The Case of Richard Meynell | Page 2

real joy--a week's--a
day's--happiness--in her life?'"
"The old shepherd looked after her doubtfully"

BOOK I

MEYNELL
"Truth fails not; but her outward forms that bear The longest date do
melt like frosty rime, That in the morning whitened hill and plain And
is no more; drop like the tower sublime Of yesterday, which royally did
wear His crown of weeds, but could not even sustain Some casual
shout that broke the silent air, Or the unimaginable touch of Time."

CHAPTER I
"Hullo, Preston! don't trouble to go in."
The postman, just guiding his bicycle into the Rectory drive, turned at
the summons and dismounted. The Rector approached him from the
road, and the postman, diving into his letter-bag and into the box of his
bicycle, brought out a variety of letters and packages, which he placed
in the Rector's hands.
The recipient smiled.
"My word, what a post! I say, Preston, I add to your burdens pretty
considerably."
"It don't matter, sir, I'm sure," said the postman civilly. "There's not a
deal of letters delivered in this village."
"No, we don't trouble pen and ink much in Upcote," said the Rector;
"and it's my belief that half the boys and girls that do learn to read and
write at school make a point of forgetting it as soon as they can--for all
practical purposes, anyway."
"Well, there's a deal of newspapers read now, sir, compared to what
there was."
"Newspapers? Yes, I do see a Reynolds or a People or two about on
Sunday. Do you think anybody reads much else than the betting and the

police news, eh, Preston?"
Preston looked a little vacant. His expression seemed to say, "And why
should they?" The Rector, with his arms full of the post, smiled again
and turned away, looking back, however, to say:
"Wife all right again?"
"Pretty near, sir; but she's had an awful bad time, and the doctor--he
makes her go careful."
"Quite right. Has Miss Puttenham been looking after her?"
"She's been most kind, sir, most attentive, she have," said the postman
warmly, his long hatchet face breaking into animation.
"Lucky for you!" said the Rector, walking away. "When she cuts in,
she's worth a regiment of doctors. Good-day!"
The speaker passed on through the gate of the Rectory, pausing as he
did so with a rueful look at the iron gate itself, which was off its hinges
and sorely in want of a coat of new paint.
"Disgraceful!" he said to himself; "must have a go at it to-morrow. And
at the garden, too," he added, looking round him. "Never saw such a
wilderness!"
[Illustration: The Rectory]
He was advancing toward a small gabled house of an Early Victorian
type, built about 1840 by the Ecclesiastical Commissioners on the site
of an old clergy house, of which all traces had been ruthlessly effaced.
The front garden lying before it was a tangle of old and for the most
part ugly trees; elms from which heavy, decayed branches had recently
fallen; acacias choked by the ivy which had overgrown them; and a
crowded thicket of thorns and hazels, mingled with three or four large
and vigorous though very ancient yews, which seemed to have drunk
up for themselves all that life from the soil which should have gone to

maintain the ragged or sickly shrubbery. The trees also had gradually
encroached upon the house, and darkened all the windows on the porch
side. On a summer afternoon, the deep shade they made was welcome
enough; but on a rainy day the Rector's front-garden, with its coarse
grass, its few straggling rose-bushes, and its pushing throng of
half-dead or funereal trees, shed a dank and dripping gloom upon the
visitor approaching his front door. Of this, however, the Rector himself
was rarely conscious; and to-day, as he with difficulty gathered all the
letters and packets taken from the postman into one hand, while he
opened his front door with the other, his face showed that the state of
his garden had already ceased to trouble him.
He had no sooner turned the handle of the door than a joyous uproar of
dogs arose within, and before he had well stepped over the threshold a
leaping trio were upon him--two Irish terriers and a graceful young
collie, whose rough caresses nearly made him drop his letters.
"Down, Jack! Be quiet, you rascals! I say--Anne!"
A woman's voice answered his call.
"I'm just bringing the tea, sir."
"Any letter for me this afternoon?"
"There's a note on the hall-table, sir."
The Rector hurried into the sitting-room to the right of the hall,
deposited the letters and packets which he held on a small,
tumble-down sofa already littered with books and papers, and returned
to the hall-table for the letter. He tore