my pocket-book, feeling as I did so
I stopped him before he could say more.
both doubtful and disheartened about my next proceedings. The Secret
which I had believed until this moment to be within my grasp seemed now
farther from my reach than ever.
What suggestions of any mystery unexplained had arisen out of my visit
"The darkness misleads you," I said. "I am not Sir Percival."
to the vestry? I saw no suggestions anywhere. What progress had I made
towards discovering the suspected stain on the reputation of Sir
Percival's mother? The one fact I had ascertained vindicated her
reputation. Fresh doubts, fresh difficulties, fresh delays began to
open before me in interminable prospect. What was I to do next? The
one immediate resource left to me appeared to be this. I might
institute inquiries about "Miss Elster of Knowlesbury," on the chance
of advancing towards the main object of my investigation, by first
discovering the secret of Mrs. Catherick's contempt for Sir Percival's
mother.
"Have you found what you wanted, sir?" said the clerk, as I closed the
The man drew back directly.
register-book.
"Yes," I replied, "but I have some inquiries still to make. I suppose
"I thought it was my master," he muttered, in a confused, doubtful way.
the clergyman who officiated here in the year eighteen hundred and
three is no longer alive?"
"No, no, sir, he was dead three or four years before I came here, and
"You expected to meet your master here?"
that was as long ago as the year twenty-seven. I got this place, sir,"
persisted my talkative old friend, "through the clerk before me leaving
it. They say he was driven out of house and home by his wife--and
she's living still down in the new town there. I don't know the rights
of the story myself--all I know is I got the place. Mr. Wansborough
got it for me--the son of my old master that I was tell you of. He's a
free, pleasant gentleman as ever lived--rides to the hounds, keeps his
pointers and all that. He's vestry-clerk here now as his father was
before him."
"Did you not tell me your former master lived at Knowlesbury?" I asked,
"I was told to wait in the lane."
calling to mind the long story about the precise gentleman of the old
school with which my talkative friend had wearied me before he opened
the register-book.
"Yes, to be sure, sir," replied the clerk. "Old Mr. Wansborough lived
With that answer he retraced his steps. I looked back at the cottage
at Knowlesbury, and young Mr. Wansborough lives there too."
and saw the clerk coming out, with the lantern lighted once more. I
took the old man's arm to help him on the more quickly. We hastened
along the lane, and passed the person who had accosted me. As well as
I could see by the light of the lantern, he was a servant out of livery.
"You said just now he was vestry-clerk, like his father before him. I
"Who's that?" whispered the clerk. "Does he know anything about the
am not quite sure that I know what a vestry-clerk is."
keys?"
"Don't you indeed, sir?--and you come from London too! Every parish
"We won't wait to ask him," I replied. "We will go on to the vestry
church, you know, has a vestry-clerk and a parish-clerk. The
first."
parish-clerk is a man like me (except that I've got a deal more
learning than most of them--though I don't boast of it). The
vestry-clerk is a sort of an appointment that the lawyers get, and if
there's any business to be done for the vestry, why there they are to
do it. It's just the same in London. Every parish church there has
got its vestry-clerk--and you may take my word for it he's sure to be a
lawyer."
"Then young Mr. Wansborough is a lawyer, I suppose?"
The church was not visible, even by daytime, until the end of the lane
was reached. As we mounted the rising ground which led to the building
from that point, one of the village children--a boy--came close up to
us, attracted by the light we carried, and recognised the clerk.
"Of course he is, sir! A lawyer in High Street, Knowlesbury--the old
"I say, measter," said the boy, pulling officiously at the clerk's
offices that his father had before him. The number of times I've swept
coat, "there be summun up yander in the church. I heerd un lock the
those offices out, and seen the old gentleman come trotting in to
door on hisself--I heerd un strike a loight wi' a match."
business on his white pony, looking right and left all down the street
and nodding to everybody! Bless you, he was a popular character!--he'd
have done in London!"
"How far is it to Knowlesbury from this place?"
The clerk trembled and leaned against me heavily.
"A long stretch, sir," said the clerk, with that exaggerated idea of
"Come! come!" I said encouragingly. "We are not too late. We will
distances, and that vivid perception of difficulties in getting from
catch the man, whoever he is. Keep the lantern, and follow me as fast
place to place, which is peculiar to all country people. "Nigh on five
as you can."
mile, I can tell you!"
