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CHAPTER XXI. I

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CHAPTER XXI. I The Rector is Troubled. I The Reverend Thomas Campbell, Rector of Baynham, was a man of simple piety, and uied to deal with simple issues. A country parson, poalleseed of sufficient private means, hia life had been uneventful. The simple annals of the poor at least, that section of the poor with whom be was brouzbt into parochial contact, presented, BO far as his experience went, but few outstand- ing features. what had happened to Alan Thornton in his own garden ? that was a problem which probed his usually placid natnre to its deepest depths. For the first time he gained some personal insight into the meaning of the psalmist'* words Oat of the depths have I cried onto Thee, O Lord." All night long he crie3 unto the Lord. Not one load; it made his trouble harder to bear that he had to keep it to himself. He was a man who had no secrets be never bad bad. The occurrences of eaoh day be was always willing to discuss with anyone, with everyone especially was ha willing to discuss them with his wife. His wife and be had never kept any- thing from each other, never, from the day on which they had first met, unto this hour. Whea Sir Philip Ford had gone, Mr Campion would have given much to have been able to go Straightway to his wife. and retail to hsr, at fall length, all the incidents of that eventful evening. It would have been something to have been able to do that. But Sir Philip had drawn from him a promise that he wonid not speak to anyone on that matter at any rate till he came again in the morning. So be had to keep locked in his own heart the dreadfnl fear that the Ølirl whom he bad come to regard almost as if she was his own daughter, had been nearly, if not quite guilty of the crime cf homicide. All sorts of doubts disturbed him. Could it be possible that it was she who had removed the body ? who had endeavoured to conceal her crime ? Fally con- scious as he was that there were physical reasons —to speak of no other reasons—which made this seem impossible, yet he was haunted by a doubt. The thing was made worse by the feeling that Ford not only shared his suspicions, bat was prepared, at any risks and at all costs, to shield her, whether she was innocent or guilty. There, for the rector, was the .ary crux of hia trouble. His ideas of duty, like all bis ideas, were simple ones. Nothing, hitherto, had trans- pired to tempt him to look at what be felt to be his daty with anything but a single eye. Either a certain line of conduct was, or was not, his duty, and there was an end. Suddenly he foond himself adrift among what seemed to him to be a maze of hideous complications. Be had been the witness, or practically the witness, of a frightful crime. He had found the weapon with which the crime had been wrought; the criminal was under his own roof at that very moment. His conscience told bim, or seemed to tell him. that his duty towards society, and, he feared, towards God, required him to at once denounce both the crime and the criminal. Yet, if he obeyed his conscience, as it bad been his lifelong teaching, as man's first, and last, and only daty, into what a sea of trouble would bis action land bim. To begin with, Sir Philip Ford, the best friend be bad in the woild, would never forgive him he knew his man, he was sure he never would. More, he was not certain that his atti- tude of uoforgivingness wonid not be justified. What did be not owe to Ford ? He owed his xeetory in a fashion-vvhich it would occupy too much space to set forth clearly-he owed his wife. Did be propose to repay him by striking at him in bis tenderest place. That Philip Ford loved Doris Owen he personally was con- vinced as convinced as be was that if any tragedy overwhelmed the girl, all the light would so oat of the world lor the man. No one was better aware than he was, that. Ford was a man who had known many sorrows was it for his hand to deal the blow which should crash him, I for all eternity, uncler the greatest sorrow of them all ? Then there was the girl herself to be con- giidered-Dorim Owen Thomas Campion was no fool although circumstances had not httad him to deal readily with compound issues. He did not understand bow the meeting with Alan Thurstoa bad come abont; bnt be bad imagina- tion enough to enable him to guess how it was that they had quarrelled, aud how Thurston's misbehaviour had driven her to an action of which she would have been incapable except in the sudden stress of self-defence. Still, how was it that she had a knife when, in her temporary madness, it seemed to her that she was con- strained to use is T It was not easy for him to believe that she had gone to the rendezvous armed against an emergency which she already had foreseen. Thutfwould be to place her con: duct in an entirely different aspect. Whoever goes prepared to kill, and does kill, can hardly claim to be entirely mnosent. He would have liked to have put some questions to the girl npon his own account, had it not been for two considerations bis undertaking to Ford and tbe fear tbat ber answers might make tbe posi. iion, for him, more difficult than it was already. Suppose she frankly admittpd-alad be bad al- ways found her the son] of candour-tbat she had stabbed Alan Thurston, under great provo- cation then what alternative would he have, what coald excuse him for net at once placing an exact statement of the facts before the guardians of law and order ? If be coald