Out into the keen night air went Jared Pellet; but as soon as he was
outside his own door, his heart seemed to sink down, heavy, heavier,
heaviest, for he was going for his last practice. The old church was to
peal with chords from his hands for the very last time; and, filled with
bitterness, he strode on, thinking of the day of his triumph, when, in
preference to so many, he was chosen organist; of the bright visions of
prosperity he had then conjured up, all now faded away, leaving nothing
but desolation. There had been a heavy fall of snow, and the streets
were hushed and still, even the wheels of the few vehicles seemed
muffled.
He shivered with the cold, and at the silence, which seemed oppressive.
There were few people about, and though, as he saw them coming, the
sight was welcome, Jared Pellet shrank away lest they might divine his
misery. He could hardly believe in such sorrow as now seemed his lot;
while he was ready to utter maledictions upon the head of his brother,
who heeded them not, but upon whom he laid the blame of making him
flinch from telling his wife and daughter the whole story. Was he not
now a suspected thief--a beggar? and should he not soon be looked upon
at home as a hypocrite and deceiver? Well might he, in his abstraction,
be hustled and jostled by those he met, for at times his gait was almost
that of a drunken man.
Six o'clock was striking as he reached St Runwald's, but there was no
Ichabod waiting, neither was he overing the little fat tombstone that
had sunk so far into the earth, nor making snowballs in the path; so
Jared kicked the snow from his boots, unlocked the great door, walked
in, and, in an absent fit, locked himself into the great gloomy church.
Not that it mattered, for Ichabod Gunnis had forgotten the practice, and
at this time, in company with three or four birds of a feather, he was
lying in ambush in a cour at a little distance, whence he could throw
snowballs at the drivers and conductors of the various 'buses.
So Jared Pellet told himself that it was for the last time that he was
standing in the gloomy edifice; and rapping his teeth with the key, he
slowly made his way to the organ-loft, where, after five minutes'
fumbling, he found his match-box, and lit the single candle by which he
practised, abstaining from touching the blower's dip, till such time as
that functionary should arrive.
And there sat, with bended head, the desolate man, the centre of a halo
of light, which dimly displayed his music, the reflector, and the keys
and stops. Above him towered the huge, gilt pipes; while from every
corner looked down the carven cherubim, here and there one with a flush
of light upon its swollen cheeks. The building was very dark, for the
light from street lamp or shop shone but faintly through the windows.
The snow from without sent in a ghastly glimmer, sufficient to show the
black beams and rafters high up in the open roof, where dust and cobwebs
ruled supreme. The tall aisle pillars stood in two ghostly rows; while
upon the funereal hatchments between, lay here and there a streak of
light, shot through some coloured pane, to lend a bar sinister never
intended by the heraldic painter. Now it was the tablet-supported
napkin, draped over a carved angel, that caught the light, and stood out
strangely from the surrounding darkness, while all below was black,
deep, and impenetrable--a sea of shadows, with pew-like waves and a
holland-covered pulpit and reading-desk for vessels, to stand out dimly
from the surrounding gloom.
Patchy and ill diffused was the light; as if tired and worn with its
efforts to struggle through the wire-protected, stained-glass windows,
it rested where it fell, to peer down grimly upon the darkness in the
nave.
Four times over, eight times over, times uncounted, had the chimes rung
out the quarters, and stroke by stroke the hours were told, vibrating
heavily through the church, and still Jared sat in the organ-loft in his
old position. He was alone, for no Ichabod had come to rattle the
handle and kick the big oaken door. But Jared thought not of cold or
gloom, for his soul was dead within him as he mourned, in the sadness of
his heart, for the poverty and misery which clung to him, and his
inability to ward them off. He could tell himself that he had struggled
manfully, hiding his sorrows from those who were dear to him; but now he
felt that he was beaten, conquered--that the hard fight had gone against
him, and that he must give up.
But where had that money gone? Who had taken it? Had they still
watched and tried to find the thief, or rested satisfied with their
discovery? He knew not, though strenuous efforts had been made by more
than one; but, excepting in a single case, the money marked and left in
the boxes had not been taken--a fact which vicar and churchwarden
interpreted to mean that the guilty party was found. They had now
therefore ceased watching, believing that the treasure was no longer
interfered with; though had they once more examined the money, they
would have found that two marked half-crowns and a florin had been
extracted, as if the thief had seized his last chance of appropriating a
portion of the little store.
"What will become of me? Where are we to go?" muttered Jared; and then
he wrung his hands, and pressed them to his aching head. "And if they
prosecute, what then?"
Jared Pellet shivered as he asked himself the question, while in fancy
he could see reflected in the mirror before him every horror with which
for days past he had been torturing himself, beginning with the bar of a
police court, and ending with masked convicts in prison yards, toiling
at some bitter task, and, like him, dreaming--dreams within dreams--of
wives and children shivering at a workhouse door. He knew that he was
making the worst of it, but he excused himself upon the plea that it was
the first time that he had done so, and that never until now had he
given up, for he was very miserable, and he again wrung his hands until
the bones cracked.
