CANON OF BELCHESTER
There followed for me after these solemn words of the Bishop a
phantasmagoria of human faces, and sky, and tree-tops, and a singing
in my ears, now loud, now soft, in which all other sounds and
movements seemed blended. I have an indistinct recollection of
the walk home, and of finding myself in my own room. Then memory
gradually faded away from me. Blank unconsciousness enveloped me like
a cloud. The next thing I remember is waking up one morning as though
after a terrible dream, a night of nightmares, and finding the room
half 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 little
face 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 suddenly
risen up again before my eyes. My head commenced to swim. I asked no
more questions.
The next morning I was stronger. I sat up in bed and looked
around. The first thing which I noticed was that the room was full of
the most beautiful flowers; I stooped over a vase of roses and smelt
them. 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 _bête noir_,” she exclaimed, plucking off one of the yellow
blossoms 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 not
considered strong enough then to hear any news of importance; but
several days later, when I was sitting up, Alice looked up from the
book she was reading aloud to me and told me something which I know
she 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 looked
up at her bewildered. I had forgotten all about Lady Naselton’s plans
on his behalf. The latter part of this terrible Sunday had haunted me
like a nightmare, usurping all my thoughts. There had been little room
for 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 nice
things to father about his sermon on--that Sunday night--you
remember.”
“It was a wonderful sermon,” I whispered.
“So the Bishop thinks; so every one thinks,” Alice declared, with
enthusiasm. “I shall never forget how I felt. And he had no notes, or
anything.”
“It was the most realistic sermon I ever heard,” I said, with a little
shudder. “It was like a scene from a play. It was wonderful.”
Alice looked up at me quickly. Doubtless my voice had betrayed some
agitation. She laid her hand upon my arm.
“Don’t think about it this evening,” she begged. “I quite forgot
father especially forbade my speaking of it to you. It must have been
terrible for you to have been so near it all. I can’t imagine what
I should have done. I could see nothing from the organ screen, you
know.”
I leaned over and looked at her.
“Alice, I do not want to talk about it, but I want to know how it
ended. You must tell me that.”
She hesitated for a moment.
“He was quite dead,” she said, slowly. “There was an inquest, and they
decided that he must have been attacked somewhere in the wood between
the downs and Yellow House. There were all the marks of a struggle
within 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 was
lately come from abroad. He had been staying at Lady Naselton’s, but
she knew scarcely anything about him. He was kind to her son abroad. I
think they just know his name and that was all. They had no idea where
to send to or if he had any near relatives alive. It was all very
odd.”
“Was he robbed?” I asked.
“No. His watch and money were found in his pocket undisturbed. If
anything was taken from it it must have been papers only. The police
are trying hard to find a clue, but they say that it is a very
difficult case. No one seems to have seen him at all after he left
Naselton 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 suddenly
opened. I saw again from the edge of the moor that lone figure coming
down the hillside towards us, I saw that strange light flashing in my
father’s face, and I heard the greeting of the two men. A sick dread
was 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 never
seen 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. “Father
absolutely forbade me to, but you wanted to know the end so
much. Promise not to think of it any more.”
Promise not to think of it any more? Ah! if only I could have made
that promise and kept it. My sister’s protesting words seemed charged
with the subtlest and most bitter of all irony. Already some faint
premonition of the burden which I was to bear seemed dawning upon
me. I remained silent and kept my eyes closed. Alice thought that
I 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 silent
challenge and the silent duel which had passed between those two, the
central figures in that marvellous little drama--one, the challenger,
ghastly pale even to the tremulous lips, wild and dishevelled, my
father looking down upon him with unquailing mien and proud, still
face. One moment more of life, a few beats more of the pulses, and
that sentence--and that sentence--what would it have grown to? I felt
myself 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 be
surprised if he came home to-day, though. I have written to him by
every post to let him know how you are, and he was most anxious to
hear directly you were well enough to talk. I have been disobeying him
frightfully.”
Again I closed my eyes and feigned sleep. I had heard what Alice had
not, the sound of wheels below. Suddenly she laid down her work and
started 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’t
leave you alone for more than a minute or two.”
But when the minute or two had elapsed and there was a knock at my
door, it was not Alice who had returned. I answered in a low voice,
and my father entered.