CHAPTER XVII.
THE ASCENT OF THE TOWER OF SILENCE.
"There need be no inquest," he thought. "There need be no inquest now. To-morrow morning every one in Daneford will believe that she is dead, and every one will be—right. Her name will be included in the list of the dead, there will be a reference to my broken-hearted behaviour at Asherton's Quay, and there will be expressions of sympathy with me.
"I shall wear mourning.
"What o'clock is it?" He looked at his watch. "Too soon yet. I must wait until all are asleep.
"I shall wear mourning and receive the condolences of my friends. I shall pass through avenues of faces cast in sorrow for my grief. They will hush their voice when I enter the Daneford Bank. They will unanimously vote resolutions of sympathy at most of the public bodies to which I belong. And I—I—how shall I receive their greetings?
"How shall I receive them? Shall I quail and tremble and jabber of to-night's work? Shall I become hysterical or gloomy? No, no, no. I shall be as bold at least as the thief whom they crucified on the Left Hand.
"The oath I took by that bedside this evening was my swearing into the army of the everlasting damned, and no one shall ever say I quailed or I faltered.
"What o'clock is it? Yet too soon. This is all I need be careful about. Once it is there, I shall be free and blithe—free and blithe!