"What--what shall I do?" groaned the wretched man. "The cheque will not
come now; and if they should have sent to arrest me now upon this last
day!" And then again in that reflector he conjured up before him the
summons at his own door, the eager step of Patty, expecting a messenger
from the vicar, and then the poor girl's horror to find the police were
upon her father's track. He could see it all plainly enough in that old
mirror, and he covered his face with his hands, and groaned again--"What
shall I do? What shall I do?" in a helpless, childish fashion.
"Curse God and die," seemed hissed in his ears; and Jared started and
roused himself. He had read and heard of men being tempted into
rebellion against their Maker; he had known of those who, in their
despair, had been seized by some horrible impulse which had led them to
rush headlong into the presence of the Judge--men rich in this world's
goods, high in the opinion of their fellows--men to whom high honours
had been awarded in the temple of fame,--and yet unaccountably attacked
by that dread horror which so often tempts the wretched prisoner to
shorten the term of his punishment. Might not this be akin? Was not
this some temptation? Oh! that wandering imagination--that too faithful
mirror! Jared shuddered as in it he pictured more than one fearful
termination of his career, and saw his wretched wife upon her knees
beside something--something against which he closed his eyes, and upon
whose horrors he dared not gaze.
Yes, this was some such temptation; but he was a man who could defy it;
and starting forward, he seized two or three stops on either side of the
instrument, and dragged them out, before running his fingers rapidly
along the keys; but the next instant he paused and shuddered, for in
place of the organ's swelling tones came the low dull rattling bone-like
sound of the keys, to rise and fall and go floating through the silent
nave of the old church in a strangely weird, dumb cadence.
He gazed before him into his mirror, but it was a black depth, which
gave but one reflection--his own ghastly face. Again he leaned forward
and swept his fingers over the keys, as if engaged in playing one of his
favourite voluntaries; but he ran through only a few lines, for the low
soft rattle again floated through the church, and then he shuddered as
he drew back his hands, for the scrap of candle in the sconce fell
through, darting up one sharp blue flame, by whose rays the keys of the
instrument seemed to grin at him like the teeth of some huge monster.
Then all was silence and gloom, suited to his morbid imaginings, and the
visions seemed to float before him once more in the mirror--old dreams--
new dreams--old dreams with fresh incidents--dreams of his brother,
mocking and jeering at his poverty, and in his prosperity ever crushing
him down--dreams of misery--dreams of happiness, wooing and wedding, and
joy-bells clashing out jubilant and merry--dreams--dreams--dreams
pictured in the depths of that old mirror, and then darkness--a blank.
Cold and shuddering, he started up, for it seemed that a cold breath of
air passed across his brow; then he was listening to a noise as of a
closing door; then there was the soft pat as of footsteps--a rustling--
the creak of a pew-door turning upon its hinges; and slowly turning his
head, Jared Pellet sat with dilated eyes, there in the darkness and
silence of the old church--listening.
Volume 3, Chapter XI.
"WAS IT GHOSTLY?"
"Was it ghostly--was it spiritual?" Jared Pellet asked himself, as he
sat with strained nerves eager to catch the slightest sound. But now
all was silent, and he listened in vain. Cold, almost numbed, he rubbed
his hands together and left his place slowly, descending into the body
of the church, confused as one just awakening from a state of torpor.
Once he halted upon the stairs for a minute or two and listened; but he
heard nothing, and continued his descent, telling himself that his
imagination was wild and overstrained. Then pausing suddenly upon the
matting which covered the nave, his heart's pulsation seemed checked,
for from the direction of the north door came all at once, loud and
distinct in the empty church, a sharp metallic click; and then, at short
intervals three more sounds each clear and sharp in the silence, as of
money falling upon money.
At any other time Jared would have ridiculed as absurd the idea of being
alarmed by supernatural visitations: the church at midnight was the same
place to him, but for its darkness, as the church at midday; but now,
broken, unnerved, and trembling in every limb, he stood by the south
door as if fixed, listening eagerly.
For a while there was silence, so that he could hear his own heart beat,
and he tried to make out what all this could mean. Was it--could it
be--some strange influence of the mind caused by constantly dwelling
upon the abstraction of the poor-box money? or had he really heard the
chinking of falling coin? He was beginning to think, from the silence
that reigned, that it was all a delusion. He strained his eyes in the
direction, but they could not penetrate the thick darkness, and at last
a bitter smile crossed his features, as he thought that his mind was
becoming disturbed with trouble, and that while he was yet able, he had
better seek home and try to rest. Should he walk across the church to
the other door and see if there was anything? Pooh! it was but fancy--a
rat, perhaps, under the flooring of the old pews.
Jared felt in his pocket for the key of the door, but it had slipped
through into the lining. His hands were numbed with the cold, and he
could not extricate it, for the wards were entangled with the rags.
But _that_ was not fancy, _that_ was no stretch of the imagination.
There was a faint rustling noise, similar to that which he had heard at
first, and now, apparently, coming towards him.
Jared Pellet was probably as bold as most men of his condition; but now,
freshly awakened, as it were, from a strange stupor, in a dark church,
at probably midnight, his blood seemed to freeze, and his teeth
chattered with horror. What did it mean? What could it be--that
invisible thing, that softly rustling noise, coming nearer and nearer?
