“No,” said Tony with a visible effort. “Still, I think, Bernard—if you saw much of her she would. You have both done a good deal for me.”
He stopped with a gasp, and seemed to sink into sleep or partial stupor, while Appleby sat very still listening to the voices in the street below while half an hour dragged by. Then Tony opened his eyes, and looked about him vacantly.
“I think I’ve been dreaming, and that song Hester was fond of is running in my head,” he said. “The one about the gates—it got hold of my fancy—I think they were of precious stones. She and Violet were out on the lawn of Low Wood—where you look down into the valley, you know—and Nettie was trying to convince the vicar those gates could be stormed. There was something I couldn’t quite understand about the marble knight in Northrop church.”
Appleby saw that Tony’s thoughts were wandering.
“Of course!” he said soothingly, though his voice was strained. “I wouldn’t worry about it, Tony.”
Tony looked at him as though he scarcely recognized him, and smiled.
“I think you’re wrong, and perhaps it isn’t necessary. That song is jingling in my head again. ‘If you but touch with your finger tips those ivory gates and golden.’ It sounds easy,” he said.
His head sank back on the pillow, and for five long minutes there was silence in the room. Then Tony sighed, and his fingers closed feebly on Appleby’s hand.
“It’s very hot in the sun here, and it was yesterday when I had a meal,” he said. “Still, I shall find Bernard. Now they’re marching on Santa Marta in open fours. They’re going in—nothing could stop the Sin Verguenza—but you can’t open those gates with a volley. It isn’t necessary.”
He said nothing more, and when another half-hour had dragged by Appleby rose, and with gentle force drew his hand away. Then he went out, shivering a little and treading softly, for he knew that the soul of Tony Palliser, who had sinned and made such reparation as was permitted him, was knocking at the gates which are made of precious stones.