CHAPTER XXVIII

REVENGE IS SWEET

Next day this particular city of Lucifram was buzzing. The great election was coming off. Yet there was no doubt who was winning. Golden Priest Alphonso had regained his old popularity. When the poll was read at night he headed the list. The people received it with shouts of acclamation. In other circles the news was as well received. He was barely forty. A precedent was established. He was the youngest Great High Priest in the record of time.

But our history is not so much with public events as private persons, and we return once more to Susiebelle and her friend Miss Groggerton.

Neither of them had been at the great dinner, but the one had heard from her father, and the other read from the paper, the trend of general events.

“And,” said Susiebelle, with pious horror, “to admit right out she’d been into the most sacred place—a place no woman has ever been in before. Such impudent boldness is enough to make one’s hair stand on end. She’s a disgrace to our sex. If I met her in the street with the Emperor himself I’d turn my head away.”

As this was never likely to be, Susiebelle was very safe.

“Yes; but what I can’t understand is Mr. Barringcourt’s conduct,” said Miss Groggerton. “I hear that he defended her, or the next best thing. Made everyone laugh and then serious at the same time.”

Miss Groggerton was green when she said it, but Susiebelle became greener.

“Pa says no right-minded woman would care to hear her conduct made the subject of open criticism, and if she’d had a ha’porth of modesty, she’d have kept her tongue still. But I know the kind she is. Those pug-nosed women are all alike. Pushing themselves to the front if they have to pay body and soul for it. Have you seen brother James Peter yet?”

“Yes. He called the day before yesterday. And I explained to him about her. He was to be at the dinner last night, so he would see her.”

Just at this moment, in accordance with the old proverb, brother James Peter made his appearance. He has been previously introduced to the reader at the beginning of this book. Once brother James Peter fell over a footstool, and got lost in the dark, was laughed at by his brother priests, and to this day heard occasional remarks made about his conduct. He remembered very well the source of his misfortunes, and had again scented the innocent cause of them all. He was the first to hiss last night, proving himself to be a true cross-breed of the Serpent. To-day he came in as one with news. He had given his vote; for him the day’s work was over.

“You look pale, Sir Priest,” said Miss Groggerton, who would have called up the devil to prove him another, behind his back.

“The events of last night have distracted me,” he cried, sitting down. And Miss Groggerton rang for his favourite collation of whisky and ham sandwiches.

“Tell us, is it true?” they both cried, as the provisions were being prepared without.

“That woman is in the power of the Evil One,” said he solemnly. “And the sooner that little squat animal is taken by the hind leg and cast into the fire—the—better.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Miss Groggerton, in joyful anticipation of slaughter.

“I believe it’s that frog that gets her a reputation for beauty. Loathsome little thing!” and Susiebelle shivered, and then laughed.

“Listen to me,” said James Peter, raising his fat finger. “Make none of your own little spiteful remarks, but listen to me.”

Being a priest, he spoke as one in authority, and the women submitted.

“That woman,” said he, “is a dangerous and unprincipled character. Three years ago—listen carefully—she came into our temple and pretended to be drunk—dumb, I mean. She used to come and kneel up close to the crimson curtain, and I believe she contaminated it and made it rot. She used to look up at me with her lovely eyes (she has lovely eyes, Mademoiselle Susiebelle, whatever you may think), and point to her lips, and shake her head, and I—I used to pity her. She gave me to understand she was praying for the gift of speech.”

Here the women laughed shrilly, shook with laughing, as he had laughed long since.

“But that,” continued he, “was all a ruse. She was waiting her opportunity to slip inside the curtain, eaten up with preternatural and unwomanly curiosity. But one afternoon, as it was getting dusk, I went into the choir stalls to get a psalter that I needed, and thought I heard a curious sound coming from out the sacred place. I could not understand it. I hid myself in the shadow of the carved screen, suspecting theft, and recognising sacrilege. A little later, out came this woman, carrying a light. I know not where she got it from. But seeing me, she ran all down the nave at quickest speed, I following.”

“You caught her?”

“The devil helped her. She escaped; and at the door she turned right round and put her tongue right out at me, and said: ‘Did you ever know a woman who couldn’t talk if she wanted to?’ You have the story in a nutshell.”

“And you never reported it?”

“Three hours afterwards. I was as one imprisoned in a living grave for three long weary hours.”

“But did you not tell?”

“Yes; and the Great High Priest would not believe me. He laughed. That was the beginning of all his troubles. He was too lax, they say. Under the new _régime_ there will be greater strictness.” And he sighed.

“Why, she’s a witch, a witch—an impudent, underbred thing,” said Susiebelle excitedly. “Have you told Mr. Barringcourt?”

“I am not personally acquainted with him. But last night, from the way he spoke, one might almost have thought he was excusing her. Of course, there was no putting out of tongues or giving pert answers last night; she spoke as meek and as mildly as you please.”

“If it hadn’t have come from the mouth of a clergyman I wouldn’t have believed it of her,” said Miss Groggerton, glad to have such a reliable source of information.

“But—but” continued Susiebelle, “isn’t there a severe punishment for going inside the curtain, for a woman?”

“It used to be to have her tongue torn out.”

“Who will do it? Who will do it?”

“No one will do it nowadays. The biggest punishment would be a fine. Pawn a few jewels; it’s done in no time.”

