Part 59 (1/2)

”I do odd things sometimes,” said the priest, simply. ”I thought that the sight of this poor woman's resting-place might remind you and me of what has pa.s.sed, of what she did for the world--though no one knows it but our group of friends. I hope that it will remind us, remind you very solemnly, my friend, in your new responsibility, of what Christ means to the world. The shadows of the time of darkness, 'When it Was Dark'

during the 'Horror of Great Darkness,' have gone from us. And this poor sister did this for her Saviour's sake.”

They stood by Gertrude Hunt's grave as they spoke.

A slender copper cross rose above it, some six feet high.

”I wonder how the poor girl managed it,” said Spence at length; ”her letter was wonderfully complete. Sir Michael--Lord Fencastle, I mean--showed it me some years ago. She was wonderfully adroit. I suppose Llwellyn had left papers about or something. But I do wonder how she did it.”

”That,” said Father Ripon, ”was what she would never tell anybody.”

”_Requiescat in pace_,” said Spence.

”In Paradise with Saint Mary of Magdala,” the priest said softly.

THE SECOND PICTURE

_Quem Deus Vult Perdere._

The chaplain of the county asylum stood by the castellated red brick lodge at the end of the asylum drive, talking to a group of young ladies.

The drive, which stretched away nearly a quarter of a mile to the enormous buildings of the asylum, with their lofty towers and warm, florid architecture, was edged with rhododendrons and other shrubs.

The gardens were beautifully kept. Everything was mathematically straight and clean, almost luxurious, indeed.

The girls were three in number, young, fas.h.i.+onably dressed. They talked without ceasing in an empty-headed stream of girlish chatter.

They were the daughters of a great ironfounder in the district, and would each have a hundred thousand pounds.

The chaplain was showing them over the asylum.

”How sweet of you, Mr. Pritchard, to show us everything!” said one of the girls. ”It's awfully thrilling. I suppose we shall be quite safe from the violent ones?”

”Oh, yes,” said the chaplain, ”you will only see those from a distance; we keep them well locked up, I a.s.sure you.”

The girls laughed with him.

The party went laughing through the long, spotless corridors, peeping into the bright, airy living-rooms, where bodies without brains were mumbling and singing to each other.

The imbecile who moved vacantly with s...o...b..ring lip, the dementia patient, the log-like, general paralytic--”G. P.”--_things_ which must be fed, the barred and dangerous maniac, they saw them all with pleasant thrills of horror, disgust, and sometimes with laughter.

”Oh, Grace, _do_ look at that funny little fat one in the corner--the one with his tongue hanging out! Isn't he _weird_?”

”There's one actually _reading_! He _must_ be only pretending!”

A young doctor joined them--a handsome Scotchman with pleasant manners.

For a time the lunatics were forgotten.

”Well, now, have we seen _all_, Doctor Steward?” one of the girls said.