This etext was produced by David Widger <widger@cecomet.net>
[NOTE: There is a short list of bookmarks, or pointers, at the end of thefile for those who may wish to sample the author's ideas before making anentire meal of them. D.W.]
By George Meredith
1897
Rain went with Lord Romfrey in a pursuing cloud all the way to Bevisham,and across the common to the long garden and plain little green-shuttered, neat white cottage of Dr. Shrapnel. Carriages were drivingfrom the door; idle men with hands deep in their pockets hung near it,some women pointing their shoulders under wet shawls, and boys. The earlwas on foot. With no sign of discomposure, he stood at the half-opendoor and sent in his card, bearing the request for permission to visithis nephew. The reply failing to come to him immediately, he beganstriding to and fro. That garden gate where he had flourished therighteous whip was wide. Foot-farers over the sodden common wereattracted to the gateway, and lingered in it, looking at the long,green-extended windows, apparently listening, before they broke away toexchange undertone speech here and there. Boys had pushed up through thegarden to the kitchen area. From time to time a woman in a drippingbonnet whimpered aloud.
An air of a country churchyard on a Sunday morning when the curate hascommenced the service prevailed. The boys were subdued by the moisture,as they are when they sit in the church aisle or organ-loft, before theirmembers have been much cramped.
The whole scene, and especially the behaviour of the boys, betokened to
Lord Romfrey that an event had come to pass.
In the chronicle of a sickness the event is death.
He bethought him of various means of stopping the telegraph andsmothering the tale, if matters should have touched the worst here.He calculated abstrusely the practicable shortness of the two routes fromBevisham to Romfrey, by post-horses on the straightest line of road, orby express train on the triangle of railway, in case of an extreme needrequiring him to hasten back to his wife and renew his paternal-despoticsystem with her. She had but persuaded him of the policy of a liberalopenness and confidence for the moment's occasion: she could not turn hisnature, which ran to strokes of craft and blunt decision whenever theemergency smote him and he felt himself hailed to show generalship.
While thus occupied in thoughtfulness he became aware of the monotonyof a tuneless chant, as if, it struck him, an insane young chorister orcanon were galloping straight on end hippomaniacally through the Psalms.There was a creak at intervals, leading him to think it a machine thatmight have run away with the winder's arm.
The earl's humour proposed the notion to him that this perhaps was oneof the forms of Radical lamentation, ululation, possibly practised by aveteran impietist like Dr. Shrapnel for the loss of his youngster, hispolitical cub—poor lad!
Deriding any such paganry, and aught that could be set howling, LordRomfrey was presently moved to ask of the small crowd at the gate whatthat sound was.
...