It was still early in the forenoon. There was plenty of time for a
I mounted the hill rapidly. The dark mass of the church-tower was the
walk to Knowlesbury and back again to Welmingham; and there was no
first object I discerned dimly against the night sky. As I turned
person probably in the town who was fitter to assist my inquiries about
aside to get round to the vestry, I heard heavy footsteps close to me.
the character and position of Sir Percival's mother before her marriage
The servant had ascended to the church after us. "I don't mean any
than the local solicitor. Resolving to go at once to Knowlesbury on
harm," he said, when I turned round on him, "I'm only looking for my
foot, I led the way out of the vestry.
master." The tones in which he spoke betrayed unmistakable fear. I
took no notice of him and went on.
"Thank you kindly, sir," said the clerk, as I slipped my little present
The instant I turned the corner and came in view of the vestry, I saw
into his hand. "Are you really going to walk all the way to
the lantern-skylight on the roof brilliantly lit up from within. It
Knowlesbury and back? Well! you're strong on your legs, too--and what
shone out with dazzling brightness against the murky, starless sky.
a blessing that is, isn't it? There's the road, you can't miss it. I
wish I was going your way--it's pleasant to meet with gentlemen from
London in a lost corner like this. One hears the news. Wish you
good-morning, sir, and thank you kindly once more."
We parted. As I left the church behind me I looked back, and there
I hurried through the churchyard to the door.
were the two men again on the road below, with a third in their
company, that third person being the short man in black whom I had
traced to the railway the evening before.
The three stood talking together for a little while, then separated.
As I got near there was a strange smell stealing out on the damp night
The man in black went away by himself towards Welmingham--the other two
air. I heard a snapping noise inside--I saw the light above grow
remained together, evidently waiting to follow me as soon as I walked
brighter and brighter--a pane of the glass cracked--I ran to the door
on.
and put my hand on it. The vestry was on fire!
I proceeded on my way without letting the fellows see that I took any
Before I could move, before I could draw my breath after that
special notice of them. They caused me no conscious irritation of
discovery, I was horror-struck by a heavy thump against the door from
feeling at that moment--on the contrary, they rather revived my sinking
the inside. I heard the key worked violently in the lock--I heard a
hopes. In the surprise of discovering the evidence of the marriage, I
man's voice behind the door, raised to a dreadful shrillness, screaming
had forgotten the inference I had drawn on first perceiving the men in
for help.
the neighbourhood of the vestry. Their reappearance reminded me that
Sir Percival had anticipated my visit to Old Welmingham church as the
The servant who had followed me staggered back shuddering, and dropped
next result of my interview with Mrs. Catherick--otherwise he would
to his knees. "Oh, my God!" he said, "it's Sir Percival!"
never have placed his spies there to wait for me. Smoothly and fairly
as appearances looked in the vestry, there was something wrong beneath
As the words passed his lips the clerk joined us, and at the same
moment them--there was anothersomething andin athe lastregister-book, gratingfor turnaught ofI the key in theknew, lock.that
I had not discovered yet.
"The Lord have mercy on his soul!" said the old man. "He is doomed and
dead. He has hampered the lock."
I rushed to the door. The one absorbing purpose that had filled all my
thoughts, that had controlled all my actions, for weeks and weeks past,
vanished in an instant from my mind. All remembrance of the heartless
injury the man's crimes had inflicted--of the love, the innocence, the
happiness he had pitilessly laid waste--of the oath I had sworn in my
own heart to summon him to the terrible reckoning that he
deserved--passed from my memory like a dream. I remembered nothing but
the horror of his situation. I felt nothing but the natural human
impulse to save him from a frightful death.
"Try the other door!" I shouted. "Try the door into the church! The
lock's hampered. You're a dead man if you waste another moment on it."
There had been no renewed cry for help when the key was turned for the
last time. There was no sound now of any kind, to give token that he
was still alive. I heard nothing but the quickening crackle of the
flames, and the sharp snap of the glass in the skylight above.
I looked round at my two companions. The servant had risen to his
feet--he had taken the lantern, and was holding it up vacantly at the
door. Terror seemed to have struck him with downright idiocy--he
waited at my heels, he followed me about when I moved like a dog. The
clerk sat crouched up on one of the tombstones, shivering, and moaning
to himself. The one moment in which I looked at them was enough to
show me that they were both helpless.
Hardly knowing what I did, acting desperately on the first impulse that
occurred to me, I seized the servant and pushed him against the vestry
wall. "Stoop!" I said, "and hold by the stones. I am going to climb
over you to the roof--I am going to break the skylight, and give him
some air!"
