"Twas 'cause you hated un so mortal bad livin' as your thoughts ran upon him dead," ventured Collins uneasily.
"Not so 'tall. As to hatin' un, I did; but that's neither here nor theer. I'm just a tool in this matter, an' the dead dust of Christopher Yeoland ban't no more to me than the ridge of airth a plough turns. 'Tis a fact this same dust an' me comed to blows in time agone; but all these frettings an' failings be forgotten now, though we weern't no ways jonic—a empty, lecherous man. Still, he've answered for his sins, an' I hates un no more. I awnly wants a bit of the 'natomy of un for a precious balm; then 'tis screws again, an' locks again; an' none wiser 'cept you an' me an' the spiders."
"Theer's God A'mighty."
"I doan't forget that. The Lard's on our side, or I shouldn't be here. No puzzle for Him. No doubt Judgment Day will find the man all of a piece again to take his deserts."
"You'm a wonder—to talk of such a fatal deed as if 'twas no more'n pullin' a turnip."
"An' that's how us should look 'pon it. An' if 'twas a turnip axed for, a turnip I'd have got."
They now entered the churchyard from its south-western side by a hole in the hedge. Mr. Collins lighted his lantern and passed over the graves like a drunken Will-o'-the-wisp with many a trip and stagger. Then he stood under the skulls of the Yeoland mausoleum, and glanced fearfully up where they grinned, and his light seemed to set red eyeballs rolling in their mossy sockets.
Soon both men had entered the sepulchre, and Henry happily burned himself with the lantern as he did so—an accident that served to steady his nerves and shut his mouth upon chattering teeth. Jonah, too, felt the tragedy of the situation, but in a higher spirit, and the peacock part of the man played him true, though only coffins were his audience. He thought how ages unborn might ring with this desperate deed; he even determined that, if the matter leaked out no sooner, he would himself confess it upon his death-bed, when ignoble retaliation would be impossible, and little time left for much save admiration and applause.
This he resolved as he lifted the pall of Christopher's coffin and observed how that damp had already begun to paint the brass inscription green.
He opened his bag, bade Henry keep the lantern steady and shut his mouth, then calmly removed his coat, turned up his sleeves, and began his work. But the task proved harder than he had anticipated, and his assistant, after one bungling effort to aid, was forced to abandon any second attempt. To hold the lantern proved the limit of his power; and even that bobbed every way, now throwing light among the dim shadows upon the shelves, now blazing into Jonah's eyes, now revolving helplessly over the ceiling of the vault. Presently Cramphorn grew annoyed as well as warm, and, aware that precious time was passing, swore so loudly that a new, material terror overtook his companion.