CHAPTER XXXVII.
It is quite abominable to have left Diggory Falgate for such a lengthof time in a cold damp vault, without anybody to keep him company butrats and mice and such small deer; but yet, dearly-beloved reader, itcould not be helped without evident injustice to more importantpersonages. Not that Diggory Falgate was an unimportant person, northat his stay in the vault was unimportant to this history; far fromit, as you shall speedily hear. The reader has already perceived thathe was a man of action, fond of an enterprise, liking a certain sortof excitement; not always, indeed, quite confident of himself, andconsequently exaggerating a little his sayings and doings, in order tokeep himself up to the mark.
He drew back the shade of the lantern, then, as we have before said,and looked about. His next step was not quite determined, and it waswise to look about him. It always is wise, indeed, to look about onebefore one acts; but, nevertheless, the glance that Diggory gavearound did not serve to strengthen him in any resolution or guide himin any course of action. On the contrary, it confused his mind andshook his firmness. The first feeling when Mr. Dry and the sexton madetheir escape from his pursuit, taking him to be a ghostly enemy, wasone of triumph; but when he came to examine in what that triumphconsisted, he felt induced to exclaim, like Napoleon, "Is this avictory?"
He was master of the field, it was true; the foe had fled; but therehe was, left alone, with nothing but coffins, and shrouds, and otherremnants of humanity, scattered around him. The door, too, was bolted;he had heard them fasten it; the other door they had talked of mightbe locked, and he might have to remain where he was till some personin the neighbourhood chose to die and be buried, or till hunger,fright, cold, and solitude, added his bones to the bones that weremouldering around. He calculated the chances; he entered into thedetails with painful minuteness; he knew that the parish was large,but very thinly peopled. There might be a funeral once a quarter, butnot more, except when some epidemic raged in Hull, and people took afancy for country lodging before or after death. Then he thought, witha glimpse of hope, that on Sunday there would be a congregation in thechurch, and he could make them hear; but Sunday was a long way off,for this was only Wednesday, and Diggory Falgate set himself tocompute how long he could hold out. Thursday, Friday, Saturday--threedays and a half! He had often fasted two, for very good reasons, butthen it was not in a vault; it was not amongst dead corpses: it wasunder the free sky, with the fresh breath of heaven blowing on hischeek, and beautiful nature refreshing him with bright sights. Thecase was very different at present, and his knees began to shake atthe very thought.
Then, however, he did what he should have done at first, but thatImagination, when she gets the bit between her teeth, is such arunaway jade that she carries one through all the ponds and quagmiresof possibility in five minutes. He set out in search of the otherdoor, to see whether there was any need of alarming himself at all. Hetook two steps forward, and then a third; the fourth struck againstsomething that made a sort of creaking sound--something even softerthan the skull of a man of fashion; and holding down the lantern heperceived the basket of Ezekiel Dry. His heart was instantly revived,and stooping over it he drew forth the bottle of genuine Nantz whichthe worthy Puritan had boasted of, and with a good conscience he putit to his mouth. The contents had certainly been diminished by theoriginal proprietor and his friend; but still there was nearly half abottle left, and that would, he thought, with prudence and economy,serve to keep him up till he could get help. There was some bread andcheese, too, in the basket, and the mouthful of spirits having actedspeedily with cheering effect, he looked upon himself as providedagainst the worst contingency; and in a moment after his eye lightedon a crowbar, a mallet, and a chisel, with which he flattered himselfhe could unbar any door that ever yet was closed.
All Diggory Falgate's speculations, however, were vain, useless,unnecessary, as nine out of ten of all our speculations are. When hewalked on, threading the lanes of coffins, till he reached a part ofthe vault where it was crossed by another under the chancel, there onhis right hand stood the door that led into the churchyard, wide open,and moonlight shining in quite pleasantly. All his alarm took flightin a moment, the lion returned to his heart, and after an instant'spause he said to himself, "Hang me if I do not see before I go whatthese fellows were hunting after!" and with this doughty resolution hewalked back, and began to examine the scene of Mr. Dry's operations.
There stood the coffin on the ground, the lid raised by tearing thescrews out of the woodwork, and only holding by one at the end wherethe feet were placed. It was a very plain coffin; no velvet, nogilding spoke it to be that which contained the dust of high estate ornoble birth; but simple black cloth was the covering, and a smalllacquered plate upon the lid bore inscribed some letters, which thepainter held the lantern to decipher. It was not without difficultythat he did so, and then could make nothing of them, for they were but
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The painter paused and gazed in silence. "There must be something moreunder this," he said at length, "or that old villain would not havecome here to break open the coffin. I wish Captain Barecolt had toldme more, for I cannot help thinking that he and that pretty young ladyhave some interest in this affair. I have a great mind to see what isin the inside: there is but one screw left in; it would be easilytaken out."
He stooped and took up the chisel, but then paused again in doubt andhesitation. "Well," he said, "I can put it in again if I findanything. There is no harm in looking;" and quietly applying thechisel to the purposes of a turnscrew, without venturing to use anysuch violence as those who preceded him had displayed, he drew outthe last remaining screw, and looked with an anxious face at thecoffin-lid, with some feelings of awe and reluctance. Then giving aglance round the vault, he removed the covering and laid it downagainst the neighbouring pile.
Lifting the lantern, Falgate looked into the last receptacle of whathad once been young, and fresh, and beautiful.
There was the dusty shroud, somewhat mouldy, but not decayed; and asthe face of the dead was covered with a cloth, none of the ghastlyappearances of corruption were visible; but the falling of the draperyof death, the sharp lines and angles that the folds presented, toldplainly and solemnly that the flesh had long returned to dust, andthat nothing but the bones remained uncrumbled. One thing, however,instantly attracted the poor painter's attention: a piece ofparchment, covered with writing, lay upon the breast, and taking it uphe read it with care. The words seemed to direct him to a furthersearch, and putting his hand to the left side of the shroud, thoughwith some reluctance, he drew forth a small packet folded up andsealed. Blowing away the dust from it, after a few moments'consideration he wrapped it in the parchment, and put it into hispocket, saying, "If I do not take it, others will, who may make a baduse of it. I will convey it to those who have a right to have it, ifGod helps me out of this scrape."
Then replacing the lid of the coffin nearly as he had found it, he atesome of the bread and cheese, applied his lips again to the bottle ofNantz, and walking to the door, peeped out into the churchyard. Allwas still and quiet, the moon shining upon the gravestones, and thewind whispering through the old yews; and stripping of the surplicewhich he had found in the vestry, Diggory Falgate stole forth into theopen air, got over the low wall, and made speed toward some trees thathe saw at a distance.
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