thought of calling you,
Catherine, for you make a better sacristan than I. Then I remembered
Boney--poor little Boney crushed by the miller's dray--and how you cried
all night, and that though I promised you a far finer, cleverer dog than
that poor old friend had ever been. Collins said, 'Why, sir, you should
have hid the old dog's death from the mistress till the morning!' A
worthy fellow, Collins. He meant no disrespect to me. At that time,
d'you remember, Collins had only been in my service a few months?"
* * * * *
It was an hour later. From where she lay in bed, Catherine Nagle with
dry, aching eyes stared into the fire, watching the wood embers turn
from red to grey. By her side, his hand in hers, Charles slept the
dreamless, heavy slumber of a child.
Scarcely breathing, in her anxiety lest he should wake, she loosened her
hand, and with a quick movement slipped out of bed. The fire was burning
low, but Catherine saw everything in the room very clearly, and she
threw over her night-dress a long cloak, and wound about her head the
scarf which she had worn during her walk to the wood.
It was not the first time Mrs. Nagle had risen thus in the still night
and sought refuge from herself and from her thoughts in the chapel; and
her husband had never missed her from his side.
As she crept round the dimly lit gallery she passed by the great bowl of
pot-pourri by which Charles Nagle had lingered, and there came to her
the thought that it might perchance be well for her to discover, before
the servants should have a chance of doing so, what he had doubtless
hidden there.
Catherine plunged both her hands into the scented rose-leaves, and she
gave a sudden cry of pain--for her fingers had closed on the sharp edge
of a steel blade. Then she drew out a narrow damascened knife, one
which her husband, taken by its elegant shape, had purchased long
before in Italy.
Mrs. Nagle's brow furrowed in vexation--Collins should have put the
dangerous toy out of his master's reach. Slipping the knife into the
deep pocket of her cloak, she hurried on into the unlit passage leading
to the chapel.
* * * * *
Save for the hanging lamp, which since Mr. Dorriforth had said Mass
there that morning signified the presence of the Blessed Sacrament, the
chapel should have been in darkness. But as Catherine passed through the
door she saw, with sudden, uneasy amazement, th
|