The Mystery of Edwin Drood | Page 3

divers venerable persons of
rook-like aspect dispersing, two of these latter retrace their steps, and
walk together in the echoing Close.
Not only is the day waning, but the year. The low sun is fiery and yet
cold behind the monastery ruin, and the Virginia creeper on the
Cathedral wall has showered half its deep-red leaves down on the
pavement. There has been rain this afternoon, and a wintry shudder
goes among the little pools on the cracked, uneven flag-stones, and
through the giant elm-trees as they shed a gust of tears. Their fallen
leaves lie strewn thickly about. Some of these leaves, in a timid rush,
seek sanctuary within the low arched Cathedral door; but two men
coming out resist them, and cast them forth again with their feet; this
done, one of the two locks the door with a goodly key, and the other
flits away with a folio music-book.
'Mr. Jasper was that, Tope?'
'Yes, Mr. Dean.'
'He has stayed late.'
'Yes, Mr. Dean. I have stayed for him, your Reverence. He has been
took a little poorly.'
'Say "taken," Tope--to the Dean,' the younger rook interposes in a low
tone with this touch of correction, as who should say: 'You may offer
bad grammar to the laity, or the humbler clergy, not to the Dean.'
Mr. Tope, Chief Verger and Showman, and accustomed to be high with
excursion parties, declines with a silent loftiness to perceive that any

suggestion has been tendered to him.
'And when and how has Mr. Jasper been taken--for, as Mr. Crisparkle
has remarked, it is better to say taken--taken--' repeats the Dean; 'when
and how has Mr. Jasper been Taken--'
'Taken, sir,' Tope deferentially murmurs.
'--Poorly, Tope?'
'Why, sir, Mr. Jasper was that breathed--'
'I wouldn't say "That breathed," Tope,' Mr. Crisparkle interposes with
the same touch as before. 'Not English--to the Dean.'
'Breathed to that extent,' the Dean (not unflattered by this indirect
homage) condescendingly remarks, 'would be preferable.'
'Mr. Jasper's breathing was so remarkably short'--thus discreetly does
Mr. Tope work his way round the sunken rock--'when he came in, that
it distressed him mightily to get his notes out: which was perhaps the
cause of his having a kind of fit on him after a little. His memory grew
DAZED.' Mr. Tope, with his eyes on the Reverend Mr. Crisparkle,
shoots this word out, as defying him to improve upon it: 'and a dimness
and giddiness crept over him as strange as ever I saw: though he didn't
seem to mind it particularly, himself. However, a little time and a little
water brought him out of his DAZE.' Mr. Tope repeats the word and its
emphasis, with the air of saying: 'As I HAVE made a success, I'll make
it again.'
'And Mr. Jasper has gone home quite himself, has he?' asked the Dean.
'Your Reverence, he has gone home quite himself. And I'm glad to see
he's having his fire kindled up, for it's chilly after the wet, and the
Cathedral had both a damp feel and a damp touch this afternoon, and he
was very shivery.'
They all three look towards an old stone gatehouse crossing the Close,
with an arched thoroughfare passing beneath it. Through its latticed
window, a fire shines out upon the fast-darkening scene, involving in
shadow the pendent masses of ivy and creeper covering the building's
front. As the deep Cathedral-bell strikes the hour, a ripple of wind goes
through these at their distance, like a ripple of the solemn sound that
hums through tomb and tower, broken niche and defaced statue, in the
pile close at hand.
'Is Mr. Jasper's nephew with him?' the Dean asks.
'No, sir,' replied the Verger, 'but expected. There's his own solitary

shadow betwixt his two windows--the one looking this way, and the
one looking down into the High Street--drawing his own curtains now.'
'Well, well,' says the Dean, with a sprightly air of breaking up the little
conference, 'I hope Mr. Jasper's heart may not be too much set upon his
nephew. Our affections, however laudable, in this transitory world,
should never master us; we should guide them, guide them. I find I am
not disagreeably reminded of my dinner, by hearing my dinner-bell.
Perhaps, Mr. Crisparkle, you will, before going home, look in on
Jasper?'
'Certainly, Mr. Dean. And tell him that you had the kindness to desire
to know how he was?'
'Ay; do so, do so. Certainly. Wished to know how he was. By all means.
Wished to know how he was.'
With a pleasant air of patronage, the Dean as nearly cocks his quaint
hat as a Dean in good spirits may, and directs his comely gaiters
towards the ruddy dining-room of the snug old red-brick house where
he is at present, 'in residence'