Chapter Seven
Sunday at Hildick
FORESTER slept long and soundly, having no one to disturb him in his solitude. When he awoke his first thought was that it was Sunday, and that he was to hear Jack preach. He dressed quickly, for it was nearly ten o'clock, had a hasty breakfast and then went to the castle to ask what time the service would begin, as he had forgotten to inquire the night before.
To his surprise he found that there was no morning service in Hildick, but that his friend Jack would be at a village four miles off to take the service there, and he would only preach in Hildick in the evening.
Forester wished that he had known this before, for he would gladly have accompanied Jack on his long walk. As it was, there was nothing to be done but to wait until the evening, as it was far too late to walk to Carlington. He therefore determined to go down to the shore and spend the morning sitting on the rocks.
The shore was almost deserted. A few village boys were sitting on the shingle, and in the far distance he could see little Joyce Sinclair running with her dogs over the sand, but no one else was in sight. He wondered what had become of them all that lovely morning, and he inwardly groaned to think that he would have to spend it alone -- in spite of the fact that only a few days ago his aim had been to avoid company and live the life of a recluse.
He went up the path leading to the old church. It took him across a green sward, on which were growing beautiful trees, through the branches of which he could obtain views of the sea like bright pictures set in a leafy frame. Then he came to a gate, and passing through this he found himself in the ancient churchyard. The sea lay just beneath, and he could hear the waves dashing on the rocks below.
The graves were unlike any that he had seen before. There were no mounds, but they were level with the path, and each one was picked out with an edging of white stone in a shape that looked like the outline of a mummy's coffin. It gave the churchyard a most weird appearance. He found several old graves of the Norris family, but beyond these he saw little to interest him. He concluded that Martha must be the favourite name in Hildick, for on several of the stones he read the inscription:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF MARTHA
Then he walked round the old church which had stood on those rocks for seven hundred years or more. The door was locked, but he looked in through the window and saw that it was plain and unadorned. It appeared to be exceedingly dark, for the windows were small and the wall in which they were set was several feet in thickness. He thought of the many generations of men and women who had come up that tree-lined path to worship in the little church. They had passed away, and even the stones that marked their last resting place on earth had crumbled and fallen to pieces.
The whole place struck Norman Forester as rather dismal, yet never was any churchyard in a prettier spot. Standing as it did with deep woods above it, the rocky coast below, the blue sea beyond, with no sound to be heard in it but the song of the birds and the sound of gentle waves -- what more peaceful or picturesque resting-place could be found?
The doctor, however, was glad to come out into the sunshine again and climb down the rocks just outside the churchyard enclosure. The tide was low, so he made up his mind to walk round to the headland and climb to the top of it, thus returning to his tent without having to pass through the village or retrace his steps.
He was sauntering along, and a feeling of loneliness was once more stealing over him, when suddenly he caught sight of a shady straw hat just appearing above a rock in front of him. He walked on, wondering who it could be, and came upon Doris Somerville reading a book, and so intent on it that she did not hear him coming.
"Good morning, Miss Somerville. Please don't let me disturb you. What a comfortable seat you have found below that rock."
She looked round, smiling. "Yes, I've been sitting here a long time. It's too hot to walk much today."
"Is there room for me?" he asked. "But perhaps you want to read?"
"Oh no," said Doris, "I've been reading a long time, and I've finished my chapter."
"Where is everyone this morning, Miss Somerville? The shore seems deserted."
"They've all gone to Carlington with Jack. I meant to have gone too, but father was not well, and we had breakfast late. But he's all right again now, so I thought I would come down to the shore."
Norman Forester was playing absentmindedly with the pebbles beside him, throwing one from time to time into a little pool that the tide had left behind. His next remark sounded rather abrupt.
"Why did you say 'Thank you' last night?"
"Thank you?"
"Yes; when I told you I had made a fool of myself, you said 'Thank you.'"
"Oh, I remember," she said, blushing. "I was only glad you trusted me enough to tell me."
Such a grateful, pleased look came into his eyes with the words. But Doris quickly changed the subject. "Don't you like a Sunday in the country?"
"Yes, I suppose I do," he said. "I used to like it. I haven't cared much for Sundays at all, just lately."
"Why not?"
"Now, I'm going to trust you again," he said. "I've been like an instrument out of tune."
"Out of tune with Sunday?"
"Yes."
There was silence for some minutes after this. Norman Forester was gazing steadily out to sea, where a small boat was sailing along with the wind.
It was Doris who spoke first. "Isn't it a pity?" she said.
"What? To be the un-tuned instrument? Yes, I suppose it is. But I've been upset lately -- terribly upset -- and somehow I haven't cared for anything. I have been reckless, I think; ready to run anywhere or do anything to get away from my own thoughts. By the bye, do you know what it is to get a thing in your head and not to be able to remember it all? I've had the opening words in my head almost ever since I came here. My mother taught me them when I was a small child, but for the life of me I can't remember the end of the verse."
"What is it?" said Doris. "Tell me the beginning, and perhaps I can help you."
"'While place we seek or place we shun, the soul finds happiness in none.'"
She smiled. "This is the end: 'But with my God to guide my way, 'tis equal joy to go or stay.'"
"Of course it is," said Forester. "I remember it now."
Their conversation was interrupted by the approach of footsteps, and two men passed them. They never noticed the doctor and Doris, who were still sitting in the shelter of the rock, but went on with their conversation which was evidently a heated one. The doctor saw at once that they were the antiquarian Clegg and his artist friend De Jersey. They were both talking in loud, angry voices.
"I tell you, it's not enough," said the artist.
"Enough? It's a great deal too much," returned the other. "All that money, and a big percentage when the job's finished!"
Forester could hear no more, for the men had passed on.
"What horrid-looking men!" said Doris.
"Yes; don't you recognize one of them?"
Doris looked again. "Of course. The short one is the thin-lipped man that sat next you on the coach."
"The same," said Forester. "He and his friend are up to something at the castle. What it is I can't make out, but I mean to keep my eye on them both."