He could not even see the pew by his side. Should he go? The door was
locked, and he could not get the key from his pocket; and besides, in
the horror of that moment, he had stretched out his hands to keep off
that something strange and rustling that came nearer and nearer, till he
fancied that he could hear breathing, and then the rustling ceased, to
be succeeded by a low dull beat, which he knew directly after to be that
of his own heart.
But at last, as with a flash, a ray of light crossed his mind, which
chased away all superstitious fancies. Here now, almost within his
reach, was the robber of the poor-boxes returning from his unholy
errand. The click he had heard was that of falling money; and the blood
flushed to his face as he felt that now was the time for action--now was
the moment which should decide his fate. How he longed for a light.
The night before had been clear and moonlit, so that he could have seen
distinctly; but from the snow-clouds, the darkness was intense. What
should he do?
"Whoever it is shall not pass out of the church while I have life," he
thought, as he smiled at his superstitious folly. But, for all that, as
he stood there, with arms outstretched in the intense darkness, his
heart still beat violently. Whoever it was had evidently taken the
alarm, and was listening intently. But now came once more the rustling,
accompanied by a sound that Jared made out to be that of a hand drawn
along the sides of the pews.
Closer, closer--he could hear the breathing distinctly; but again there
was a halt, during which Jared remained motionless, till the rustling
began again, and a hand touched his own.
All the blood in his body seemed to rush to his heart as he felt the
contact of that icy hand; the superstitious dread came back; but he
threw, himself forward, nerved, as it were, by despair, and clutched an
arm, but only to be dashed violently back, trip over a hassock, and
strike his head a sickening blow against one of the stone steps of the
font.
That fall drove out the last dread of a supernatural visitation, and,
springing up, Jared gave chase to the rustling figure, which he now
heard half-way down the south aisle.
It was slow work in the dark, but Jared pushed on, now striking
violently against some pew-door, now stopping half confused in the dark
as to where he was; but there was the rustling noise in front, and as
well as he could he followed up one aisle and down the nave, then along
the other aisle, but apparently losing ground. The flying one was as
corporeal as himself, that was plain enough, for more than once there
was the noise of collision with open pew-doors, which banged to and then
flew open again, ready for him to strike against violently.
Twice had pursuer and pursued made the circuit of the church, when,
feeling that he had neared the flying figure, Jared sprang forward to
grasp--nothing, for the noise suddenly ceased. He stopped to listen,
but the only sound he could detect was the beating of his own heart.
This was unexpected. He listened again; no sound. He ran his hand
along by the sides of the pews, first here and then there; he went
forward, panting heavily the while; he came back, but he was still at
fault. The quarry had doubled somehow, and escaped him for the time,
and would perhaps reach one of the doors; and in dread of losing his
opportunity, Jared ran hastily towards the south door, but only to
recollect that there were the north, west, and chancel doors, through
any one of which the fugitive might escape while he guarded the south.
Then it struck him where he had been at fault: the enemy of his peace
must have crept softly into an open pew and allowed him to pass. That
was it, no doubt; and hurrying back, he was in time to hear the rustling
noise very softly at the end of the north aisle, as though his enemy
were stealing away. Swiftly as the darkness would allow he hurried on,
and once more the chase began. They had passed round the church again,
and Jared felt that he was gaining ground, when he caught his foot in
the matting where it had slightly turned up, and fell heavily, to gather
himself up again just in time to feel once more the rush of cold air
upon his cheek, and hear the door locked just as he came up.
Jared's hands trembled with agitation as he tore at his pocket to free
the key, dragging out the lining; and then, as he held the cold iron in
his hand, he could hardly find the hole, so that quite a minute had
elapsed before he had dragged the heavy door open, stood amongst the
drifted snow in the porch, and taken up the pursuit.
There, in the faint glimmering light, were the deep impressions of
footsteps to the church gates, and Jared grimly smiled as he muttered to
himself, "A heavy step for a ghost;" but no sooner was he outside the
gate than his power of tracking his enemy was gone, for the snow was
trampled with footprints crossing and re-crossing, while, though he
looked up and down the street, there was nothing to be seen but the
glimmering lamps, nor to be heard but the sighing of the cold night
wind.
Suddenly he fancied that in the distance he saw a figure crossing the
road, and dashed after it as hard as he could run. It turned down a
street that he knew well, and, by taking a short cut, Jared felt that he
should meet his enemy, if it was the object of his chase; so running
down first one street and then another, he neared the bottom outlet of
the place he sought, paused a moment to listen, and then could make out
the dull deadened sound of coming steps in the snow, apparently nearing
him slowly.
To dart round the corner, and grasp the new-comer, was the work of an
instant, but it only resulted in his being grasped in return, for the
organist was in the hands of the police.
"What time is it?" queried Jared, in a confused manner, as soon as he
could open his lips.
"Time you was in bed, I think," said the policeman; and Jared shrank
beneath his suspicious looks.
Volume 3, Chapter XII.