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<h4>CHAPTER II</h4> <h5>THE VICAR</h5> By this time the Squire and his friend were approaching a rickety five-barred gate which stood wide open, as the hinges being useless, it could not easily be shut. Passing through this, they advanced up a wide untidy drive overgrown with grass, and this dismal path conducted them to a weedy stony expanse, girdled by an uncultivated jungle. Flowers, shrubs, herbs, trees, docks and darnels were all mixed up together in a way, suggesting only too clearly the sluggard's garden and almost aggressively presented an aspect of decay. The vicarage thoroughly matched this desolation, although in skilful hands it could have been made into a most charming residence. Carrington viewed this deadly solitude with disgust. "Are you taking me to see the ruins of Babylon?" he asked, noting that even the blazing sunshine could not impart an aspect of cheerfulness to the place. "Is your vicar an owl or a jackal that he can live here?" Hendle laughed deeply and pulled at his pipe. "Leigh is too much wrapped up in his hobby to care about the necessaries of life." "He might care for the decencies, anyway," retorted the barrister. "As the lord of the manor, why don't you insist upon his keeping the place in repair?" "The living is not in my gift, Carrington, and I have no right to interfere in any way. Leigh is the last descendant of an old family who camped ages ago in this parish. The living is all that remains of what they once possessed, and the vicar exists on a miserable stipend of two hundred a year." "And you have four thousand per annum.--What about your tithes?" "Tithes come from land, and save the park I have no land. My grandfather sold what we owned and invested the proceeds in various companies. My income is derived from stocks and shares. My tithe represents a small amount." "Still, you might house your spiritual adviser better, Hendle." "I don't think so. I look after the poor in the parish, and as one of the churchwardens I see that the church is all right. If Leigh choses to live in this way I can't prevent him. He's quite happy so long as he has a bed and a fire and a roof, with bread and cheese and his beloved books. What is the use of my giving him money to buy more volumes?" Carrington nodded comprehendingly. "I understand. There are some people you cannot help, however much you may wish to." "Precisely," murmured the big man indolently. "Leigh knows that I am willing to do anything in reason, but that I don't hold with his wasting money on books. His time also. The parson is here to look after his cure of souls; not to encourage a selfish hobby. Leigh loves books and dreams books and lives books and would spend a fortune in buying books. There is nothing he would not do to purchase more." "A kind of clerical Eugene Aram?" "Oh, no," replied Rupert hastily. "Leigh would never do wrong even to gratify his craze for books. He is a gentle soul." "A character at all events, if nothing else," observed the barrister dryly. In response to Hendle's loud rapping on the rusty panels of the door with the knob of his walking stick a slovenly, fat, old female waddled into sight, wiping her hands on a coarse apron. Her stout looks were in direct contradiction to the lean appearance of the place; but, judging from her inflamed countenance, these might have been due to a constant consumption of beer. She was arrayed in a dingy cotton gown, so dirty that it was difficult to guess at its original color, and her gray hair was as dishevelled as her shoes and stockings were untidy. This frowzy lady, who answered to the odd name of Selina Jabber, received the visitors with a good-natured smile which twinkled all over her plump face. "To think, sir, that you should find me like this before I'm smartened for the afternoon," she cried, volubly addressing Rupert; "but washing has to be done, say what you like, though I do say that the master don't give me more to do than my weakness can deal with." Talking all the time, the housekeeper had conducted the amused men through an entrance hall, narrowed by books heaped on the oilcloth, through a passage lined with crowded shelves and into a large bare room which appeared to be built up of many volumes. The walls could not be seen for these, and they were also piled in little heaps on the uncarpeted floor. The only articles of furniture were a large round table covered with green baize, standing directly in front of the undraped window, and a chair before it in which Mr. Leigh sat with a heavy tome on his knee. In spite of the sunshine