The man trembled from head to foot, but he held firm. I got on his
back, with my cudgel in my mouth, seized the parapet with both hands,
and was instantly on the roof. In the frantic hurry and agitation of
the moment, it never struck me that I might let out the flame instead
of letting in the air. I struck at the skylight, and battered in the
cracked, loosened glass at a blow. The fire leaped out like a wild
beast from its lair. If the wind had not chanced, in the position I
occupied, to set it away from me, my exertions might have ended then
and there. I crouched on the roof as the smoke poured out above me
with the flame. The gleams and flashes of the light showed me the
servant's face staring up vacantly under the wall--the clerk risen to
his feet on the tombstone, wringing his hands in despair--and the
scanty population of the village, haggard men and terrified women,
clustered beyond in the churchyard--all appearing and disappearing, in
the red of the dreadful glare, in the black of the choking smoke. And
the man beneath my feet!--the man, suffocating, burning, dying so near
us all, so utterly beyond our reach!
The thought half maddened me. I lowered myself from the roof, by my
hands, and dropped to the ground.
"The key of the church!" I shouted to the clerk. "We must try it that
way--we may save him yet if we can burst open the inner door."
"No, no, no!" cried the old man. "No hope! the church key and the
vestry key are on the same ring--both inside there! Oh, sir, he's past
saving--he's dust and ashes by this time!"
"They'll see the fire from the town," said a voice from among the men
behind me. "There's a ingine in the town. They'll save the church."
I called to that man--HE had his wits about him--I called to him to
come and speak to me. It would be a quarter of an hour at least before
the town engine could reach us. The horror of remaining inactive all
that time was more than I could face. In defiance of my own reason I
persuaded myself that the doomed and lost wretch in the vestry might
still be lying senseless on the floor, might not be dead yet. If we
broke open the door, might we save him? I knew the strength of the
heavy lock--I knew the thickness of the nailed oak--I knew the
hopelessness of assailing the one and the other by ordinary means. But
surely there were beams still left in the dismantled cottages near the
church? What if we got one, and used it as a battering-ram against the
door?
The thought leaped through me like the fire leaping out of the
shattered skylight. I appealed to the man who had spoken first of the
fire-engine in the town. "Have you got your pickaxes handy?" Yes, they
had. "And a hatchet, and a saw, and a bit of rope?" Yes! yes! yes! I
ran down among the villagers, with the lantern in my hand. "Five
shillings apiece to every man who helps me!" They started into life at
the words. That ravenous second hunger of poverty--the hunger for
money--roused them into tumult and activity in a moment. "Two of you
for more lanterns, if you have them! Two of you for the pickaxes and
the tools! The rest after me to find the beam!" They cheered--with
shrill starveling voices they cheered. The women and the children fled
back on either side. We rushed in a body down the churchyard path to
the first empty cottage. Not a man was left behind but the clerk--the
poor old clerk standing on the flat tombstone sobbing and wailing over
the church. The servant was still at my heels--his white, helpless,
panic-stricken face was close over my shoulder as we pushed into the
cottage. There were rafters from the torn-down floor above, lying
loose on the ground--but they were too light. A beam ran across over
our heads, but not out of reach of our arms and our pickaxes--a beam
fast at each end in the ruined wall, with ceiling and flooring all
ripped away, and a great gap in the roof above, open to the sky. We
attacked the beam at both ends at once. God! how it held--how the
brick and mortar of the wall resisted us! We struck, and tugged, and
tore. The beam gave at one end--it came down with a lump of brickwork
after it. There was a scream from the women all huddled in the doorway
to look at us--a shout from the men--two of them down but not hurt.
Another tug all together--and the beam was loose at both ends. We
raised it, and gave the word to clear the doorway. Now for the work!
now for the rush at the door! There is the fire streaming into the sky,
streaming brighter than ever to light us! Steady along the churchyard
path--steady with the beam for a rush at the door. One, two, three--and
off. Out rings the cheering again, irrepressibly. We have shaken it
already, the hinges must give if the lock won't. Another run with the
beam! One, two, three--and off. It's loose! the stealthy fire darts at
us through the crevice all round it. Another, and a last rush! The
door falls in with a crash. A great hush of awe, a stillness of
breathless expectation, possesses every living soul of us. We look for
the body. The scorching heat on our faces drives us back: we see
nothing--above, below, all through the room, we see nothing but a sheet
of living fire.
