The Cathedral

st and Cat

ite well that his mo

emptuous--he had simply not yet thought about her. The circumstances of his recent return, however, had forced him to consider every one in the house. He had his secret preoccupation that seemed so absorbing and devastating to him that he could not believe that every one around him would not guess it. He soon discovered that his father was too cock-sure

nd Pilchard." Yes. devastated was the word. It would not be true to say that he was in love with her or, indeed, had any analysed emotion for her--he was

t apparently care for him; he was not even sure that he wanted her to. At Oxford during his last term he had thought of he

and looked at her. Sometimes he had a word with her. He knew that they must all be speaking of it. Maybe the whole town wa

content. He was proud of his father for being what he was, for his good-natured contempt of other people, for his handsome body and his dominance of the town. He could understand that his father should feel as he did, and he did

t he contemplated dropping the affair because of his father--no, indeed--but the thought of the old man, as he termed him, added dimly to his general unhappiness. He appreciated the way that his

with him. "What must be must." If things went wrong he had his

as aware now that he knew no

nking about?" h

ped as though they had something to say to one another. He did not look at all like her son, so fair, tall and aloof, a

ring to run off into the wainscot" He was conscious, too, of her quiet clothes and shy preoccupied timidity

d, and then went on with the que

anything

hank you. I'm

ll stayed there nervo

----Are you goin

there anything

u." Still she

went on quickly, "I wish you'd te

e laughed. "What ex

ly I like to know

I have

uld help you. I know it isn't very much that I can do, but anything

e to speak to him, and that this little appeal was th

nothing." "Oh, your father hasn't said anything to me. I don't know what he thinks. But I should mi

ng past her out through the window th

ing soon. I can't be home like this for ever. There's a man

d of a th

it restless, I'm afraid. I should want to put some money into it, of course, but

liam

talking about it the other night. Of course, that's

ltogether," she repeated. "It wou

owed him at once how impossible that was. They were in separate worlds. He was suddenly angry at the difficulties that life was making for hi

d disappeared

not disregard people by simply determining to disregard them. All the time behind you and them some force

outside her ken. What could his mother know about life? The day did not help his dissatisfaction. The fog had not descended upon the town, but it had sen

e was a nice little piece of Glebeshire dialect thrown in. All very pretty.... Seatown cannot claim such prettiness. Perhaps once long ago, when there were only the Cathedral, the Castle, the Rock, and a few cottages down by the river, when, at night-tide, strange foreign ships came up from the sea, when the woods were wild forest and the downs were bare and savage, Seatown had its romance, but that was long ago. Seatown, in these latter days, was a place of bad drainage, bad drinking, bad living and bad dying. T

the sea. At high tide the river beat up against the crazy stone wall that bordered Pennicent Street; and on the further side there were green fields and a rising hill with a feathery wood to crown it. From the river, coming up throug

to house. The windows that were not broken were hermetically sealed and filled with grimy plants and ferns, and here and there a photograph of an embarrassed sailor or a smiling married couple or an overdressed young woman placed face outward to the street. Bridge Street tumbled with a dirty absent- mindedness into Pennicent Street. This, the main thoroughfare of Seatown, must have been once a handsome cobbled walk by the river-side. The houses, more than in Bridge Street, showed by the

ing his walk. Some one lurched against him as he stayed for a moment to search for the inn. A hot spasm of anger rose in him, so sudden and fierce t

t tumbled over this obstruction with an astonished splash and gurgle. Even when the river was at its lowest there was a dim chattering struggle at this point. Falk always connected

, a country man or two--crowded up to the bar. Falk crossed to a table in the corner near the window, his accustomed seat. No one seemed to notice him, but soon Hogg, stout and smiling, came over to him. No one had ever seen Samuel Hogg out of temper--no, never, not even when there had been fighting in

y reason. The worst sinner has some kind of standard of right and wrong. Himself he may not keep it, but he likes to see it there. "Oh, he's deep,"

. Falk ordered his drink. Dimly through the mist and thickened air the Cathedral chimes

the moment that he crossed the threshold of that place, hot, burning excitement and expectation lapped him about, swimming up to him, engulfing him, swamping him body and soul. He sat there drowned in it

e mist of the overcrowded and evil-smelling room, there was nothing very remarkable about her. Stalwart and resolute and self-possessed she looked; sometimes she was beautiful, but not now. She was a woman at whom most

ot come over to him at once, but stopped and talked to some one at another table. At last she w

sant; although she rolled her r's her Glebeshire accent was not very str

red. "Good for yo

lways brings the

not loo

busy t

ered. "I've been away at my aunt's, o

ot here," he said. "Di

le bad with bronchitis this winter. Poor soul, i

heddon like

t I like a bit of quiet just for a day or

be off to London to look f

y, as though he wanted to catch her

you, a little place like this. Pl

r think you'd li

er know your luck. But I'm not terrible

er eyes and

you're less busy. I've got so

e colour rose in

ght," s

d have risen and broken everything in the place. Now, as though he had, by that little conversation with her, reassured himself about her, he look

