Many misgivings had the Parson during this, perhaps the most unpleasant, week he ever spent in his life. Orthodox in his opinions, however lax in his practice, it went cruelly against the grain to believe that in seeking Katerfelto's assistance he was tampering with the powers of darkness. Many a time, after his coarse pot-house supper, was his sleep haunted by grotesque visions of the evil one, carrying to eternal torment a figure in boots, bands, and cassock, that he recognised for his own. His knees used to shake, and his short grizzled hair to stand on end, when the Charlatan, leading him into a dark room, bade him wait patiently, while inquiries were made of certain intelligences that ought to have done with things of earth, yet betrayed a marvellous interest in earthly trifles, earthly follies, and earthly cares. The minutes seemed lengthened into hours while he sat motionless, expecting every moment to behold the pale violet gleam of a corpse-light, to feel the faint flutter of spirit-fingers, catch the faint breath of spirit-whispers—worst of all, to be threatened with the personal manifestation of some obtrusive spirit itself.
Katerfelto, who possessed a strong sense of humour, and enjoyed a joke for its own sake, even though he had none with whom to share it, used to describe at length the discipline, the gradations, the daily life, scenery, and vegetable productions of the spirit-world; counting its spheres, explaining its mysteries, and insisting strongly on the somewhat thick-witted good-nature of its inhabitants.
The Parson's nerves were of no sensitive fibre. He possessed his share of English bull-dog courage. Give him a beef-steak, a tankard of ale, and,
"Had a Paynim host before him stood,
He had charged them through and through;"
but he was not proof against dangers of which he had no experience, and could form no conception. The crowning dread of his life at this period was the apparition of some luminous figure, clad in misty robes of white, prepared to answer his questions evasively in a hollow whisper, lift him bodily into space for pure fun, and lay in his hand a flower of no terrestrial growth, fresh and fragrant, but wet with the dews of another world. It never did appear to him, and very thankful he felt that it did not!
It was, therefore, with no slight feelings of relief, that on his last visit to Deadman's Alley, he found the Charlatan dressed to go abroad, and was invited by that unaccountable person to partake of a bottle by daylight, rather than await a manifestation, fasting, in the dark.
"Your servant, sir," said the Parson, flinging his shovel hat in the corner, while he filled his glass without a second bidding. "This looks like business, Doctor, at last. Indeed, I am sick to death of the town life, and the town ways. But for your message, I should have been on the good bay nag horse, half a day's journey towards Exeter by this time."
"Do they use you so badly, then?" asked Katerfelto with a smile, while he scanned him keenly from under his bushy eyebrows. "Do they not treat Abner Gale with proper respect as a West-country gentleman, a noted sportsman, and a pillar of the Church? In sad truth, it is a perverse and ignorant generation."
"Now you're bamming me, Doctor," replied the other, good-humouredly. "But a man is entitled to his jest who gives such wine as this. My service to you. Yes, I'll take a second glass the more willingly, as I shall not have another chance. I leave London to-morrow at sunrise, weather permitting, and before high noon, as we say in the West, whether or no!"