pouring in, the apartment looked bleak and dreary, as there was no fireplace and no adornments or comforts of any sort. The vicar, a tall, lean, dreamy man with an ascetic, clean-shaven face and calm blue eyes, raised his head in response to the continuous ding-dong of Mrs. Jabber's voice: "Mr. Hendle and a gent from London, sir; Mr. Hendle and a gent from London, sir; Mr. Hendle and----" "That will do, Mrs. Jabber," interrupted the vicar in a dignified manner, and revealing the pundit in tone and accent. "You can go." "You mustn't mind Mrs. Jabber, Rupert," said the vicar mildly. "She is quite a character. And this----" "Is my friend, Mr. Carrington. I wished him to meet you before he went away." "I am pleased to see you, Mr. Carrington," said Leigh, offering a dry, cold hand and giving the barrister a more searching glance than one would have expected from so mild a man. "I fancy I remember Rupert mentioning you as an old schoolfellow of Rugby days." "Oh, yes. We were great friends at school, and I am glad to renew our acquaintance, as you may guess, Mr. Leigh." "Quite so, quite so. And what's doing in London?" inquired the vicar in a weary manner as if he felt it incumbent upon him to manufacture conversation in which he took not the slightest interest. Rupert sat down on one pile of books--as there were no chairs--and Carrington on another pile, while the barrister gave the latest metropolitan gossip and the squire smoked stolidly. Mr. Leigh drew up his threadbare black trousers, showing socks of different color and pattern, and sat down to take his book again on his knee. His face was handsome in a refined and gentle way: he had scanty white hair and excellent teeth, which looked genuine: hands and feet slender and elegant, suggested race, and he had the stooping shoulders of a student. Carrington, observing him narrowly while he talked in a desultory manner, saw that here was the last withered branch of an ancient family tree. The sap of the race was exhausted in Simon Leigh, and he looked as though his frail organization could not last much longer. There was no fire in him: only the slowly fading heat of dying ashes. Remembering what Hendle had said about the vicar's craze for books he attempted to interest him in that direction, as Mr. Leigh appeared to be wholly indifferent to news of the busy world. "You are fond of archæology, I believe, sir," mentioned the barrister, glancing round the truly scholarly room. "I am devoted to it, Mr. Carrington," replied the student, his calm eyes flashing into vivid life. "Antiquities, ancient customs, the usages of the Middle Ages and Classic times, together with the traditions of religious belief and ceremony appeal more to my understanding than anything else." "Humph!" grunted the Squire pointedly, "surely as a parson----" "We have frequently argued on the subject, you hint at, Rupert," said Mr. Leigh hastily. "But as your views differ from mine, we have, as yet, not arrived at any agreement. As a parson I trust that I do my duty, though it may be that I am not the ideal of a parish priest." Hendle colored at this dignified rebuke. "I apologize, sir, but you rather mistake my true meaning. What I implied was that you are more of a scholar than a parson." "I admit that, Rupert. Had I lived in monastic days, I should have been a hermit or a monk. My wants are few, and I do not seek the loaves and fishes of ecclesiastical preferment. The services of the church; occasional visits to my parishioners and giving of what alms my small means allow are my duties as a Clerk in Holy Orders. But what time otherwise is at my disposal I give to books, to the examination of old buildings, to the study of ancient customs, and such-like matters. You see I am frank, Mr. Carrington." "And very original," said the barrister heartily, "it is a great pleasure to meet one whose views are other than commonplace. And what a tremendous number of books you have." "You are like that clergyman in Scott's novel, St. Ronan's Well," said Hendle, removing his pipe for a moment. "What's his name--Cargill." "I never waste my hours reading novels," said Leigh loftily. "I should think they would be more entertaining than these parchments," suggested Carrington, looking at the writing table, which was littered profusely with dusty documents covered with crabbed characters. "No! No! No!" cried Leigh vivaciously, and laid a thin hand on his beloved dry-as-dust pamphlets. "Nothing can be more entertaining than deciphering these deeds. Leases and proclamations, accounts and registrations: all of various reigns and all written in the dog