graver turn—eh, Lawford, an heretical turn? I hear you have been wandering from the true fold.’ Mr Bethany leaned forward with what might be described as a very large smile in a very small compass. ‘And that, of course, entailed instant retribution.’ He broke off solemnly. ‘I know Widderstone churchyard well; a most verdant and beautiful spot. The late rector, a Mr Strickland, was a very old friend of mine. And his wife, dear good Alicia, used to set out her babies, in the morning, to sleep and to play there, twenty, dear me, perhaps twenty-five years ago. But I did not know, my dear Lawford, that you—’ and suddenly, without an instant’s warning, something seemed to shout at him, ‘Look, look! He is looking at you!’ He stopped, faltered, and a slight warmth came into his face. ‘And and you were taken ill there?’ His voice had fallen flat and faint. 

 ‘I fell asleep—or something of that sort,’ came the stubborn reply. 

 ‘Yes,’ said Mr Bethany, brightly, ‘so your wife was saying. “Fell asleep,” so have I too—scores of times’; he beamed, with beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. ‘And then? I’m not, I’m not persisting?’ 

 ‘Then I woke; refreshed, I think, as it seemed—I felt much better and came home.’ 

 ‘Ah, yes,’ said his visitor. And after that there was a long, brightly lit, intense pause; at the end of which Lawford raised his face and again looked firmly at his friend. 

 Mr Bethany was now a shrunken old man; he sat perfectly still, his head craned a little forward, and his veined hands clutching his bent, spare knees. 

 There wasn’t the least sign of devilry, or out-facingness, or insolence in that lean shadowy steady head; and yet he himself was compelled to sidle his glance away, so much the face shook him. He closed his eyes, too, as a cat does after exchanging too direct a scrutiny with human eyes. He put out towards, and withdrew, a groping hand from Mrs Lawford. 

 ‘Is it,’ came a voice from somewhere, ‘is it a great change, sir? I thought perhaps I may have exaggerated—candle-light, you know.’ 

 Mr Bethany remained still and silent, striving to entertain one thought at a time. His lips moved as if he were talking to himself. And again it was Lawford’s faltering voice that broke the silence. ‘You see,’ he said, ‘I have never... no fit, or anything of that kind before. I remember on Tuesday... oh yes, quite well. I did feel seedy, very. And we talked, didn’t we?—Harvest 

 Prev. P 19/188 next