English literature -- England -- Lancashire; Legends -- England -- Lancashire
De Poininges was more and more convinced that his neighbour knew more of
the matter than he durst tell; but it seemed expedient to conceal his
suspicions for the present. In the end it was agreed that the cunning
clerk should accompany him so far as to point out the situation; but on
no account would he consent to keep watch during the absence of De
Poininges. The latter assented to this arrangement, secretly resolving
to dictate other terms where his will should both command and be obeyed.
They immediately set out on horseback, followed by the servants, to whom
De Poininges had given a private signal.
The moon had risen. One bright star hung like a "jewel in an Ethiop's
ear" in the dark sky above the sun's track, which at this season sweeps
like a lucid zone, dividing day from night, round the northern horizon.
Such a time of purity and brightness often succeeds the sultry and
oppressive languor of the day, especially when refreshed by the passing
storm; the air so clear that objects press, as it were, upon the
eyeballs, affecting the sight as though they were almost palpable to the
touch. The dews had not descended, but the leaves were still wet. Big
drops glittered in the moonlight, pouring a copious shower on the
travellers as they passed. The clerk began a low chant, humming and
whistling by turns: this gradually grew more audible, until the full
burst of the "_Miserere_" commenced, richly adorned with his own
original quavers. So enamoured was he of his qualifications in this
respect that he was fairly getting through high mass, when, midway in a
ravishing "_Benedictus_" he made a sudden halt.
"What is that creeping behind the bushes there?" inquired he, in a sort
of half-whisper to his companion. De Poininges looked in the direction
pointed out, and thought he saw something, dark and mysterious, moving
between the boughs on his left. He stopped, but the object, whatever its
nature, had disappeared.
Sore alarmed was the timid chorister; but though his melodies had
ceased, a plentiful supply of credos and paternosters were at hand to
supply their place. Crossing himself with a great show of sanctity, he
moved on with much caution, his deep hoarse voice having subsided into a
husky and abrupt whisper, often interrupted when objects the most
trivial arrested his glance and aroused his suspicions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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