5. But it was overlooked on all sides from the hill.
He considered these things, being now more than ever seized and possessed with the weight and burden of the mystery. Consider. It was no ordinary crime, such as one might read about, when in the annals of a family one member of a long time ago was brutally and wickedly cut off. It was a crime whose effects were felt by every member of his family in the strange seclusion of the head. Whatever advantages might be possessed by any member of this ancient and honourable house were lost; for the head of it, and the owner of all the property, took no notice of anyone; knew nothing of his existence, even; and lived entirely to himself and by himself.
It was, again, the first of all the numerous misfortunes which had fallen upon the family. Lastly, it was a mystery which seemed continually on the point of being cleared up by some theory which would explain and account for everything.
He looked round. The place seemed too peaceful for any deed of violence, the sunshine was warm, the singing of birds filled his ear. The contrast with his own thoughts bewitched him. He would have preferred a thunderous atmosphere charged with electricity.
He argued with himself that the thing took place seventy years ago; that it might be very well left to be cleared up when the secrets of all hearts will be known; that after all these years he could not hope to clear it up; that he was only wasting his time; and so forth. He charged the mystery, so to speak, to leave him. No demon of possession, no incubus, ever refused more resolutely to be driven out. It remained with him, more burdensome, more intolerable, than ever.
He left the hillside and walked back to the road. There, instead of walking through the park again, he turned to the left and entered the village. One must eat; he ordered a chop at the village inn, and while it was getting ready he went to the church. The monuments of his own family were scattered about the church, and on the wall he read again the tablet to the memory of the unfortunate man.
Outside, in the churchyard, was the same old man who had accosted him when he brought Constance here. He was sitting on a tombstone, basking and blinking in the sun. He stood up slowly, and pulled off his hat.
“Hope you’re well, sir,” he said.
“Oh!” Leonard remembered. “You were the boy who was scaring birds on the day—seventy years ago—when Mr. Holme was murdered.”
“Surely, sir—surely. I haven’t forgotten. I remember it all—just as yesterday. Better than yesterday. I’m old, master, and I remember what happened when I was a boy better than what happened yesterday. To many old people the same hath happened.”