"It's all very well, Master North, for you to come here bullying me
about my health, and ordering me to go fishing, and half ruin myself
with cigars," said the curate; "but I feel disposed to retort,
`Physician, heal thyself.' Why, you're as white as so much dough."
"Nonsense!" cried the doctor hastily.
"Prisoner denies the impeachment," said Salis. "First witness--Mary
Salis--what do you say?"
Mary smiled at North, as she said quietly:
"I think Doctor North looks worn and pale."
"There, you hear," cried Salis triumphantly.
"I'm not convinced," said North. "I shall call a witness on my side.
Leo, will you speak for me?"
"Certainly I will," said Leo quietly, as she looked up from her
inevitable book. "Do I look pale and worn out?" Leo shook her head.
"No," she said quietly. "I think you look very well. Only, perhaps, a
little more earnest than of old."
"Thank you--thank you," cried the doctor eagerly.
"Why, he looks bad," said Salis; "and it's a horrible piece of imposture
for him to come here bullying me and wanting to give me abominable
decoctions, besides leading me into idleness and debauchery, when all
the time he cannot keep himself right."
"Nonsense!" cried the doctor pettishly. "I never was better: never more
busy."
"The fellow's a humbug," said Salis, bringing his hand down on the table
with a rap. "I'll tell you what's the matter."
North turned upon him a look so full of mingled entreaty and annoyance
that he checked himself.
"No," he said, laughing, "I am as bad as Horace North. I can't tell you
what's the matter unless it is that he is working too hard over his
craze."
North looked at him keenly, and his pallor increased.
"Well, I must be off up to the church. I want to see my friend,
Moredock."
"To see Moredock?" said the doctor, with a quick, uneasy look at the
speaker.
"Yes. I'm not satisfied with the old man's proceedings."
"What has he been doing?" said the doctor, who fidgeted in his seat, and
seemed anything but himself.
"Oh, I'm going to make no special charges against him," said the curate.
"Coming my way?"
"N-no, yes," said North, rising, and going to Mary's couch to shake
hands, her eyes looking up into his with a calm, patient smile full of
resignation and desire for his happiness, which he could not read.
He turned then to Leo, who was reading, and evidently deeply engrossed
in her book.
"Going?" she said, letting it fall, and looking up with a placid smile.
"What lovely weather, is it not?"
North said it was delightful, as he bent impressively over the extended
hand, and gazed with something of a lover's rapture in the beautiful
eyes that looked up into his; but there was no returning pressure of the
hand; the look was merely pleasant and friendly, and, worn out with
anxiety, sleeplessness, and watching, he could not help feeling a thirst
for something more, if it were merely sympathy, instead of those calmly
bland smiles and gently tolerant reception of his advances.
"Why, Horace, old man, I did not hurt you with my banter?" said Salis,
as they walked up towards the church.
"Hurt me? No. I'm a little upset; that's all. Salis, old fellow, I'm
not quite happy."
"No?" said the curate inquiringly, as he looked sidewise at his friend's
wrinkled face.
"I seem to make no progress with Leo."
"Is that so, or is it your fancy?" said the curate guardedly.
"It is so. She seems to tolerate me. You notice it."
"I notice that she is very quiet and thoughtful with you, but really
that is a good sign."
"You would like to see her my wife, Salis?"
"If it were for your happiness and hers, I would gladly see you man and
wife," said the curate warmly; "but don't be hasty, my dear fellow. It
is for life, remember."
"Remember? Oh, yes, I know all that," said North hastily.
Salis extended his hand, which the other took.
"Don't be offended with me, Horace, old friend. I wish to see you both
happy."
"I know it, I know it," said the doctor; and then catching; sight of
Moredock in the churchyard, he hesitated, half nervous as to what Salis
might have to say to the old man, but, convinced the next moment that
his fears were without base, he hurriedly said a few words and went
away.
"I can't see it," said Salis bitterly. "They seem so thoroughly
unsuited the one for the other. I wish it could have been so, for Leo's
sake. Ah, well," he added, as he walked through the old gate, "time
settles these things better than we can. Good morning, Moredock."
"Mornin', sir--mornin'."
"Is the vestry open?"
"Yes, sir; door's open, sir. You can go through the church or round at
the back. Through the church is best."
"I prefer going round," said the curate gravely; and he went on round by
the chancel, followed by the grim old sexton, who watched him furtively,
and went up quite close, with his big yellow ears twitching, as Salis
paused by the little path leading to the steps of the Candlish vault.
"What's that?" he said. "Eh? What, sir?" said Moredock, hastily
stepping before him to snatch up a pocket-handkerchief and crumple it in
his hands. "Only a bit of white rag, sir. Blowed there from somebody's
washing hung out to dry."
"Nonsense!" said the curate sternly. "Give it to me."
"Doctor's," said Moredock to himself. "The fool!"
He handed the piece of linen unwillingly, and the curate took it, held
it out, and turned to the corners, while the sexton's countenance
lightened up.
"Humph! `T. Candlish, 24,'" said Salis, reading aloud. "The new
baronet is going to favour the church, then, with his presence, I
suppose," he added sarcastically, as Moredock drew a breath full of
relief, but shivered again as he saw the curate glance at the mausoleum.
"Noo squire's, is it, sir?"
"Yes, and I beg his pardon," said the curate gravely, as he thought of
how lately the young man's brother had been laid there to rest.