only bate talked the whole thiag over with bis wife, what a comfort that would have been. They understood each other's point of viow i-O well that soma satisfactory result must have come from such a conversation. And yet—there were dangers everywhere there was a danger even there. Incidents bad arisen not infrequently, which had caused him to realise that bis wifs's was not always the indicial point of view. She would be shocked she would be grieved beyond measure; but could be confi- dently rely apon her attitude being jast the right one ? Was it not a fact that where ber sympathy was engaged her judgment was apt to go with It ? He did not doubt that for Philip Ford and Doris Owen she woald be willing to do all she could indeed, he doubted whether, aader certain circumstances, she would not be vlilllog-and ready-to do more than she ought. On one point he felt alsared; that on no terms would she consent to any course of action which would result in subjecting either of the pair to iaeonvenienee or suffering. He feared that stie might not hesitate to sacrifice her principles for the sake of her friends. She had not said so in so many words but he had an intimate con- viction that that was ber notion of friendship. Thus the rector was deprived even of that very human counsellor, his wife, whom he had foaed more than !once, perhaps almost nncoc- aoiously to himself, a very present help in time of trouble. Nor was the case improved by the fact that, while be was unable to say any. thing to,her, aba suffered from no such disability with regard to him. Not only did she assail him with questions, but when he shuffled-the poor man had to shuffle—he was almost mad. dened by the obvious fact that she was labouring under an entire misapprehension of the reasons which actuated his attitude, and, in conse- quence WAS anffering much mental distress owing to ber fear that bo might have bean guilty of something criminal himself. This an- fortunate misunderstanding was intensified by what was-vostibly-his own blundering. For the first time in their lives they came near to quarrelling. He would tell ber nothing, which she, not unnaturally, resented, To her the whole business was wrapped in mystery." She wanted toknow Why he bad aome with two strange man," to fetch a maatt.-bas CD which to convey Alan Thurs- ton's dead body to be house and why, instead -of bringing tba body, he bad tried—and was still trying—tc put her cif with the mere casual intimation that it WA" nowhere to be found. On -and round afoont-thia point, she subjected him Is a croaB-sxaminaiion from which he issued with Ignoraiuy; leaving an impression on her mind that he had been mixed up, in some inexplicable Way, i» some inexplicable crime, in a manner which was much to bis discredit. When, finally, he bade her in so many words, hold her tongue, I and question him no longer, the fountains of ario: were opntd. From bar tsars he turned j and ded from the drawing-room ts the study. Bat there he kaew no rest. AB be paced up and down, and to aad fro, like some caged Miimal, he suddenly recalled a corner of tbe garden which they bad left" unstarched. It was at least possible that the de&d man was lying j tbui. The possibility took soch bold of bis troubled imagination, that nothing would con- tent him but tbat be should go there and then to see. Per the rectory that boor was nncanniiy lata. Where his wife was be did not know. He I SmsUd-withonG much faitb—tbat,. with the ) rait of the household ahe bad retired to bed. Tboro could be no rest for bim while, in bis I fancy's eye. be could see that cemler among the rhododendrons—witb aoaaethmi' in it. Oat I into the night he stole, er< tiptoe, through tho hall, softly across the lawa, to the spot-woexe the thing raigbt be. Suefe ^rs his state of nervous agitation that, for bsjjb moments, be hovered round it, not during to ventufce into its heait—where tbe shadows were. When at last be did, it was almost wttb a ser.w of shocK^ tbat %be realised tbat tbe nJaca was empty. While j be was still peering ucderDS-tb tbe branches and tbe leaves, he board h footsicp on ths road on the othsr side of the beds*. J.;(t stood still, to listen. Appitrant.-v be ttlo bad been heard, because presently a voice iaqairfeU, Who is there ?" It was the voice of the Baynuam policeman. The roarr-Irow 191Jg SreatSi Pes- fUAx ot It'3 all right, Felling It's only me." Evindently the policeman recognised the speaker. I beg your pardon, Bir, but I thought it might be somebody after your flowers there's been a good deal of that sort of thing aboat lately-tn,mpe, and that lot." Thank you very macb, Felling. Jast going home?" Yes, sir, I'm just going home. I've been out on my rounds since eight o'clock." Since eight o'clock?" The rector considered. M Haven't you been home since then ?" No, sir, I have not and as it's now past one I shall be glad..Ioget there." So I should tbinlr. Thank you foi; keepirg a watchful eye apon my flowers. Good-night." Good-night sir." Tbe constable's heavy tread was heard passing down the road. His departure was a greater relief to the rector than that gentleman would have cared to admit the first sound of his voice had affected him in an altogether indescribable manner. All at once he appreciated the sen- sation of the crime-stained wretch, when un- expectedly, be feels the policeman's hand upon his shoulder. He could hardly have suffered more had he himself stood in danger of arrest. Alone again, he reflected, with each calmness as he coald command. If Felling left home at eight