THE CAPTAIN AND THE ATTORNEY CONVERSE AMONG THE TOMBS.
I cannot tell whether that slender, silken machinator,
Captain Lake, loitered in the chapel for the purpose
of talking to or avoiding Jos. Larkin, who was
standing at the doorway, in sad but gracious converse
with the vicar.
He was certainly observing him from among the tombs
in his sly way. And the attorney, who had a way,
like him, of noting things without appearing to see
them, was conscious of it, and was perhaps decided
by this trifle to accost the gallant captain.
So he glided up the short aisle with a sad religious
smile, suited to the place, and inclined his lank
back and his tall bald head toward the captain in
ceremonious greeting as he approached.
‘How d’ye do, Larkin? The fog makes
one cough a little this evening.’
Larkin’s answer, thanks, and enquiries, came
gravely in return. And with the same sad smile
he looked round on the figures, some marble, some
painted stone, of departed Brandons and Wylders, with
garrulous epitaphs, who surrounded them in various
costumes, quite a family group, in which the attorney
was gratified to mingle.
’Ancestry, Captain Lake—your
ancestry—noble assemblage—monuments
and timber. Timber like the Brandon oaks, and
monuments like these—these are things which,
whatever else he may acquire, the novus homo,
Captain Brandon Lake—the parvenu—can
never command.’
Mr. Jos. Larkin had a smattering of school Latin,
and knew half-a-dozen French words, which he took
out on occasion.
’Certainly our good people do occupy some space
here; more regular attendants in church, than, I fear,
they formerly were; and their virtues more remarked,
perhaps, than before the stone-cutter was instructed
to publish them with his chisel,’ answered Lake,
with one of his quiet sneers.
‘Beautiful chapel this, Captain Lake—beautiful
chapel, Sir,’ said the attorney, again looking
round with a dreary smile of admiration. But
though his accents were engaging and he smiled—of
course, a Sabbath-day smile—yet Captain
Lake perceived that it was not the dove’s but
the rat’s eyes that were doing duty under that
tall bald brow.
’Solemn thoughts, Sir—solemn thoughts,
Captain Lake—silent mentors, eloquent monitors!’
And he waved his long lank hand toward the monumental
groups.
‘Yes,’ said Lake, in the same mocking
tone, that was low and sweet, and easily mistaken
for something more amiable. ’You and they
go capitally together—so solemn, and eloquent,
and godly—capital fellows! I’m
not half good enough for such company—and
the place is growing rather cold—is not
it?’
‘A great many Wylders, Sir—a great
many Wylders.’ And the attorney
dropped his voice, and paused at this emphasis, pointing
a long finger toward the surrounding effigies.
