“I am afraid I cannot claim to do much in that line,” he answered “but I really came here for another object; I am interested in old inscriptions, and I am told there are some in this churchyard.”
They walked along together, and passed through the Lych Gate. “Are you coming in?” she asked.
“I hardly think so, if you will not think it rude of me, but I will wait in the churchyard for you if I may.”
When the simple service was over, she found him standing at the corner of the churchyard where the Reckavile family vault was situated. He was deep in thought and did not look up until she touched him lightly, then he gave a start.
“You were looking at the graves of the past Lord Reckaviles?” she asked.
His face clouded over. “It is an ugly record,” he said. In front of them was the tomb of the last Lord Reckavile, a simple stone tablet giving his name, and age, and the date of his death, and beneath, the sombre words “Vengeance is mine and I will repay.” Beyond that was the tomb of his father drowned at sea, whose body had been washed ashore.
“Age thirty-two,” he said in a puzzled tone, “it is strange.” And he turned with her and walked by her side without speaking.
“Mr. Halley,” she said to break the silence, “you will please forgive me asking this question, but you seem so entirely alone, I have often wondered whether you have any relations living. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Not in the least, Miss Sefton,” he replied with that peculiar sad smile of his “I can answer the question very simply. I have no relations, and no friends.”
“That is unkind of you,” she said “surely you count us as friends.”