Jonadab Moredock sat smoking his pipe on the night of the funeral, after
Luke Candlish had been laid to his rest. The old man sat in the dark
for economical reasons, and whenever he drew hard at his pipe, the glow
in the bowl faintly lit up his weird old face.
He was communing with himself, for apparently his conscience was
pricking him with reminders of the past.
"Well," he muttered, "it was only lead, and bits o' zinc did just as
well. Sold one of the bells if I could? Well, so I would, if they
hadn't been so heavy. Much mine as anybody else's. I'm 'bout the
oldest man in Hampton!"
He smoked on furiously, and shifted about in his chair.
"What was a man to do? Go to workhouse when he got old? No, I wouldn't
do that. Only a few bones as the doctors wanted, and as would ha'
rotted in the ground if they'd been left. Do good, too. Them as they
b'longed to's glad they're able to do good with them, I know.
"Wish I'd a drop o' that physic, now. Seems to stir a man up like, and
give him strength. Nasty job, but I'm not skeared! It was fancy that
night. If I'd had a drop o' doctor's stuff I shouldn't ha' seen that
head going along above the pews. No, I'm not skeared; but will he see--
will he see?"
The old man fidgeted about uneasily in his chair, and had to refill and
relight his pipe.
"Tchah! What would he know about 'em? How could he tell? Nobody but
me's ever been down there, 'cept at funerals, and them as lives don't
want 'em; they b'long to the dead. Dead don't want 'em, so they b'long
to me. Ah!"
"Why, Moredock, did I frighten you?"
"Frighten me! No. Nothing frightens me; but you shouldn't come so
sudden like upon a man."
"You shouted as if you had been hurt. What makes you sit in the dark?"
"'Cause I arn't afraid o' the dark," grumbled the old man. "Candles is
candles, and costs money; don't they? Nobody gives me candles."
"Well, are you ready?"
"Ready? What for?"
"No nonsense, man. I'm not to be trifled with."
"Humph!" growled Moredock. "Brought that physic?"
"Yes, of course."
"Give's a drop, now. I'm about beat out. Hard work to-day."
North took a bottle from his pocket and set it on the table.
"Get a light, and you shall take a dose," he said.
"Nay; I want no light. I can see to do all I want without a light."
Moredock rose, went to a shelf, and took down a cup; the squeaking of
the cork was followed by the gurgle of some fluid, and then there was a
sound represented by the word "glug," and the sexton drew a long breath.
"Hah! that puts life in a man," he said. "Be careful not to take too
much."
"Ay! don't be skeared, doctor; I know," said the old man. "One thumb
deep. I've measured it times enough. I didn't leave a light. Might
take attention. Young Joe Chegg gets hanging about. Thinks he wants my
Polly, but he won't get her. Comes peeping in at this window sometimes
to see if she's here. Now I'm ready."
"Got everything you want?" said North. "Keys--lanthorn?"
"Ay! Got everything I want; but have you got everything you want?"
"Yes, man, yes."
"And look here, doctor; mind this: it's your job, and you're making me
do it."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean as I arn't going to stand the racket if it's found out. Spose
Parson Salis comes down upon me about it?"
"I understand you now," said the doctor sternly; "and I promise to hold
you free."
"But it _is_ for money, isn't it, doctor?" said Moredock insinuatingly.
"Money!" cried the doctor scornfully. "Do you think I would do this for
money?"
The old man made a curious sound in his throat, which might have been
laughing, but it was impossible to say, and then led the way out of the
cottage, merely closing the door after them, and going on towards the
church.
It was a singularly dark night, with not a breath of wind. Away to
their left lay the principal part of the village; but not a light was
visible; and, save for the uneasy barking of a dog at a distance, there
was not a sound.
"Not like this i' the morning, doctor," whispered Moredock. "Place was
like a fair."
"Don't talk," said the doctor sternly; and after emitting a grunt, the
old sexton trudged steadily on to the lych-gate, which he opened, the
key clicking a little, and the lock giving a sharp snap.
"Shall I lock it, or leave it?"
"Leave it. No one will come here."
"Nay, I'll make sure," said the old man; and passing his hand through
the open woodwork, he locked the gate and withdrew the key.
The two men ascended the steep pathway to the front of the church porch,
and continued their journey round by the end of the chancel to the
north, where the great mausoleum and the vestry stood side by side.
As they reached the end of the path where it stopped by the vestry door,
Moredock paused to listen intently for a few moments.
"All right," he said; "not so much as a cat about;" and stooping down,
he unlocked the iron gates at the head of the steps and they swung
softly back. "Iled 'em well," whispered the sexton, "and the door
below, too."
"Now look here, my man," whispered North, "you can let me into the tomb,
and then keep watch for me; or I will open the place myself, and bring
you back the keys."
"Nay, doctor, I'm not skeared. I don't like the job, but now you've got
me to start on it, I'll go on right to the end."
"That's right, Moredock; and you shall not regret it, man. As I've told
you, it is for a special scientific reason."
"I don't know nothing 'bout scientific reason, doctor," whispered the
old man; "but you said it was some'at to do wi' making men live longer."
"Yes, and it is."
"And that you'd stick to me, doctor, and make me live as long as
Mephooslum if you could."
"Yes, Moredock, I did."
"And you'll stick to that bargain?"
"I will, on my honour as a man."
"Shak' han's on it once again, doctor. That's enough for me. I like a
bit o' money, and I want it bad; but no money shouldn't ha' made me do
this. I'm doing of it because it's to make men live longer."
"Yes, my man, it is."
"Then in we goes. Stop!"
"What now?"
"You won't bring him--Squire Luke--back to life again, will you?
Because that won't answer my book."
"Silence, man, and keep to your bargain, as I will keep to mine."
Moredock drew a long breath, inserted the key, opened the heavy door of
the great vault, and it, too, swung easily upon its well-oiled hinges,
carefully prepared by the sexton for the funeral.
"You won't mind the dark for a minute, doctor?" whispered the old man.
"No," said the doctor, stepping in, followed by the sexton, who
carefully closed the grim portal, and they stood together in the utter
darkness in presence of generations of the dead.
Volume 2, Chapter IV.