“Asleep, perhaps,” he said to himself, and pushing the door, he walked in; but the big arm-chair was vacant, and after a glance round, in which his eyes rested for a moment upon the old carved oak coffer, the doctor went slowly out, and, without considering which way he should go, walked straight on towards the church.
A sound, as of something falling, made him raise his eyes, and he saw that the chancel door was open.
“What’s Salis doing there?” he said to himself; and, entering the gate, he walked up the steps to the open doorway.
“You here, Salis?” he said.
“Nay, sir,” came back, in a harsh, familiar tone; “parson’s been and gone. Things is looking up again, doctor.”
“Looking up?”
“Ay. Been trebble quiet lately: only a bit of a child as hasn’t been chrissen’ this month past. Horrible healthy place, Dook’s Hampton.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Doing? Here? Why, haven’t you heard as the young squire—why, of course you have; you were called up this morning. Well, he’s got to be buried, hasn’t he?”
“Buried? Yes, of course,” said the doctor thoughtfully.