Part 22 (2/2)

After all, he had nothing to fear, he repeated to himself. There was not the remotest possibility of Bill meeting him. Anyway he would make that possibility as small as it could be by s.h.i.+pping himself off this very day. And while he was thinking Bill came up the pier, walking rapidly with that rolling lurch peculiar to sailors. Lamport was unconscious of this. He never heard the footfalls behind him, and, if he did, paid no attention to them. When Bill was scarce ten yards off, Lamport lighted a fusee and held it to his pipe. The sudden hiss of the match and the flare of light stopped Dungaree at once, and, as the blaze lit up Lamport's face, Bill saw from the gesture, the poise of the head, the cunning glitter of the eye, that he had found his man.

He drew back for a moment, and waited till Lamport had lit his pipe and flung the end of his fusee away. Bill felt the veins on his forehead stand out like knotted ropes. For a moment he stood, his sinewy hands working convulsively, and then, walking up to Lamport, he gripped him on the shoulder and swung him round.

There was no word spoken. Quick as thought Lamport's knife was in his hand. It flashed a moment in the air, and Bill staggered back with an oath. He had been only just in time to escape the stroke, which nevertheless inflicted a slight flesh wound. The next moment the knife was dashed from Lamport's hand, and Bill's fingers were round his throat. He made an effort to struggle, he tried to shout, but, active and powerful as he was, he was like a child in the hands of the giant.

It was ended very soon, that noiseless struggle, and Bill stood over the dead man. He felt for his belt, and regained it with a feeling of intense satisfaction. It was light, but the lost weight was balanced now.

Bill was not of those who hesitated at a critical moment. ”Over he goes,” said he, and, lifting the body, he flung it over the chains, where it fell with a plash into the water. ”And now to follow suit.”

He ran down the stone steps of the quay, and, carefully removing his boots, held them together in his teeth. He then pulled off his coat, and for the first time realized that he was wounded.

”Better this way than any other,” muttered he to himself as he made a bold plunge and struck out for his s.h.i.+p.

CHAPTER XVII.

FROM THE CHOIR OF THE HOLY INNOCENTS.

Some one has said that there is a consolation in being well dressed that even religion can not afford. It was with the consciousness of this feeling that Lizzie Sarkies knelt by her husband's side at midnight ma.s.s in the Church of the Holy Innocents.

It was New Year's Eve, and the young year was being welcomed in with all the pomp and ceremony of the Roman Catholic ritual. The old year was dying. It had covered its face with its mantle of broken hopes, of resolves unkept, of withered lives. With the New Year would come fresh hope and high resolve. The pages of the past were to be turned down, the fair white sheets of a new record opened, the Most High would lend an attentive ear to the voice of His people calling from the deep. The church was full. Of those who were spared from the dangers of the past some were here to thank the G.o.dhead for his mercy, and to pray as humble creatures should for the light that never comes. There were others with dead hearts, hearts that had gotten the ”dry-rot” into them. These came because the others came, because their ears were tickled by the music. Their lips murmured prayers that found no echoes in their souls, and as they looked upon the Host they gave no thought to the past. As for the future, with such as these the future has no lesson to learn. Sufficient for them was it that they lived, and sinned, and died.

Lizzie, and many others beside her, occupied a place midway between these two cla.s.ses. They had not as yet chosen their seats finally. As the solemn notes of the organ joined the silver voices of the choir Lizzie felt the full magnetic power of the music, and prayed with her heart of hearts. When from behind the high altar the low murmur of the prayers trickled down the aisles and buzzed in her ears, Lizzie's bright eyes wandered round the church up to the gallery, where the choir of dark-robed nuns sat; away into the dim colonnades, over the ghostly sea of heads; to the right, where close-cropped, straight-backed, and stalwart of limb, were ranged a contingent of the Royal Irish, then in garrison at Bombay; in front, where sat Madame Eglantine, the celebrated _modiste_, with a creation of forget-me-nots on her head. At all these Lizzie stared, and was comforted.

How pleasant this was after the deadly monotony of the tabernacle!

Here all the rough edges were smoothed off, the corners rounded neatly; there all was granite of the hardest.

The banners swayed their silken folds. From her niche in the wall the Blessed Virgin, done in wax, gazed down upon her with l.u.s.treless eyes.

The tinsel looked like gold. The incense breathed its subtle and intoxicating perfume into her brain.

And now the priests walked in solemn procession up the aisle, the organ pealed forth, and the joyous voices of the choir joined in the hymn of adoration.

At a bound Lizzie's heart went back from earth to heaven. She thrilled with a holy fervour as the music filled the church. Her eyes were full of tears.

Suddenly the voices of the choir died away. The priests had bowed before the altar, and were praying in secret. The organ wailed tremulously. Lizzie stood leaning on the seat in front of her, almost breathless with excitement.

All at once from the gallery a single voice took up the anthem--full, clear, and sweet. It seemed as if it were the answer of heaven to the prayers of the Faithful.

”_Christe c.u.m sit hinc exire_ _Du per matron me venire_ _Ad palmam victoriae_.”

Lizzie turned her eyes toward the spot whence the voice came. The light shone full on the dark-robed figure, on the upturned face, thin and pale, and on the sad gray eyes of the singer.

”_Ad palmam victoriae_.”

As the words reached her, Lizzie felt the light of a sudden recognition. She turned to her husband and pulled him by the coat-sleeve.

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