This was so like my own idea, that I looked around to see how the others took it. The bishop had been sitting in silent meditation. He now rose, and stood with his hands clasped behind him looking down on us with an expression of great sadness.
“Why not bury him where he is?” he asked. It was my own idea, and I gasped to hear it propounded by him.
“This wretched man’s life,” he continued, “was forfeit to the law. Had the law taken him alive the law could only have slain him. That has been done as a result of his own wickedness and folly. Of what use is it to hand over his dead body to the law? He wrought enough mischief in his life. His dead body would but work more. It would involve some at least of us in utter ruin at the hands of the law. A ruin that none has deserved in such measure. I counsel you, Davoren, to let the wretched business end here. The man was not of our faith, so could not claim Christian burial or consecrated ground. But he was a human being and shall not be buried like a dog.”
There was again silence among us, a silence quickened with apprehension. It became clear to me that the idea that had germinated in my own mind had only seemed to be tainted with guilt because my soul was not seated high enough for clear moral judgment. The intrinsic rightness of the thing was manifest now that Parminter had placed it in the clear light of an honest man’s independent decision.
As it happened Welfare became our spokesman and his primitive outlook on life was the one thing needed to express the attitude of each one of us.
“If this seems the straight thing to your lordship,” he said, “it’s good enough for me. I would not have suggested it, because I seem to be coming out too cheap. It wasn’t murder, because it was self-defence. But I’d be bound to own up to manslaughter.”
“Don’t you think, Captain Welfare, that you ought to get to bed?” I asked. I was really concerned about the man, but I wanted to get rid of him too.
“Thank you, sir. But there is no need. If you don’t mind, I’d rather see the job through now.”
It was impossible for me to protest. After all he was my guest. Nevertheless what I ought to have regarded as his indomitable courage appeared to me mere want of tact. His presence made any communion between the bishop and myself an utter impossibility. I wanted to talk to the bishop alone and Welfare’s presence was something I resented in a great tragic moment of my life. I fear I suspected in him the love of the lower middle class for anything in the nature of a funeral.
Edmund said nothing, but rang the bell.