"Well, Morphew, enjoying the sun?"
Canon Morphew always started when any one spoke to him, being sunk all day
deep in dreams of his own, dreams that had their birth somewhere in the
heart of the misty dirty rooms where his books were piled ceiling-high and
papers blew about the floor.
"Good afternoon...good afternoon, Archdeacon. Pray forgive me. You came
upon me unawares."
Brandon moderated his manly stride to the other's shuffling steps.
"Hope you've had none of that tiresome rheumatism troubling you again."
"Rheumatism? Just a twinge--just a twinge.... It belongs to my time of
life."
"Oh, don't say that!" The Archdeacon laughed his hearty laugh. "You've
many years in front of you yet."
"No, I haven't--and you don't mean it, Archdeacon--you know you don't. A
few months perhaps--that's all. The Lord's will be done. But there's a
piece of work...a piece of work...."
He ran off into incoherent mumblings. Suddenly, just as they reached the
dark shadows of the Arden Gate, he seemed to wake up. His voice was quite
vigorous, his eyes, tired and worn as they were, bravely scanned Brandon's
health and vigour.
Pages:
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106