"Where is he?" whispered the servant, staring vacantly at the flames.
"He's dust and ashes," said the clerk. "And the books are dust and
ashes--and oh, sirs! the church will be dust and ashes soon."
Those were the only two who spoke. When they were silent again,
nothing stirred in the stillness but the bubble and the crackle of the
flames.
Hark!
A harsh rattling sound in the distance--then the hollow beat of horses'
hoofs at full gallop--then the low roar, the all-predominant tumult of
hundreds of human voices clamouring and shouting together. The engine
at last.
The people about me all turned from the fire, and ran eagerly to the
brow of the hill. The old clerk tried to go with the rest, but his
strength was exhausted. I saw him holding by one of the tombstones.
"Save the church!" he cried out faintly, as if the firemen could hear
him already.
Save the church!
The only man who never moved was the servant. There he stood, his eyes
still fastened on the flames in a changeless, vacant stare. I spoke to
him, I shook him by the arm. He was past rousing. He only whispered
once more, "Where is he?"
In ten minutes the engine was in position, the well at the back of the
church was feeding it, and the hose was carried to the doorway of the
vestry. If help had been wanted from me I could not have afforded it
now. My energy of will was gone--my strength was exhausted--the
turmoil of my thoughts was fearfully and suddenly stilled, now I knew
that he was dead.
I stood useless and helpless--looking, looking, looking into the
burning room.
I saw the fire slowly conquered. The brightness of the glare
faded--the steam rose in white clouds, and the smouldering heaps of
embers showed red and black through it on the floor. There was a
pause--then an advance all together of the firemen and the police which
blocked up the doorway--then a consultation in low voices--and then two
men were detached from the rest, and sent out of the churchyard through
the crowd. The crowd drew back on either side in dead silence to let
them pass.
After a while a great shudder ran through the people, and the living
lane widened slowly. The men came back along it with a door from one
of the empty houses. They carried it to the vestry and went in. The
police closed again round the doorway, and men stole out from among the
crowd by twos and threes and stood behind them to be the first to see.
Others waited near to be the first to hear. Women and children were
among these last.
The tidings from the vestry began to flow out among the crowd--they
dropped slowly from mouth to mouth till they reached the place where I
was standing. I heard the questions and answers repeated again and
again in low, eager tones all round me.
"Have they found him?" "Yes."--"Where?" "Against the door, on his
face."--"Which door?" "The door that goes into the church. His head
was against it--he was down on his face."--"Is his face burnt?" "No."
"Yes, it is." "No, scorched, not burnt--he lay on his face, I tell
you."--"Who was he? A lord, they say." "No, not a lord. SIR Something;
Sir means Knight." "And Baronight, too." "No." "Yes, it does."--"What
did he want in there?" "No good, you may depend on it."--"Did he do it
on purpose?"--"Burn himself on purpose!"--"I don't mean himself, I mean
the vestry."--"Is he dreadful to look at?" "Dreadful!"--"Not about the
face, though?" "No, no, not so much about the face. Don't anybody know
him?" "There's a man says he does."--"Who?" "A servant, they say. But
he's struck stupid-like, and the police don't believe him."--"Don't
anybody else know who it is?" "Hush----!"
The loud, clear voice of a man in authority silenced the low hum of
talking all round me in an instant.
"Where is the gentleman who tried to save him?" said the voice.
"Here, sir--here he is!" Dozens of eager faces pressed about me--dozens
of eager arms parted the crowd. The man in authority came up to
me with a lantern in his hand.
"This way, sir, if you please," he said quietly.
I was unable to speak to him, I was unable to resist him when he took
my arm. I tried to say that I had never seen the dead man in his
lifetime--that there was no hope of identifying him by means of a
stranger like me. But the words failed on my lips. I was faint, and
silent, and helpless.
"Do you know him, sir?"
I was standing inside a circle of men. Three of them opposite to me
were holding lanterns low down to the ground. Their eyes, and the eyes
of all the rest, were fixed silently and expectantly on my face. I
knew what was at my feet--I knew why they were holding the lanterns so
low to the ground.
"Can you identify him, sir?"
My eyes dropped slowly. At first I saw nothing under them but a coarse
canvas cloth. The dripping of the rain on it was audible in the
dreadful silence. I looked up, along the cloth, and there at the end,
stark and grim and black, in the yellow light--there was his dead face.
So, for the first and last time, I saw him. So the Visitation of God
ruled it that he and I should meet.
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