This is St.Launces Station,I think.Are you going to get out?
Knights manner of returning to the matter in hand drew Stephen again into himself.No;I told you I was going to Endelstow,he resolutely replied.
Knights features became impassive,and he said no more.The train continued rattling on,and Stephen leant back in his corner and closed his eyes.The yellows of evening had turned to browns,the dusky shades thickened,and a flying cloud of dust occasionally stroked the window--borne upon a chilling breeze which blew from the north-east.The previously gilded but now dreary hills began to lose their daylight aspects of rotundity,and to become black discs vandyked against the sky,all nature wearing the cloak that six oclock casts over the landscape at this time of the year.
Stephen started up in bewilderment after a long stillness,and it was some time before he recollected himself.
Well,how real,how real!he exclaimed,brushing his hand across his eyes.
What is?said Knight.
That dream.I fell asleep for a few minutes,and have had a dream--the most vivid I ever remember.
He wearily looked out into the gloom.They were now drawing near to Camelton.The lighting of the lamps was perceptible through the veil of evening--each flame starting into existence at intervals,and blinking weakly against the gusts of wind.
What did you dream?said Knight moodily.
Oh,nothing to be told.Twas a sort of incubus.There is never anything in dreams.
I hardly supposed there was.
I know that.However,what I so vividly dreamt was this,since you would like to hear.It was the brightest of bright mornings at East Endelstow Church,and you and I stood by the font.Far away in the chancel Lord Luxellian was standing alone,cold and impassive,and utterly unlike his usual self:but I knew it was he.Inside the altar rail stood a strange clergyman with his book open.He looked up and said to Lord Luxellian,"Wheres the bride?"Lord Luxellian said,"Theres no bride."At that moment somebody came in at the door,and I knew her to be Lady Luxellian who died.He turned and said to her,"I thought you were in the vault below us;but that could have only been a dream of mine.
Come on."Then she came on.And in brushing between us she chilled me so with cold that I exclaimed,"The life is gone out of me!"and,in the way of dreams,I awoke.But here we are at Camelton.
They were slowly entering the station.
What are you going to do?said Knight.Do you really intend to call on the Swancourts?
By no means.I am going to make inquiries first.I shall stay at the Luxellian Arms to-night.You will go right on to Endelstow,I suppose,at once?
I can hardly do that at this time of the day.Perhaps you are not aware that the family--her father,at any rate--is at variance with me as much as with you.
I didnt know it.
And that I cannot rush into the house as an old friend any more than you can.Certainly I have the privileges of a distant relationship,whatever they may be.
Knight let down the window,and looked ahead.There are a great many people at the station,he said.They seem all to be on the look-out for us.
When the train stopped,the half-estranged friends could perceive by the lamplight that the assemblage of idlers enclosed as a kernel a group of men in black cloaks.A side gate in the platform railing was open,and outside this stood a dark vehicle,which they could not at first characterize.Then Knight saw on its upper part forms against the sky like cedars by night,and knew the vehicle to be a hearse.Few people were at the carriage doors to meet the passengers--the majority had congregated at this upper end.Knight and Stephen alighted,and turned for a moment in the same direction.
The sombre van,which had accompanied them all day from London,now began to reveal that their destination was also its own.It had been drawn up exactly opposite the open gate.The bystanders all fell back,forming a clear lane from the gateway to the van,and the men in cloaks entered the latter conveyance.
They are labourers,I fancy,said Stephen.Ah,it is strange;but I recognize three of them as Endelstow men.Rather remarkable this.
Presently they began to come out,two and two;and under the rays of the lamp they were seen to bear between them a light-coloured coffin of satin-wood,brightly polished,and without a nail.The eight men took the burden upon their shoulders,and slowly crossed with it over to the gate.
Knight and Stephen went outside,and came close to the procession as it moved off.A carriage belonging to the cortege turned round close to a lamp.The rays shone in upon the face of the vicar of Endelstow,Mr.Swancourt--looking many years older than when they had last seen him.Knight and Stephen involuntarily drew back.
Knight spoke to a bystander.What has Mr.Swancourt to do with that funeral?
He is the ladys father,said the bystander.
What ladys father?said Knight,in a voice so hollow that the man stared at him.
The father of the lady in the coffin.She died in London,you know,and has been brought here by this train.She is to be taken home to-night,and buried to-morrow.
Knight stood staring blindly at where the hearse had been;as if he saw it,or some one,there.Then he turned,and beheld the lithe form of Stephen bowed down like that of an old man.He took his young friends arm,and led him away from the light.
