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THE DATES.
I have given, of course, only an epitome of our conversation, and by
the time we had arrived at this point we had also reached the gate of
the churchyard. Again we fastened up our horses; again he took the key
from under the tombstone; and once more we entered the dreary little
church, and drew aside the curtain of the vestry. I took down the
volume of the register. The place was easy to find, seeing, as I have
said, it was at the very end of the volume.
The copy I had taken was correct: the date of the marriage in the
register was January 15, and it was the first under the 1748, written
at the top of the page. I stood for a moment gazing at it; then my eye
turned to the entry before it, the last on the preceding page. It bore
the date December 13--under the general date at the top of the page,
1747. The next entry after it was dated March 29. At the bottom of the
page, or cover rather, was the attestation of the clergyman to the
number of marriages in that year; but there was no such attestation at
the bottom of the preceding page. I turned to Mr Coningham, who had
stood regarding me, and, pointing to the book, said:
'Look here, Mr Coningham. I cannot understand it. Here the date of the
marriage is 1748; and that of all their letters, evidently written
after the marriage, is 1747.'
He looked, and stood looking, but made me no reply. In my turn I looked
at him. His face expressed something not far from consternation; but
the moment he became aware that I was observing him, he pulled out his
handkerchief, and wiping his forehead with an attempt at a laugh, said:
'How hot it is! Yes; there's something awkward there. I hadn't observed
it before. I must inquire into that. I confess I cannot explain it all
at once. It does certainly seem queer. I must look into those dates
when I go home.'
He was evidently much more discomposed than he was willing I should
perceive. He always spoke rather hurriedly, but I had never heard him
stammer before. I was certain that he saw or at least dreaded something
fatal in the discrepancy I had pointed out. As to looking into it when
he got home, that sounded very like nonsense. He pulled out a
note-book, however, and said:
'I may just as well make a note of the blunder--for blunder it must
be--a very awkward one indeed, I am afraid. I should think so--I
cannot--but then--'
He went on uttering disjointed and unfinished expressions, while he
made several notes. His manner was of one who regards the action he is
about as useless, yet would have it supposed the right thing to do.
'There!' he said, shutting up his note-book with a slam; and turning
away he strode out of the place--much, it seemed to me, as if his
business there was over for ever. I gave one more glance at the volume,
and replaced it on the shelf. When I rejoined him, he was already
mounted and turning to move off.
'Wait a moment, Mr Coningham,' I said. 'I don't exactly know where to
put the key.'
'Fling it under the gravestone, and come along,' he said, muttering
something more, in which, perhaps, I only fancied I heard certain
well-known maledictions.
By this time my spirits had sunk as much below their natural level as,
a little before, they had risen above it. But I felt that I must be
myself, and that no evil any more than good fortune ought for a moment
to perturb the tenor of my being. Therefore, having locked the door
deliberately and carefully, I felt about along the underside of the
gravestone until I found the ledge where the key had lain. I then made
what haste I could to mount and follow Mr Coningham, but Lilith delayed
the operation by her eagerness. I gave her the rein, and it was well no
one happened to be coming in the opposite direction through that narrow
and tortuous passage, for she flew round the corners--'turning close to
the ground, like a cat when scratchingly she wheels about after a
mouse,' as my old favourite, Sir Philip Sidney, says. Notwithstanding
her speed, however, when I reached the mouth of the lane, there was Mr
Coningham half across the first field, with his coat-tails flying out
behind him. I would not allow myself to be left in such a discourteous
fashion, and gave chase. Before he had measured the other half of the
field, I was up with him.
'That mare of yours is a clever one,' he said, as I ranged alongside of
him. 'I thought I would give her a breather. She hasn't enough to do.'
'She's not breathing so very fast,' I returned. 'Her wind is as good
as her legs.'
'Let's get along then, for I've lost a great deal of time this morning.
I ought to have been at Squire Strode's an hour ago. How hot the sun
is, to be sure, for this time of the year!'
As he spoke, he urged his horse, but I took and kept the lead, feeling,
I confess, a little angry, for I could not help suspecting he had
really wanted to run away from me. I did what I could, however, to
behave as if nothing had happened. But he was very silent, and his
manner towards me was quite altered. Neither could I help thinking it
scarcely worthy of a man of the world, not to say a lawyer, to show
himself so much chagrined. For my part, having simply concluded that
the new-blown bubble hope had burst, I found myself just where I was
before-with a bend sinister on my scutcheon, it might be, but with a
good conscience, a tolerably clear brain, and the dream of my
Athanasia.
The moment we reached the road, Mr Coningham announced that his way was
in the opposite direction to mine, said his good morning, shook hands
with me, and jogged slowly away. I knew that was not the nearest way to
Squire Strode's.
I could not help laughing--he had so much the look of a dog with his
tail between his legs, or a beast of prey that had made his spring and
missed his game. I watched him for some time, for Lilith being pulled
both ways--towards home, and after her late companion--was tolerably
quiescent, but he never cast a glance behind him. When at length a
curve in the road hid him from my sight, I turned and went quietly
home, thinking what the significance of the unwelcome discovery might
be. If the entry of the marriage under that date could not be proved a
mere blunder, of which I could see no hope, then certainly my
grandfather must be regarded as born out of wedlock, a supposition
which, if correct, would account for the dropping of the Daryll.
On the way home I jumped no hedges.
Having taken my farewell of Lilith, I packed my 'bag of needments,'
locked the door of my uncle's room, which I would have no one enter in
my absence, and set out to meet the night mail.
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