So old Tamar, who knew it was no use disputing a fancy
of her young mistress, although on Sunday night she
would have preferred other talk, recounted her old
tale of wonder.
’Yes, it is true—a true allegory,
I mean, Tamar. Death will close the eyes and
ears against the sights and sounds of earth; but even
the tomb secures no secrecy. The dead themselves
declare their dreadful secrets, open-mouthed, to the
winds. Oh, Tamar! turn over the pages, and try
to find some part which says where safety and peace
may be found at any price; for sometimes I think I
am almost bereft of—reason.’
MR. LARKIN AND THE VICAR.
The good vicar was not only dismayed but endangered
by his brother’s protracted absence. It
was now the first week in November. Bleak and
wintry that ungenial month set in at Gylingden; and
in accord with the tempestuous and dismal weather
the fortunes of the Rev. William Wylder were darkened
and agitated.
This morning a letter came at breakfast, by post,
and when he had read it, the poor vicar grew a little
white, and he folded it very quietly and put it in
his waistcoat pocket, and patted little Fairy on the
head. Little Fairy was asking him a question
all this time, very vehemently, ‘How long was
Jack’s sword that he killed the giants with?’
and several times to this distinct question he received
only the unsatisfactory reply, ‘Yes, my darling;’
and at last, when little Fairy mounted his knee, and
hugging the abstracted vicar round the neck, urged
his question with kisses and lamentations, the parson
answered with a look of great perplexity, and only
half recalled, said, ’Indeed, little man, I don’t
know. How long, you say, was Jack’s sword?
Well, I dare say it was as long as the umbrella.’
He got up, with the same perplexed and absent look,
as he said this, and threw an anxious glance about
the room, as if looking for something he had mislaid.
‘You are not going to write now, Willie, dear?’
expostulated his good little wife, ‘you have
not tasted your tea yet.’
‘I have, indeed, dear; haven’t I?
Well, I will.’
And, standing, he drank nearly half the cup she had
poured out for him, and set it down, and felt in his
pocket, she thought, for his keys.
’Are you looking for anything, Willie, darling?
Your keys are in my basket.’
’No, darling; no, darling—nothing.
I have everything I want. I think I must go to
the Lodge and see Mr. Larkin, for a moment.’
‘But you have eaten nothing,’ remonstrated
his partner; ’you must not go until you have
eaten something.’
’Time enough, darling; I can’t wait—I
sha’n’t be away twenty minutes—time
enough when I come back.’
‘Have you heard anything of Mark, darling?’
she enquired eagerly.
‘Of Mark? Oh, no!—nothing of
Mark.’ And he added with a deep sigh, ’Oh,
dear! I wonder he does not write—no,
nothing of Mark.’