Latin of knightly days. And it ill becomes you, Rupert," added the vicar in a mildly jesting way, "to reproach me with my besetting sin, when you pander to it by permitting me access to your Muniment Room." "Muniment Room," echoed the barrister. "It would not interest you, Mr. Carrington, believe me," said the vicar jealously, "as young men do not care to inspect such treasures. I can tell you all about the most interesting documents and can show you what is worthy of note, if indeed you care for such lofty learning. But don't meddle with the chest and its contents, I beg. They are too valuable to be lightly handled." Rupert laughed and nodded. "I believe that Mr. Leigh grudges even me meddling with the deeds and documents. He thinks that I am an unworthy guardian of such literary treasures." "I think they are quite safe," said Carrington, looking with disdain on the time-worn and soiled parchments rustling under the vicar's thin fingers. "No one will seek to deprive Mr. Leigh of his weary delights." "Weary! Ah, my dear sir, you don't know what joy it is to pore over these glorious relics of monkish days. They give in wonderful detail the history of Barship, when it was quite a noted port." "Port? Why, it's an inland parish." "Now it is," cried the vicar eagerly and now settled in the saddle of his hobby-horse, "but in the reign of Henry III, Barship was built round a commodious harbor. The sea has retired these many miles, and the village which was once a bustling town is now scarcely known." "Well, I must say that information is very interesting," said Carrington. "Isn't it? And there are many other things just as interesting. I am writing a history of our parish from these documents here and others which are in the Muniment Room of the Big House. It will take me years to complete, but when ready it will form a book of surpassing interest." At this moment, Carrington heard the door open softly. He turned his head, as did Rupert at the sound, to see a stout, black-bearded man standing on the threshold. He came in with a padding step like a cat, and scowled when he saw that the vicar had visitors. "How are you, Mr. Mallien?" said Hendle with a good-natured nod. "This is my friend Carrington, who was at school with me." "How do," said Mallien gruffly, and with an air of resenting Carrington's return greeting. "Beastly day--far too hot. Pouf! how this room smells of sheepskin. Why don't you drag Leigh out for a walk, Rupert?" "The age of miracles is past," said the young Squire dryly. "You see that even your entrance cannot rouse the vicar from his studies." "Vicar! Vicar!" said Mallien gruffly and tapped the parson's shoulder. "Go away! go away! I'm busy," said Leigh peevishly; then, keeping his finger on a line of crabbed writing he had reached, he looked up. "Oh, Mr. Mallien, I beg pardon. What do you want?" "Dorinda has brought you some flowers for the altar," said Mallien, "so I came with her. She would drag me out, although I didn't want to tire myself on this hot day." "Is the day hot?" inquired the vicar absently. "Flowers. Thank you. Mrs. Jabber has the key of the church." "Is Dorinda here!" questioned Hendle, making for the door with alacrity; "I must go and see her. Look after Carrington," he called back as he disappeared, and the vicar shook his head irritably at the sound of his raised voice. Mallien did not obey his cousin's request by making himself agreeable to the visitor who was thus given into his charge. He stared at Carrington and Carrington stared at him, while Mr. Leigh droned in an undertone like a bee over his newly discovered fact of military occupation. The barrister saw before him a little man, less in height than himself and considerably stouter, dressed comfortably in a suit of loosely fitting gray homespun. Mallien's most noticeable point was the extraordinary quantity of jewelry he wore, which suggested Jewish blood. And indeed his face with its hooked nose and deeply black eyes hinted at the Hebrew. His dark hair and dark beard were flecked with gray, but his fresh, unwrinkled complexion made him appear much younger than he really was. He did not look at all an amiable person. And Carrington quite believed that Rupert had spoken truly when he had hinted at his cousin's misanthropic nature. Here assuredly was Timon of Athens in modern dress, glaring at the barrister as if he wondered why he presumed to exist. The man's manner was disagreeable and when he spoke his speech was pointedly aggressive. "I know why you are staring," said Mr. Mallien in abrupt and unfriendly tone. "Everyone stares in the same way, confound