“By the way, I shall call witnesses in my own defence. First, Miss Dove,—you see, I know her—one of the many who have ornamented slippers for the holy man’s feet, and cloths for his altar. She will tell them of meetings by night, of holy trysts, of Eden, and—of the fall. Oh, it will be a famous affair, and greatly to the honour of the Church. But why are you lingering so long? Go at once, reverend sir, and proclaim the murder. You see, I am quite ready.”
He pointed to the hall door. With a wild cry, Santley passed along the lobby, opened the door, and rushed out into the air.
CHAPTER XXXIX. GETHSEMANE.
By this time darkness had fallen, though it was still early in the afternoon. There was a high wind, moaning around among the leafless trees; and, from time to time, flakes of snow were falling—large, and far apart. As he descended the snow-clad steps, he stumbled and fell among the drift, but rose again immediately, covered with patches of whiteness, and pursued his way.
Was it the wind shrieking, or something in his own troubled brain? He looked wildly around him, plunging this, way and that, like a blind man. The darkness frothed before his eyes, and burst into spangled stars, as when one receives a violent blow, or as when one is sinking in deep water and choking for breath.
Presently he turned and looked back from the centre of the frozen lawn. Behind him, blacker than the blackness of the night, lay the great shadow of the Manor house; but from one window above the entrance came a feeble light. He knew the window well. It was that of the chamber wherein he had looked upon the dead.
Alone in the darkness, he threw up his arms and uttered a wail of despair. As his voice rose upon the wind, other voices seemed to echo him with sounds of mocking laughter. Haldane had told him that he had lost his soul alive-Indeed it seemed so, and hell was already around, and in him.
But he remembered his purpose, and hastened on. Whatever the issue might be, he was determined to hand over that man to the law, to make him expiate on the gallows his act of cowardly, treacherous vengeance. He had not spared her, and he should, at least, pay the penalty. Then, when he had avenged her death, he cared not what became of himself. He could die, too; yes, and would.