England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Wessex (England) -- Fiction
Then Lucy and her husband laughed, and Barnet laughed and retired; and
the quiet little party went gliding down the nave and towards the
porch, Lucy’s new silk dress sweeping with a smart rustle round the
base-mouldings of the ancient font, and Downe’s little daughters
following in a state of round-eyed interest in their position, and that
of Lucy, their teacher and friend.
So Downe was comforted after his Emily’s death, which had taken place
twelve months, two weeks, and three days before that time.
When the two flys had driven off and the spectators had vanished,
Barnet followed to the door, and went out into the sun. He took no more
trouble to preserve a spruce exterior; his step was unequal,
hesitating, almost convulsive; and the slight changes of colour which
went on in his face seemed refracted from some inward flame. In the
churchyard he became pale as a summer cloud, and finding it not easy to
proceed he sat down on one of the tombstones and supported his head
with his hand.
Hard by was a sexton filling up a grave which he had not found time to
finish on the previous evening. Observing Barnet, he went up to him,
and recognizing him, said, ‘Shall I help you home, sir?’
‘O no, thank you,’ said Barnet, rousing himself and standing up. The
sexton returned to his grave, followed by Barnet, who, after watching
him awhile, stepped into the grave, now nearly filled, and helped to
tread in the earth.
The sexton apparently thought his conduct a little singular, but he
made no observation, and when the grave was full, Barnet suddenly
stopped, looked far away, and with a decided step proceeded to the gate
and vanished. The sexton rested on his shovel and looked after him for
a few moments, and then began banking up the mound.
In those short minutes of treading in the dead man Barnet had formed a
design, but what it was the inhabitants of that town did not for some
long time imagine. He went home, wrote several letters of business,
called on his lawyer, an old man of the same place who had been the
legal adviser of Barnet’s father before him, and during the evening
overhauled a large quantity of letters and other documents in his
possession. By eleven o’clock the heap of papers in and before Barnet’s
grate had reached formidable dimensions, and he began to burn them.
This, owing to their quantity, it was not so easy to do as he had
expected, and he sat long into the night to complete the task.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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