Part 95 (1/2)
”May I go with you?”
”If you wish to, but it will be useless--he won't be there.”
”Why not?”
”The Prime Minister left London last night--I can't help thinking there is something in that.”
”He will be there, Rosa. He's not the man to run away. I know him,” said Glory proudly.
The church was crowded, and it was with difficulty they found seats.
John's enemies were present in force--all the owners of vested interests who had seen their livelihood threatened by the man who declared war on vice and its upholders. There was a dangerous atmosphere before the service began, and, notwithstanding her brave faith in him, Glory found herself praying that John Storm might not come. As the organ played and the choir and clergy entered the excitement was intense, and some of the congregation got on to their seats in their eagerness to see if the Father was there. He was not there. The black ca.s.sock and biretta in which he had lately preached were nowhere to be seen, and a murmur of disappointment pa.s.sed over friends and enemies alike.
Then came a disgraceful spectacle. A man with a bloated face and a bandage about his forehead rose in his place and cried, ”No popery, boys!” Straightaway the service, which was being conducted by two of the clerical brothers from the Brotherhood, was interrupted by hissing, whistling, shouting, yelling, and whooping indescribable. Songs were roared out during the lessons, and cus.h.i.+ons, ca.s.socks, and prayer-books were flung at the altar and its furniture. The terrified choir boys fled downstairs to their own quarters, and the clergy were driven out of the church.
John's own people stole away in terror and shame, but Glory leaped to her feet as if to fling herself on the cowardly rabble. Her voice was lost in the tumult, and Rosa drew her out into the street.
”Is there no law in the land to prevent brawling like this?” she cried, but the police paid no heed to her.
Then the congregation, which had broken up, came rus.h.i.+ng out of the church and round to the door leading to the chambers beneath it.
”They've found him,” thought Glory, pressing her hand over her heart.
But no, it was another matter. Immediately afterward there rose over the babel of human voices the deep music of the bloodhound in full cry. The crowd shrieked with fear and delight, then surged and parted, and the dog came running through with its stern up, its head down, its forehead wrinkled, and the long drapery of its ears and flews hanging in folds about its face. In a moment it was gone, its mellow note was dying away in the neighbouring streets, and a gang of ruffians were racing after it. ”That'll find the feller if he's in London!” somebody shouted; it was the man with the bandaged forehead--and there were yells of fiendish laughter.
Glory's head was going round, and she was holding on to Rosa's arm with a convulsive grasp.
”The cowards!” she cried. ”To use that poor creature's devotion to its master for their own inhuman ends--it's cowardly, it's brutal, it's----Oh, oh, oh!”
”Come, dear,” said Rosa, and she dragged Glory away.
They went back through Broad Sanctuary. Neither spoke, but both were thinking: ”He has gone to the monastery. He intends to stay there until the storm is over.” At Westminster Bridge they parted. ”I have somewhere to go,” said Rosa, turning down to the Underground. ”She is going to Bishopsgate Street,” thought Glory, and they separated with constraint.
Returning to Clement's Inn, Glory found a letter from Drake:
”Dear Glory: How can I apologize to you for nay detestable behaviour of last night? The memory of what pa.s.sed has taken all the joy out of the success upon which everybody is congratulating me. I have tried to persuade myself that you would make allowances for the day and the circ.u.mstances and my natural excitement. But your life has been so blameless that it fills me with anguish and horror to think how I exposed you to misrepresentation by allowing you to go to that place, and by behaving to you as I did when you were there. Thank G.o.d, things went no farther, and some blessed power prevented me from carrying out my threat to follow you. Believe me, you shall see no more of men like Lord Robert Ure and women like his a.s.sociates. I despise them from my heart, and wonder how I can have tolerated them so long. Do let me beg the favour of a line consenting to allow me to call and ask your forgiveness. Yours most humbly,
”F. H. N. Drake.”
Glory slept badly that night, and as soon as Liza was stirring she rang for the newspaper.
”Didn't ye 'ear the dorg, mum?” said Liza.
”What dog?”
”The Farver's dorg. It was scratching at the front dawer afore I was up this morning. 'It's the milk,' sez I. But the minute I opened the dawer up it came ter the drawerin' room and went snuffling rahnd everywhere.”
”Where is it now?”