“She doesn’t worship the Serpent at all; she worships that little blinking frog,” said Miss Groggerton.

“Well, I’ve got my eye on her. And if there are any heathenish practices going on, you may be sure I will report them before long,” said he, and soon afterwards got up to go.

That same night, when all the wear and tear and excitement of the day were over, and all the cabs had rattled home, and all the theatres been closed, the new Great High Priest sat in an arm-chair in Mr. Barringcourt’s study, whilst the owner sat in his accustomed one beside the table.

Sacred Priest Alphonso was white and haggard, and the deep lines on his face showed the strain that he had passed through. His arms hung heavily on the arms of the chair, his eyes were fixed on the carpet. Mr. Barringcourt was writing a letter. When he had finished it, he sealed it, and tossed it on the table, then bent his eyes upon his guest as a doctor sometimes does upon an uncertain patient he treats as an experiment. Without saying anything, he got up, and went to a side-table, and poured out two glasses of red wine. One he filled, the other only half, then turned his head round and looked at the Priest. Still he sat in the same weary lethargy. A smile curved Mr. Barringcourt’s lips. “Very far gone,” he muttered, and filled the glass.

Then he took it across and offered it to him. He took it carelessly and drank all the contents. Mr. Barringcourt drank half his and flung the rest into the fire. It blazed up in a brilliant red light, then died away as suddenly, leaving the fire dark, as if water had been poured on it. But this beverage must have refreshed the High Priest wonderfully; for suddenly rousing himself, he looked up at Mr. Barringcourt, and said, slapping his hand upon the chair arm:

“To-day has ended successfully. But the first thing I do on coming into office is to bring that woman to trial.”

“Which woman?” said Mr. Barringcourt, sitting down on the opposite side of the fireplace.

“That fool who nearly spoilt everything last night by having too long a tongue.”

The wine surely had had a heating effect.

“Miss Paleaf?”

“Yes. The one I took rather a fancy to at the Sebberens’, and asked you to introduce me to.” And he laughed cynically.

“Oh,” said Mr. Barringcourt easily, “you’ll let that die down. Set a constant guard of two priests to watch the curtain. Such vigilance will satisfy the people. Besides, Crokerly is doing the work of the panelling, and none can do it like him. You can’t afford to quarrel with him over the mischiefmaking propensities of a woman.”

“Do you mean to say you would look lightly on her conduct of last night?”

“Of course! She did you no harm. It’s herself she’s harmed, as she’ll find out as time goes on. It’s always best to be a bit forbearing with women; they’re given to flying off rather unexpectedly at times.”

“No excuse. No excuse at all. She did it from malicious intention and love of meddling.”

“What do you propose to do, then? Tear her tongue out?”

“Imprison her for life.”

“O Lord!” said Mr. Barringcourt, and he laughed. Then he laughed again, and again he said, “O Lord!”

The other frowned, and the light of anger glinted in his eye.

“You seem to rather approve of her conduct,” he said. “Certainly I have to thank you for your speech, though, candidly speaking, neither I, nor I believe anyone else, could make head or tail of it” (he spoke in a genuinely puzzled voice), “and for various other things I have to thank you; but in the matter of dealing with this woman, I beg you will not interfere.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Barringcourt, in a low, clear voice, “I shall interfere. The Serpent is like everything else. It can’t afford to get too much talked about, or its reputation’s gone. If you prosecute her, you make yourself and it the laughing-stock of Lucifram.”

“I uphold its sacredness and sanctity.”

“Cant and tomfoolery! You say I made a speech last night you didn’t understand—and I didn’t take the pains to understand it myself. But if you persist in this, I’ll make another before long which will appeal to everyone, and tread on no general corns at all, but that of the individual.”

“You are in a quarrelsome mood to-night.”

“Yes. I’ve been in the society of priests all day, and they weary me.”

The other laughed.

“That’s a hint to me. However, for the present you may have your way, but I tell you candidly, if there’s any hubbub made, I bring her to trial.”

Then he went away; but walking along the silent streets he said:

“Barringcourt’s as spoilt as a child. Cross him in the least thing, and he’s inside out in no time. Yet in some whimsical, flimsical kind of way he’s been the best friend I’ve had, and helped on considerably the present affairs. All the same, that girl shall suffer. The thing to do in this world is to teach people to keep their tongues still. It’s three parts the battle of life.”

And Mr. Barringcourt, left to himself, stood a long time looking into the rekindled fire, which tells so much to those who read it properly. And his face betokened more weariness and contempt than even in the past years, and the lines of his features were finer.

“Revenge first; thanks a very doubtful second,” he said at length, and then went off to the stables.

All through the blackness of the night the black steeds galloped, and some mistook their dusky forms for passing clouds, and their wild eyes for distant stars, and the rhythm of their feet for the rumbling wind.

That night, as Rosalie slept, the frog left its customary place on the washing-stand, and came close to her ear. And though all the room beyond was dark, the light round her head and pillow was very white and pure.

All the things the frog whispered it would be unfair to say, for the frog was working for its own ends, as most of us do, and therefore coloured things to its own liking.

Rosalie woke in the morning, and looked at the deceitful frog, now sitting on the washing-stand, and said:

“I’ve been dreaming that a tiny little angel came and sang to me and laughed. And though I can’t remember one word of what it said, I know that everything was very pleasant—so that many a time I found that I was laughing too.”