The Nebuly Coat | Page 8

a chantry of the Grey Friars," Mr Sharnall answered, "and
afterwards was used for excise purposes when Cullerne was a real port.

It is still called the Bonding-House, but it has been shut up as long as I
remember it. Do you believe in certain things or places being bound up
with certain men's destinies? because I have a presentiment that this
broken-down old chapel will be connected somehow or other with a
crisis of my life."
Westray remembered the organist's manner in the church, and began to
suspect that his mind was turned. The other read his thoughts, and said
rather reproachfully:
"Oh no, I am not mad--only weak and foolish and very cowardly."
They had reached the end of the wharf, and were evidently returning to
civilisation, for a sound of music reached them. It came from a little
beer-house, and as they passed they heard a woman singing inside. It
was a rich contralto, and the organist stopped for a moment to listen.
"She has a fine voice," he said, "and would sing well if she had been
taught. I wonder how she comes here."
The blind was pulled down, but did not quite reach the bottom of the
window, and they looked in. The rain blurred the pains on the outside,
and the moisture had condensed within, so that it was not easy to see
clearly; but they made out that a Creole woman was singing to a group
of topers who sat by the fire in a corner of the room. She was
middle-aged, but sang sweetly, and was accompanied on the harp by an
old man:
"Oh, take me back to those I love! Or bring them here to me! I have no
heart to rove, to rove Across the rolling sea."
"Poor thing!" said the organist; "she has fallen on bad days to have so
scurvy a company to sing to. Let us move on."
They turned to the right, and came in a few minutes to the highroad.
Facing them stood a house which had once been of some pretensions,
for it had a porch carried on pillars, under which a semicircular flight of
steps led up to the double door. A street-lamp which stood before it had

been washed so clean in the rain that the light was shed with unusual
brilliance, and showed even at night that the house was fallen from its
high estate. It was not ruinous, but Ichabod was written on the paintless
window-frames and on the rough-cast front, from which the plaster had
fallen away in more than one place. The pillars of the porch had been
painted to imitate marble, but they were marked with scabrous patches,
where the brick core showed through the broken stucco.
The organist opened the door, and they found themselves in a
stone-floored hall, out of which dingy doors opened on both sides. A
broad stone staircase, with shallow steps and iron balustrades, led from
the hall to the next story, and there was a little pathway of worn
matting that threaded its way across the flags, and finally ascended the
stairs.
"Here is my town house," said Mr Sharnall. "It used to be a coaching
inn called The Hand of God, but you must never breathe a word of that,
because it is now a private mansion, and Miss Joliffe has christened it
Bellevue Lodge."
A door opened while he was speaking, and a girl stepped into the hall.
She was about nineteen, and had a tall and graceful figure. Her warm
brown hair was parted in the middle, and its profusion was gathered
loosely up behind in the half-formal, half-natural style of a preceding
generation. Her face had lost neither the rounded outline nor the
delicate bloom of girlhood, but there was something in it that negatived
any impression of inexperience, and suggested that her life had not
been free from trouble. She wore a close-fitting dress of black, and had
a string of pale corals round her neck.
"Good-evening, Mr Sharnall," she said. "I hope you are not very wet"--
and gave a quick glance of inquiry at Westray.
The organist did not appear pleased at seeing her. He grunted testily,
and, saying "Where is your aunt? Tell her I want to speak to her," led
Westray into one of the rooms opening out of the hall.
It was a large room, with an upright piano in one corner, and a great

litter of books and manuscript music. A table in the middle was set for
tea; a bright fire was burning in the grate, and on either side of it stood
a rush-bottomed armchair.
"Sit down," he said to Westray; "this is my reception-room, and we will
see in a minute what Miss Joliffe can do for you." He