Clergy -- England -- Fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
“Would not mind breaking my neck!” Gregg retorted with decision. “No,
thank you, not for me I hope to have a wife and children some day, and
I will keep my neck for them. Go down!” he repeated, looking round with
extreme scorn. “Pooh! No one can expect us to do it! It is these
people’s business, and they are used to it; but there is not a sane man
in the kingdom, besides, would go down that place after what has just
happened. It is a quarter of a mile as a stone falls, if it is an
inch!”
“It is all that,” assented the other, much relieved.
“And a height makes me giddy,” Dr. Gregg added.
“I feel the same now,” said his elder.
“No; every man to his trade,” Gregg concluded, settling the matter to
his satisfaction. “Let them bring them up, and we will doctor them. But
while they are below ground—— Hallo!”
His last word was an oath of surprise and anger. Happening to glance
round, the doctor saw Lindo coming forward to the shaft, and recognized
him in spite of his disguise. One look, and Gregg would cheerfully have
given ten pounds either to have had the rector away, or to have arrived
a little later himself. He had reckoned already in his own mind that,
if no outsider went down, he could scarcely be blamed for taking care
of himself. But, if the rector went down, the matter would wear a
different aspect. And Dr. Gregg saw this so clearly that he turned pale
with rage and chagrin, and swore more loudly than before.
CHAPTER XXI.
IN PROFUNDIS.
The young clergyman’s face, as he walked forward to the shaft, formed
no index to his mind, for while it remained calm and even wore a faint
smile, he was inwardly conscious of a strong desire to take hold of
anything which presented itself, even a straw. He stepped gravely into
the tub amid a low murmur, and, clutching the iron bar above it, felt
himself at a word of command lifted gently into the air, and swung over
the shaft. For an uncomfortable five seconds or so he remained
stationary; then there was a jerk—another—and the dark figures, the
lines of faces, and the glare of the fires leapt suddenly above his
head. He found himself dropping through space with a swift, sickening
motion, as of one falling away from himself. His heart rose into his
throat. There was a loud buzzing in his ears, and yet above this he
heard the dull rattling sound of the rope being paid out. Every other
sense was spent in the stern clutch of his hands on the bar above his
head.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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