d arrived in the town one summer on a walking tour through Glebeshire. He had attracted attention at once by the quality of his painting, by the volubility of his manner, and by his general air of being a person of considerable distinction. His surname was French, but no one knew anything with any certainty about him. Something attracted him in Polchester, and he stay

ddle of the town as an emblem of taste and culture. Soon, however, he began to decline. It was whispered that he drank, that his morals were "only what you'd expect of an artist," and that he was really "too queer about the Cathedral." One day he told Miss Dobell that the amount that she knew about literature would go inside a very small pea, and he wa

excuse for expelling him, but he always behaved himself there and was in nobody's way. He was fin

said, "of the artistic temperament

the attraction. It was soon clear, however, that there was nothing in that. He never looked at the girl n

the room at him with a queer defiant glance, something like Falk's own. O

again. But his eyes came round again and

whispered twice in the ro

ou're wanting

ide and sp

do that. Fath

eet me one evenin

t ab

ral t

. What's a gentleman like yo

away a little from al

ly she

pper's a good time. Father goes up th

he

t to-morro

ight.

l. Five minute

there,"

uch as I." He said nothing and she walked away. Very shortly after, Davray got up from his seat and came over

randon, aren't

him, any one insult him, and he would not care. He had been meditating for weeks the advance that he had just taken; always when one meditates for long over a risk it swells into gigantic proportions. So thi

came to him, and in the dialogue that

id, "my name

her, not with eagerness, but rather with a kind of supercilious carelessness. "Beastly hole, isn't this? Wonder why one

oked up

you say?"

If you're walking up th

get out of the place now that his job in it was done. He got up without a

ike to settle now or l

d him on the shoulder. He seemed to see the large smiling man su

in' it? Please your

g without looking at him and went out. Davray followed, slouching through the

cured with the wet mist, Davray poured out a fl

thought I'd like to talk to you. You're the only decent- looking fellow in the whole of this town, if you'll forgive my saying so. Isn't it a bloody hole? But of course you think so too. I can see it in your face. I suppose you go to that pub after that girl. I saw you talking to her. Well, each man to his taste. I'd never interfere with any man's pleasure. I

w up the hill into the market-place and the mist was now so thick that they could scarcely see one another

him conscious o

you say?"

m not bo

all right. W

ng into th

, y

u expect? You're not staying here, I suppose. I heard you'd had enough of Oxford and I don't wonder. No place for a man, beautiful enough but spoilt by the people. Damn people--always coming along and spoiling place

was no one about. It was a town of ghosts. By the

home.... Well...good

emed to be urgent about this. "Have you ever been

t? Stupid to go home just now--nothing to do there but think, and people would interrupt.... Think better out of doors

like,"

hind the great choir-screen and there were lamps by the West door. Seen thus, in its half-dark, the nave bore full witness to the fact that Polches

nd deserted. In the dark of this spring evening it was full of mystery, and the great columns of the nave's

e grey, and the great rose-coloured circle of the West window f

majesty of the place. Falk was lifted ri

se of his own crisis, he seemed to see it all for the first time. He was conscious now of Davray and was aware that he did not like him an

d, his chest and stomach of a grand protuberance, his broad white flowing beard a true emblem of his ancient dignity. He was the most autocratic of Vergers and had been allowed now for many years to do as he pleased. The only thorn in his flesh was Cobbet

tips, insolent and conceited, he was an excellent example of the proper spirit of the Church Militant. He had, however, his merits. He loved small children and would have

nd when that gentleman appeared he hung about in the background hopin

ng to a beggar who had asked of him alms. "I want t

e, with considerable satisfaction. "

I didn't realise. Do you want to go up the

ifferent. Strangers have to kee

e would talk or make any noise, were some one meditating or praying there. The little place was infinitely quiet, with a special air of peace and beauty as though all the prayers and meditations that had been offered there had deeply sanctified it; Lawrence pushed open the door of the screen and they crossed the flagged floor. Suddenly into the heart of the hush there b

h his legs against the steps above him. Here there was utter darkness and no sound. He had suddenly a half-alarmed, half-humorous suspicion that Davray was suddenly going to turn round upon him and

ast, after what had seemed a long journey, they were in a little, spare, empty room with a wooden floor. One side of this little room was open and railed in. Looking down, the floor of the nave seemed a vast distance below. You seemed here to be flying in glory. The dim haze of the candles just touched the misty depth with golden colour. Above them the great roof seemed close and menacin

altar, the brass of the Black Bishop's tomb, the glitter of Saint Margaret's s

that this place is theirs.... Theirs! Presumption! But they'll get it in the neck for that. Th

e to see your governor walking up the choir on Sundays as though he owned the place. Owned it! Why,

er--that's none of your business. He's all right. I don't kno

s thinking of

place! You've ruined me, but I don't care. You can

ad. He was holding on to the rail

that. You'll be tumbling over and bre

eams. Falk despised dreams although just now he was hi

t of his compan

he said. "I must

leave the fellow there. "It's his own look-out,"

hapel, he looked up. But he could