Doctor Syn on the High Seas - Thorndike Russell (читать лучшие читаемые книги TXT) 📗

way so that she could give all her care to t he patient’s recovery.

“There are times,” she said, “when a young wife is best left alone in

a mother’s care. I have had daughters myself, and I know. You may

safely leave her to me and the physician, and when your business is

done, return to escort h er to her new home.”

Nicholas agreed that the landlady talked sense, and when he had

promised that he would ride from Iffley every day to make inquiry, which

he would immediately communicate to Dymchurch by stagecoach, the Doctor

felt in a happier frame of mind.]

“Allow me to know a little more about women than you do, you old

anchorite,” he laughed. “And since she seems adverse to my presence, I

promise you I will not worry her. I will only call her news and submit

it on to you.”

“I warrant that after a day or so’s rest,” said Syn, “she will be

asking you to sing her your cheerful songs of Spain. I know so well

that you will cheer her back to speedy health and good spirits.”

“I’ll do my best to that end, believe me,” said Nicholas heartily.

“When you return I will put my best coach and cattle at your command,

to make her journey easier.”

Two days later Doctor Syn knelt by his wife’s bed, and with his arms

around her took a loving farewell. She clung to him like a frightened

child and whispered, “Take care of yourself, dear Christopher, and

promise me that nothing shall make you unhappy.”

“So long as we love each other, nothing could,” he answered.

And so he left her, riding his own horse, and leading another which

Nicholas had lent hi m for this saddle-bags.

In this way he accomplished the journey quicker than had he taken

coach. His welcome to Dymchurch was enthusiastic. He found that the

builders had completed the improvements to the vicarage, and he was

satisfied that Imogene’s every wish had been most tastefully carried

out. Joyfully the Doctor wrote to his wife telling her that here was a

home of which they could be proud, and in which he knew they would find

happiness.

Nicholas was as good as his word, and each day his letters were more

cheerful than the last, describing Imogene’s improvement. The great day

of Induction came, and with great solemnity the Dignitaries of

Canterbury instituted and invested their “Well-beloved in Christ,

Christopher Syn, Doctor of Right, Members and Appurtenances thereunto

belonging.”

It was arranged that he should preach his inauguration sermon upon

the following Sunday, and then post back to Oxford to bring his wife,

whom the whole village were agog to welcome. On the Saturday morning

Tony left his friend sitting in the completed Spanish alcove, for the

sun was warm and bright, and the Doctor wished to contemplate his

address in the open air. He had not been alone, however, above a few

moments when Tony returned with a letter in his hand.

“You will forgive me, Christopher, disturbing your mediations, but

the Mail has just driven by, and I warrant brings you the most

delightful inspiration.”

“From our good Nicholas?” asked Syn, joyfully holding out his hand

for the letter.

- 58 -

“No, better still,” laughed Tony. “It is from Imogene herself. This

shows that she is better. I will leave you to read it in peace, and

will call for you at dinner-time.” For the Doctor was residing at the

Court-House.

“It will be nice to read my first letter in her own Spanish garden,”

said Doctor Syn, smiling happily.

Some two hours later Tony re-entered the Vicarage garden, but this

time with his wife upon his arm. Approaching the alcove, the young man

called out gaily, “Study hours are over, Christopher. Dinner is served.

What news from Imogene?”

Receiving no answer, and thinking that the parson might have retired

to his new library, they entered the alcove and received a shock.

Doctor Syn sat in one of the Spanish seats staring vacantly before him.

He sat rigidly, high tightly griped fits pressed hard upon his knees.

All youth had gone from his face, and his cheeks were a ghastly pallor.

His lips were drawn apart in a hideous grin, showing clenched teeth

biting hard. But what horrified his friends most was to perceive a vivid

white lock that had appeared miraculously in his long raven hair, and,

adding to their terror, they both heard a continual deep moaning that

steadily arose from his throat.

“In heaven’s name wha t ails you, man?” cried Tony when he could find

his voice.

The Doctor’s unseeing eyes did not flicker, but the moaning increased

until it shaped these words, “The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken

away.” Without warning the stricken man’s finer twitche d convulsively,

and a crumpled piece of paper fell upon the Spanish paving-stones.

Slowly he got to his feet with all the action of an old paralyzed man,

and raising his arms to the sky, he shook his clawing fingers at what he

seemed to see there. He the n completed his text with the most damnable

alteration, as he cried in a loud voice, full of venom, “Cursed be the

name of the Lord,”

“Is Imogene dead?” whispered Tony.

“Had it been only that,” he moaned, “you would not have found me here

so stricken. I have received a letter straight from Hell. If you have

courage, read it.”

Standing erect, and as tense as a soldier about to be shot, he

pointed to the letter, without looking at it. Terrified, Tony’s wife

bent down, picked it up and gave it all crumbled to her husband, who

mechanically smoothed it out, and without knowing what he did, read it

aloud in a low, scared voice.

“I cannot ask forgiveness for myself, but just for my mistake. Why

did I not guess that I loved Nicholas? He lives in the s un I worship,

while you, with all your goodness, float in mists—cold mists. With an

aching heart for you and for myself, I must obey the orders of what is

stronger than myself. From you I have gone to follow my destiny. You

will never find us. I implore you not to seek. When you read this we

shall be far way. We are already fleeing from cold England, and from now

the seas will ever roll between us.

- 59 -

All blame is mine, not yours. I do not matter. I have damned myself.

But I cannot be true to the blackness of your cloth. I could not face a

life in Dymchurch mists. The sun has drawn me to him. But that you will

serve the solemn God whom you are sworn to serve is the dearest wish of

one that was your wife, called Imogene.”

Tony crumpled the letter once more as Syn had done, and in a voice

choking with tears of rage hissed out, “That spawn of Satan! We’ll spit

him with good steel like his uncle. This is my quarrel, Christopher.

God’s curses on them both.”

“No, Tony man, I love her! cried Syn. “I have blasphemed God, but you

are my friend.” Clasping his hands though in prayer, he hid his face in

the folds of Tony’s cravat and prayed aloud not to his God, but to his

friend. “O spare me a little, that I may recover my strength, before I

go hence, and be no more seen.”

Following this despairing cry with sobs that shook him to the soul,

Nature, or the God whom he had cursed, knowing he could stand no more,

touched him with gentle fingers, and snapped all further reason from his

brain, so that he collapsed in dead weight against the body of his

friend. To Tony, too, Nature or God was kind, and lent him such

strength as he had never yet possessed. He lifted the unconscious body

of the parson, as easily, as tenderly as he would no doubt carry his own