their insolence. It's my jewelry, isn't it?" "Why, yes!" said Carrington, matching this insolence. "You are as bedizened as a Hindoo idol on its feast day." "You speak plainly," growled Mallien with a crushing look. "So do you," retorted Carrington, who was not to be crushed. "We are well matched, it seems." "I am older than you and require to be treated politely," snapped the other. "Because everyone has hitherto gone down before your bullying ways, confound you," replied the barrister, getting in his thrust. "Don't you find plain speech a refreshing novelty?" "Ah! what," Mr. Leigh looked up. "Presently, Mrs. Jabber--presently. I am not yet hungry. Go away. Oh, Mallien, I beg your pardon! When did you arrive? Will you stop to luncheon?" "And eat the potted tongue your housekeeper has been talking about to Dorinda?" queried Mallien with grim rudeness. "No thanks. I have more regard for my stomach." The vicar scarcely heard the retort, as he had already returned to the study of his soiled parchment. "Do you know of any spot in the parish where a circumvallation is discernible, Mr. Mallien?" he said, half to himself. "No, sir, I don't. And as I have no aeroplane I can't soar to the clouds where your wits are at present. I shall take my leave straightway. Good day;" and he departed forthwith. Carrington, amused by Mallien's brusque leave-taking, picked up his cap to follow so judicious an example since the vicar, really being in the clouds, was unable to attend to chance visitors. "Good day, Mr. Leigh," he said, moving toward the door; but, no notice being taken, he repeated his farewell in louder tones. "Good day, Mr. Leigh." "Oh, good day, good day, good day," snapped the student irritably. Leaving Mr. Leigh murmuring comments, and fumbling amongst the flotsam and jetsam of the Middle Ages, the barrister walked leisurely along the book-lined passage, through the book-littered entrance hall and emerged into the desolation of the surrounding jungle. Rupert and Miss Mallien were conspicuous by their absence, and the gruff individual left in charge of Carrington was waiting restlessly. He waved his hand when the visitor appeared. "Did you ever see such a pig sty?" he growled with the voice of an ourangoutang, which beast he greatly resembled, "and Leigh is exactly suited to it. As the man is so are his surroundings: his mind is as muddled as his garden. And this addle-pated parson is supposed to be the spiritual father of the parish. Pah! Come and look at the lordly pleasure grounds. Rupert asked me to look after you, so I must, I suppose. Did you ever see such a rotten place?" he asked contemptuously. "Oh, yes! You are showing me nothing new," replied Carrington, who took a delight in exasperating the man's temper. "I shan't show you anything more," growled Mallien sullenly, "and after all I'm dashed silly to bother myself in this way." "Oh, I don't quite see----Oh!" His face twisted with pain as he spoke. "What's the matter with you?" demanded Mallien crossly. "Toothache! I have had a twinge or two lately and I expect that this damp place"--Carrington looked up at the dark overhanging boughs--"has brought back the pain. I shall have to see a doctor when I go to town." "You can see a doctor here, if you like," said Mallien roughly, and pushed his way back to the avenue. "Dr. Tollart lives at the end of the village. Anyone will tell you where he is to be found." "Thanks," said the barrister as they paused by the rickety gate. "You are kinder than you mean to be." "I'm not. I want to get rid of you," fumed Mallien, turning on his heel. "You can go to the doctor or to the devil for all I care." Carrington saw the little man vanishing with great speed round the corner and laughed at the oddity of his character. Then he walked through the village and soon found Tollart's house. The doctor proved to be within and speedily gave his patient something to take away the aching. It was only a makeshift of course, but Carrington was glad enough to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling. After paying half a crown he went away leisurely, and by the time he reached the gates of the park felt much better. Strolling up the avenue, Carrington suddenly began to shiver in the warm sunshine, and was greatly surprised that he should do so. It seemed unreasonable and certainly was unexpected. "Strange," he muttered with a shrug; "now a superstitious person would say that I was walking over my grave. Pooh!" he laughed, but nevertheless shivered again. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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