"I say," he jogged John's elbow, "do you think you could get me your uncle's autograph?"
"Why, of course," said John.
"Thanks. I've not a bad collection," the Duffer murmured modestly.
"And the gem of it," said Scaife, "is Billington's, the hangman! The Duffer shivers whenever he looks at it."
"Yes, I do," said Duff, grinning horribly.
After supper and Prayers, John went to bed, but not to sleep for at least an hour. He lay awake, thinking over the events of this memorable day. Whenever he closed his eyes he beheld two objects: the spire of Harrow Church and the vivid, laughing face of Desmond. He told himself that he liked Desmond most awfully. And Scaife too, the Demon, had been kind. But somehow John did not like Scaife. Then, in a curious half-dreamy condition, not yet asleep and assuredly not quite awake, he seemed to see the figure of Scaife expanding, assuming terrific proportions, impending over Desmond, standing between him and the spire, obscuring part of the spire at first, and then, bit by bit, overshadowing the whole.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Byron, writing to John Murray, May 26, 1822, and giving directions for the burial of poor little Allegra's body, says—
"I wish it to be buried in Harrow Church. There is a spot in the churchyard, near the footpath, on the brow of the hill looking towards Windsor, and a tomb under a large tree (bearing the name of Peachie, or Peachey), where I used to sit for hours and hours as a boy: this was my favourite spot; but, as I wish to erect a tablet to her memory, the body had better be deposited in the church."
See also "Lines written beneath an elm in the churchyard of Harrow," in "Hours of Idleness."