Part 2 (1/2)

But the doctor saw, with a sudden quickening of the pulses, that the first finger and the thumb were joined still. It is the custom of the priest, after he has broken the bread, that the finger and thumb are never parted till Ma.s.s is said.

They were not parted now.

The fact comforted and cheered the doctor. He had been on battle-fields and had not known the fear and horror he had known to-day.

CHAPTER II

MR. HAMLYN AND SON AT HOME

Mr. Hamlyn lived in Alexandra Road, Hornham. The actual name of his house was ”Balmoral,” and it was one of seven or eight other residences gathered together under the generic t.i.tle of ”Beatrice Villas.”

The father and son turned into the little path which led up to the imitation satin-wood door some twenty minutes after the gate of St.

Elwyn's had been barred to them. Their companions, Mr. Burgoyne and Mr.

Moffatt, had left them at the corner of the street, very fl.u.s.tered at what they had done, and with a dull remorse flitting about their thick skulls, that they had joined in ”Hamlyn's little game.” Nor did the repeated a.s.surances of the journalist, that Mr. Herbert--the Liberal candidate--would ”see them through it,” help them to recover their peace of mind. Visions of police-court proceedings and an unenviable notoriety in the daily papers were very vivid, and they parted with their chief in mingled sorrow and anger.

Mr. Hamlyn let himself and his son into the little hall of his villa. A smell of roast meat gave evidence that dinner would soon be ready. Both men turned into the parlour on the left of the pa.s.sage. It was a room which showed signs of fugitive rather than regular use. Two or three long boxes bearing the name of a local draper stood upon the round table in the centre. The contents showed that Miss Hamlyn, the agitator's only daughter, had been occupied in the choice of corsets.

The walls of the parlour were covered with a rich mauve and gold paper, which gave a dignity to the cut-gla.s.s l.u.s.tres of the chandelier. The pictures, heavily framed in gold, were spirited representations of scenes from the Old Testament. On the rack of the rosewood piano--which stood open--was a song called ”Roses that Bloomed in my Heart.”

The chairs, arranged around the wall with commendable regularity, were upholstered in plum-coloured plush. On one of them was a card-box of a vivid green, containing several clean collars of the particular sort Hamlyn Junior wore; on another stood the wooden box where his father's silk hat was kept when not in use on Sundays and other important days.

Mr. Hamlyn took off his frock coat and removed the reversible cuffs that were attached to the sleeves of his flannel s.h.i.+rt by means of an ingeniously contrived clip. He then put on a loose coat of black alpaca.

His son, having gone through something of the same process, followed his father to the sitting-room next the little kitchen.

As the parlour was not often used for ceremonial occasions, the Hamlyns not being very hospitable people, it served as an occasional dressing-room also, and saved running up-stairs.

The sitting-room window looked out into the backyard, immediately by the kitchen door, which led into it. As the Hamlyns came in, they were able to see their servant throwing some hot liquid--the water in which the cabbage had been boiled, as a matter of fact--into the grid in the centre of the yard.

The table was already laid for the meal. As, however, it was rather a long table and the Hamlyns were only three in family,--Hamlyn being a widower,--the white cloth was laid only on half of it. One or two volumes of the Heartsease Novelettes and some artificial flowers, with which a hat was to be trimmed by Miss Hamlyn, were thus left undisturbed.

”Dinner didn't ought to be long,” Mr. Hamlyn remarked.

”'Ope not,” said his son shortly. ”I'll holler to Maud.”

Miss Hamlyn came in soon afterwards, followed by the maid with a joint of roast beef. The editor's daughter was a tall girl with sulky lips, bold eyes, and a profusion of dark hair. This last was now screwed round her forehead in curling-pins.

The two men attacked their dinner in silence. Both of them had tucked a handkerchief round their necks, in order to preserve the Sunday waistcoat from droppings of food, a somewhat wise precaution, as both of them ate very rapidly.

”Maud,” said Hamlyn at length, ”can you do a bit of typing for me this afternoon?”

”No, then, I can't, Pa,” she replied resentfully, ”and it's like you to ask it. On the Sabbath, too! I'm going out with Gussie Davies for a walk.”

”Touch the 'arp lightly, my dear,” he replied, ”no need to get your feathers up.”

”Well, Pa,” she answered, ”I'm sure I'm ready to spank the beastly machine for you all the week, you know I am. But Sundays is different.”

Hamlyn made no reply. Both he and his son were thinking deeply, and as yet no reference had escaped them as to the doings of the morning.

Although the girl knew there was something special afoot, she was not much interested in the details, being at all times a person much occupied with her own affairs.