o'clock then be was out when—when it had all occurred. He was still out when those two intrnsive strangers had called at the police station with their story, and the belongings of the missing man-if, that is, they had called as they had threatened—which explained Felling's evident ignorance of the fact that anything unusual had happened to ruffle the village calm. Immediately He began torturing himself with inquiries whether it would not be the part of wisdom-to cut it at its lowest—to have been himself the first to broach the matter to the man. If Felling saw those two strangers, and heard their tale, would be not vtondcr why the rector bad said nothing to him of tbe eventa which had almost, if not quite, turned his gar- den into the scent, of a tragedy—and place the worst conatrucl ion on bis silence ? So affaeted was idr Campion by this view of the position that he all but started in abase of Felling, and possibly woald have done so ciaite had be not saddenly found himself confronted by Mrs Cam- pion, in a condition of what vras very near hysterics. ,fTcml" sho nailed. Tom, what are you looking for? What are you looking for at thiB hour of tbe morning ? Who was that you were talking to 1" Her utterance was so broken by her sobs that it was with difficulty she spoke. Plainly this was a case in which it was necessary to exercise martial authority. It was out of the question that be should have a scene with his wife, out in the garden in the small hours of the morning. He assumed a tone of command. Netta, I am surprised at. and ashamed of you. I imagined that you were in bed hours ago. Come indoors with me at once." This Budden assumption of a tone, which was at once that of a sorrowing clergyman and an aggrieved busband, apparently took the lady so completely by surprise that she entirely forgot any purpose which might bave brought ber there. She suffered ber husband to march ber, without attempting the least remonstrance, like some chidden child, back to the house, and straight upstairs to bod. Indeed, to such a point waa the comparison to the naughty child carried, that the rector, addressing her in a tone which she had never heard from him before, forbade her to open bee month to speak, and positively com- manded her to go to sleep at once. MrLq Campion was one of those old-fashioned persons who believe that it is the part of a wife to obey, and to endeavour, to the beat of their ability, to not up to that belief. Therefore, how- ever much It went against the grain, she obaeived the first part of his injunction, and refrained from speceh. Obedience to the second part sbe found more difficult. Sleep comes to as at no one's bidding. It is to be feared that the rector was able to command its presence no more for himself than for his wife. And while the p.oo woman lay in troubled wakefulness near by him, be cried, in wide-eyed unrest, out of the depths unto the Lord, CHAPTER XXII. Mrs Thurston Inquires for Her Husband. Never before had there been each a break- fast at the rectory as that. The two little children were the only persons who were at their ease. Their aunt, Miss Rodda. was uncomfort- ably conacicos that there was not only electrieitv in the domestic atmospheie, but, also. that there was something fery curious, and even mysteri- ous, in the entire situation. Her sister, usually the'most easy-going of women, was evidently in a condition of physical and mental disturbance, which it was not agreeable to have forced npon one's notice. The rector was, if anything, in a worse state than his wife. It is Btrange what strain and sleeplessness can do for a healthy man in the coarse of a single night. Mr Campion looked actually ill. Hia usual morning nppetite had fotsaken him. He ate and drank nothing he said nothing either. He scarcely ooened bis lips to drink, or eat, or speak, from the moment he sat down to the moment in which-evidently anxious to take advantage of the first opportunity which offered—he hurried R*The only grown-np wbo showed to advan- tage was Doris Owen. It was her attitude, as well as her presence, which had such a barren- sing effect upon tbe unhappy rector. To have to meet her on the old terms of pleasant familiarity, as if 1309bing whatever had trans- pired to in any way affect their relations one to the other, that, from his point of view, was bad enough but that she should assume an air of unconsciousness of the fact tbat anything bad occured-that was almost worse. It seemed dreadful to him that she could appear so cool, so calm, so self-possessed it was to play the hypocrite on a scale which, to bim, appeared to be monstrous. He was consoions, too, all the time, tbat she Was looking almost unusually charming He, certainly, had never previously been so much impressed by her physical graces. And that made it worse than ever. That she, a mere girl, unpractised in artifice, should look 10 sweet, aud boar horself so sweetly, wbo, last night, had almost, if. no quite, done a man to death, with her own hand. '» Then the rector rushed from the breakfast- room, be threw himself on his knees beside his study table, torn by such a tumult of conflict- ing emotions, that only the God to whom he addressed his frenzied words conld have traced them to their several sources. How long he remained there be never knew. When be rose he was, if not refreshed, at least calmer. Re- calling the smell duties which called for his im- mediate attention be set out on their perform- ance there and then. It was "absolutely nscas- sarv that be should do something which should