CHAPTER X
CANON OF BELCHESTER
There followed for me after these solemn words of the Bishop aphantasmagoria of human faces, and sky, and tree-tops, and a singingin my ears, now loud, now soft, in which all other sounds andmovements seemed blended. I have an indistinct recollection ofthe walk home, and of finding myself in my own room. Then memorygradually faded away from me. Blank unconsciousness enveloped me likea cloud. The next thing I remember is waking up one morning as thoughafter a terrible dream, a night of nightmares, and finding the roomhalf full of medicine bottles. I looked around me faintly curious,inexpressibly bewildered; I suddenly realized that I had been ill.
I was not alone. Alice was standing over me, her round, honest littleface beaming with pleasure and her underlip quivering.
"You are better," she said, softly. "I am so glad."
"How long have I been here?" I asked.
She sat down by my side.
"A week to-morrow! Just think of it."
I closed my eyes. The little scene in the churchyard had suddenlyrisen up again before my eyes. My head commenced to swim. I asked nomore questions.
The next morning I was stronger. I sat up in bed and lookedaround. The first thing which I noticed was that the room was full ofthe most beautiful flowers; I stooped over a vase of roses and smeltthem. The air was almost faint with their delicious perfume.
"Where did they all come from?" I asked Alice.
She laughed in rather an odd manner.
"From whom do you suppose?" she asked.
"How should I know?" I protested, faintly. "I have not an idea."
"From the _bete noir_," she exclaimed, plucking off one of the yellowblossoms and placing it upon my pillow.
I still looked blankly at her. She laughed.
"Can't you really guess?" she asked.
I shook my head. I really had no idea.
"From Mr. Deville. He has called nearly every day to ask after you."
It was surprising enough, but I said very little. I suppose I was notconsidered strong enough then to hear any news of importance; butseveral days later, when I was sitting up, Alice looked up from thebook she was reading aloud to me and told me something which I knowshe must have had very hard work to have kept to herself for so long.
"Father is to be made a canon, Kate," she said, triumphantly. I lookedup at her bewildered. I had forgotten all about Lady Naselton's planson his behalf. The latter part of this terrible Sunday had haunted melike a nightmare, usurping all my thoughts. There had been little roomfor other memories.
"A canon!" I repeated, feebly. "Do you mean it, Alice?"
She nodded.
"The Bishop came here from Lady Naselton's. He said a lot of nicethings to father about his sermon on--that Sunday night--youremember."
"It was a wonderful sermon," I whispered.
"So the Bishop thinks; so every one thinks," Alice declared, withenthusiasm. "I shall never forget how I felt. And he had no notes, oranything."
"It was the most realistic sermon I ever heard," I said, with a littleshudder. "It was like a scene from a play. It was wonderful."
Alice looked up at me quickly. Doubtless my voice had betrayed someagitation. She laid her hand upon my arm.
"Don't think about it this evening," she begged. "I quite forgotfather especially forbade my speaking of it to you. It must have beenterrible for you to have been so near it all. I can't imagine whatI should have done. I could see nothing from the organ screen, youknow."
I leaned over and looked at her.
"Alice, I do not want to talk about it, but I want to know how itended. You must tell me that."
She hesitated for a moment.
"He was quite dead," she said, slowly. "There was an inquest, and theydecided that he must have been attacked somewhere in the wood betweenthe downs and Yellow House. There were all the marks of a strugglewithin a few hundred yards of the road."
"Did they bring in a verdict of murder?" I asked.
Alice nodded.
"Yes," she assented, gravely. "He was murdered. It seems that he waslately come from abroad. He had been staying at Lady Naselton's, butshe knew scarcely anything about him. He was kind to her son abroad. Ithink they just know his name and that was all. They had no idea whereto send to or if he had any near relatives alive. It was all veryodd."
"Was he robbed?" I asked.
"No. His watch and money were found in his pocket undisturbed. Ifanything was taken from it it must have been papers only. The policeare trying hard to find a clue, but they say that it is a verydifficult case. No one seems to have seen him at all after he leftNaselton Hall."
I caught at the side of my chair.
"No one at all?" I asked.
"Not a soul."
I was silent for a moment. The walls of my little chamber had suddenlyopened. I saw again from the edge of the moor that lone figure comingdown the hillside towards us, I saw that strange light flashing in myfather's face, and I heard the greeting of the two men. A sick dreadwas in my heart.
"Was father called as a witness?" I asked.
"No. Why should he be? The man was a stranger to him. He had neverseen him before."
I closed my eyes and laid back. Alice bent over me anxiously.
"I ought not to have talked about this to you," she said. "Fatherabsolutely forbade me to, but you wanted to know the end somuch. Promise not to think of it any more."
Promise not to think of it any more? Ah! if only I could have madethat promise and kept it. My sister's protesting words seemed chargedwith the subtlest and most bitter of all irony. Already some faintpremonition of the burden which I was to bear seemed dawning uponme. I remained silent and kept my eyes closed. Alice thought thatI was asleep, but I knew that sleep was very far off. The white,distorted face of that dying man was before me. I saw the silentchallenge and the silent duel which had passed between those two, thecentral figures in that marvellous little drama--one, the challenger,ghastly pale even to the tremulous lips, wild and dishevelled, myfather looking down upon him with unquailing mien and proud, stillface. One moment more of life, a few beats more of the pulses, andthat sentence--and that sentence--what would it have grown to? I feltmyself shivering as I lay there.
"Did you say that father was away now?" I asked Alice.
She nodded.
"Yes; he is staying with the Bishop for a few days. I should not besurprised if he came home to-day, though. I have written to him byevery post to let him know how you are, and he was most anxious tohear directly you were well enough to talk. I have been disobeying himfrightfully."
Again I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. I had heard what Alice hadnot, the sound of wheels below. Suddenly she laid down her work andstarted up. It was my father's voice bidding the cabman "Good night."
"I must go down to him, Kate," she declared, springing up; "I won'tleave you alone for more than a minute or two."
But when the minute or two had elapsed and there was a knock at mydoor, it was not Alice who had returned. I answered in a low voice,and my father entered.
The Yellow House; Master of Men Page 10