"Moredock, ask Mrs Page to carefully wash and iron the handkerchief,
and then you can send one of the school children over with it to the
Hall."
"Yes, sir," said the sexton, with a feeling of relief.
"Now come into the vestry. I want to talk to you."
"Grumbling again--grumbling again," muttered the old man, as he followed
his superior, to stand before him, humbly waiting for the lecture he
expected to receive, but with his conscience quite at rest respecting
the vault.
"Now, Moredock," said Salis, "I have received a letter from Mr May, in
which he speaks very severely of the state of the churchyard."
"Why, he never said nothing when he were here."
"No; it seems as if he preferred to write, and in addition to
complaining of the state of the grass, he thinks that the walks are in
very bad condition."
"Why didn't he say so, then?"
"I tell you he preferred to write."
"How can I help the place looking bad when they sheep as Churchwarden
Candlish put in was always galloping over the graves!"
"Yes; the sheep do make the place untidy," said the curate, with a sigh.
"And now it'll be just as bad as ever, for Squire Tom sent a fresh lot
in 'smorning by one of his men."
"But the walks, Moredock--the weeds in the walks. You know I've
complained before."
"Well, look how bad my back's been. How could I weed walks with a back
as wouldn't bend; and seems to me, parson, as a man as has seen a deal,
as it 'd be better if you mended your own ways about church 'fore you
finds fault wi' an old servant like me."
"What do you mean?" said the curate sternly.
"Why, I mean that," said the old man, pointing to the floor with an
extremely grubby finger. "I've got it to keep clean, and I do it; but
you grumbled at me for smoking a pipe one day when I was digging a nasty
grave. You said it wer'n't decent to smoke in the churchyard."
"I did, Moredock, and I repeat it."
"And I say as 'tarn't decent to smoke in vestry, and chuck the bits o'
cigars about. You're always a-smoking now."
Salis turned crimson as he followed the direction of the pointing
finger, and saw several traces of white ash and the stump of a cigar.
"Why, Moredock, I--I--"
"There, don't go and deny it, parson. You've took to smoking bad as any
one now; and I've allus done my best about church, and it comes hard to
be found fault on, and if it's coming to this, sooner I goes the better,
and sooner Mr May finds fault with you the better, too."
The old man walked defiantly out of the vestry, and went toward his
cottage, while Salis picked up the cigar stump and thrust it into his
pocket.
"How provoking!" he said. "Must be growing fearfully absent, and
dropped it. I'm sure I did not smoke here when I came yesterday--no, it
was the day before--to find out about that old baptismal entry. I must
have walked in smoking, and thrown the end of the cigar down. Good
gracious! If May had seen me--or anybody else. It is outrageous. I'm
growing quite a slave to the habit, and forgetful of everything I do.
Tut--tut--tut! How provoking! The old man is quite right. How can I
reproach him again!"
He walked gloomily back home, meeting Mrs Berens, and so absorbed in
his thoughts that he passed without looking at her, making the fair
widow flush and return hastily to her house, to be seized with a
hysterical fit, which became so bad that North was summoned to
administer sal volatile, and calm the suffering woman down, as she asked
herself what had she done that dear Mr Salis should treat her so.
Meanwhile Jonadab Moredock had reached his cottage, raised the big
wooden latch, and passed in with a sudden bounce, but only to start, as
he found himself confronted by Dally Watlock.
"Ah, gran'fa!" cried the girl hastily, trying to conceal her confusion
and something-else; "why, there you are!"
"Yes," said the old man suspiciously; "here I am, and what do you want?"
"Oh! only to say that you mustn't forget what you promised."
"Oh! I shan't forget," said the old man. "But you arn't--you arn't
been meddlin' with anything, have you?" and he looked inquisitively
round.
"Meddling; oh no, gran'fa, dear! I've only just come in, and I can't
stop. But do help me. I should like some nice dresses, and you would
like to see me there."
"What, missus up at the Hall, my lass? Yes, and you shall be, too.
There, give's a kiss. Be a good gel, and you shall have some money and
fine clothes and feathers; and I'll get a strong lot o' chaps together
as shall ring the bells for hours the day you're wed."
"Oh, you dear old gran'fa. He shall marry me, shan't he?"
"Ay, that he shall, my pretty. Well, if you must go, good-bye."
"Yes, and he shall marry me, my fine madam," muttered Dally, as with
flushed face and sparkling eyes she turned back to the Rectory. "Well,
if it isn't Joe Chegg," she cried in a vexed tone, as she saw the young
man coming, and turned through a gate into the river meadows, to avoid
that rustic and get in by the back way.
"You think you can be very clever," continued Dally; "but other people
can be clever, too. Let's be sure this is the right one," she added, as
she drew a big key out of her pocket.
"Yes; that's the one he give me before. Two can play at that game,
Miss," she continued, with a vicious look, as she thrust the stolen key
into her pocket. "Ha--ha--ha! how foolish I can make her look.
Jealous? No, I'm not jealous; for I'm going to win the day as soon as
I've made quite sure."
Joe Chegg was in pursuit, but Dally took the back way through the
Rectory orchard, and passed Leo on her way in. "Been out, Dally?"
"Yes, Miss. And I'm very busy. And yes, Miss!" she added, as soon as
she was alone; "I've got the key in my pocket. You're very clever; but
perhaps Dally Watlock can be clever, too."
Volume 2, Chapter VII.