keep him as much as possible from thinking, until he had bad that farther promised inter- view with Philip Ford. As it chanced, circum- stances conspired to keep hila engaged in out- lying portions of his parish, and prevented him from returning to the rectory, not only for lunch, but until the afternoon was well ad- vanced. At the door be paused to ask a maid if anyone bad called to see him, and, when she answered no, was just turning into his study when 'a lad cams ap tbe gravel patb, with a telegram in his hand-a reply-paid tologrim for him. He tore it, open To Rev. Thomas Campion, The Rectory, Baynbam. I have reason to believe that my hus- bapdj Alan Tburaton, came yesterday to see Mila Owen, who is staying in your house. Please let me know if be ia with you now. Have no news. Expected him last night, Am very anxious. If not with yoa can you ten me where he is Mrs Thurston, Glynde, Essex. Mrs Thurston's tnessags was a trine inco- herent, as telegrams are apt to be. bat its mean- ing waa sufficiently dear whatever had become of Alan Tburaton he had'not gone borne nor bad ho communicated with his wife, who was at home. As be realised what the fact might signify his heart began to piay the same ugly- tricks it had played the night before. Wbat should he tell this woman, across the wires ? There was tha reply form in his hand he would have to tell her something. 'If Philip Ford would only come. Hardly had ths wish been nttered, than, 10 1 the man was there. His familiar form came past the window. Rushing out to him with the sagernsits of a boy, the rector thrust the tele- gram into his baud. Read that !—ycu see ha has not gone home What am I to say to her ?" Witb impassive countenance Sir Philip read the telegram. Give me .hl) reply form." Campion gave it him. UtJ wrote something on it, and banded it to tbr. attaudgnt messenger. Can you read it ?" The lad read out what he had written. To Mrs Tburaton, Glynde, Fsgex-I know soihing of Mr Thpraton's movements.— Thomas Campion. That's right; see that it's dispatched at once." The messenger departed the two friends were left alone together. In tCe rector's utterance was an unwonted hesitation. Is tbat—is that qaite true—tbat answer yon have esnt ?" Perfectly ian'fc it ? Yoa know nothing of Mr Thurston's movements, do you ?" | To say so baldly, hardly—hardly conveys (he Mr Thurston's movements, do you ?" To say so baldly, haidlr-haxdly conveys the [ entire trutft." [ This woman asks you to tell her where her husband is. Yoa can't, can you ?" I-I wish I conld. Has—has nothing been beard 1" Tbat is the question which I wished to put to vou." Mr Campion took off bis soft felt hat, to wipe tbe moisture from his brow. Ford, I bave suffered many things because of that man, since last night. I should not have thought it possible that the wbole face of nature could so suddenly have changed even the light of God seems tiidden frcm my eyes." Sir Philip eyed the speaker closely, noting the marks of disturbance which were written large all over him. Campion, you are overwrought. You want a change. Take them all with you, to somewhere where it's bracing it will do yon good." Go away ? With this—this shadow banging over me and mine? I should feel as if I were running away. No Ford, I—I could not run aWay—until, by God's great mercy, tbe shadow shall have lifted You use exaggerated language in itself a aign of overstrain. I thongbt yon prided yourself on the avoidance of words and pbrasea which were more strenuous than theoccaaion required." Is there any language too emphatic, as the old writers have it, too horrific, to express the situation as it appears to me I know of none. Ford. where is Alan Thurston ? Tbat Question shouts at me from the heavens. I would the answer did. And yet—I am afraid—of wbat the answer ie." Sir Philip leaned back upon his ease, and smiled. Campion, yon are melodramatic—actually. I had not thought that you, of all men, could be that. And with the aun laughing down at you I" Philip, I am beginning to wonder if, in this matter, I am wise in listening to yonr voice to doubt if it is not tbe "loiCII of evil. You may laugb but on me your laughter jars. Where is the knife you took from me, all stained with blood ? Do you know tbat tbe coat under which I carried it, my waistcoat, my shirt, even my body, were stained with the blood—tbe blood of the man whose wife blUl telegraphed asking me if I can give her news of him. Do you call that a thing to laugh at 7 God forbid 1" Gently, Campion, gently I Here'e Miss Owen 1" Mr Campion turned hastily round. Doris Owen was coming towards them across the hall. At sight of her the rector seemsd to change countenance. He drew a little back, as if he were afraid of coming into contact even with her garments. Ford took off hla bat a saluta- tion which she acknowledged with an air of gravity which almost amounted to stiffness. "Sir Philip, I wanted very much to see you. I was wondering how I could send you a message. May I speak to you now ?" May you ? As if I shall not be too highly honoured if you will only condescend. Where sball tve apeak ?— here, on the doorstep ?" Please, no let us go into the garden." She came down the steps, and sbe and Sir Pbilip moved side by aide across the lawn, towards the summer-house. The rector stood staring after them with almost unnatural in- tensity. Grant that she be innocent I" Tho words came from bis lips as he prayed for something which be feared could not be grantsd. (To be Continued.)

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