The Necromancers

The Necromancers

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Necromancers, by Robert Hugh
Benson This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and
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Title: The Necromancers
Author: Robert Hugh Benson
Release Date: December 6, 2004 [EBook #14275]
Language: English
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THE NECROMANCERS
Other books by Robert Hugh Benson
The Light Invisible By What Authority? The King's Achievement The
History of Richard Reynall, Solitary The Queen's Tragedy The Religion

of the Plain Man The Sanctity of the Church The Sentimentalists Lord
of the World A Mirror of Shalott, composed of tales told at a
symposium Papers of a Pariah The Conventionalists The Holy Blissful
Martyr Saint Thomas of Canterbury The Dissolution of the Religious
Houses The Necromancers Non-Catholic Denominations None Other
Gods A Winnowing Christ in the Church: a volume of religious essays
The Dawn of All Come Rack! Come Rope! The Coward The Friendship
of Christ An Average Man Confessions of a Convert Optimism
Paradoxes of Catholicism Poems Initiation Oddsfish! Spiritual Letters
of Monsignor R. Hugh Benson to one of his converts Loneliness
Sermon Notes

THE NECROMANCERS
Robert Hugh Benson
First published in 1909.
Wildside Press Doylestown, Pennsylvania

I must express my gratitude to the Rev. Father Augustine Howard, O.P.,
who has kindly read this book in manuscript and favored me with his
criticisms.
--Robert Hugh Benson.

Chapter I
I
"I am very much distressed about it all," murmured Mrs. Baxter.
She was a small, delicate-looking old lady, very true to type indeed,
with the silvery hair of the devout widow crowned with an exquisite

lace cap, in a filmy black dress, with a complexion of precious china,
kind shortsighted blue eyes, and white blue-veined hands busy now
upon needlework. She bore about with her always an atmosphere of
piety, humble, tender, and sincere, but as persistent as the gentle
sandalwood aroma which breathed from her dress. Her theory of the
universe, as the girl who watched her now was beginning to find out,
was impregnable and unapproachable. Events which conflicted with it
were either not events, or they were so exceptional as to be negligible.
If she were hard pressed she emitted a pathetic peevishness that
rendered further argument impossible.
The room in which she sat reflected perfectly her personality. In spite
of the early Victorian date of the furniture, there was in its arrangement
and selection a taste so exquisite as to deprive it of even a suspicion of
Philistinism. Somehow the rosewood table on which the September
morning sun fell with serene beauty did not conflict as it ought to have
done with the Tudor paneling of the room. A tapestry screen veiled the
door into the hall, and soft curtains of velvety gold hung on either side
of the tall, modern windows leading to the garden. For the rest, the
furniture was charming and suitable--low chairs, a tapestry couch, a
multitude of little leather-covered books on every table, and two low
carved bookshelves on either side of the door filled with poetry and
devotion.
The girl who sat upright with her hands on her lap was of another type
altogether--of that type of which it is impossible to predicate anything
except that it makes itself felt in every company. Any respectable
astrologer would have had no difficulty in assigning her birth to the
sign of the Scorpion. In outward appearance she was not remarkable,
though extremely pleasing, and it was a pleasingness that grew upon
acquaintance. Her beauty, such as it was, was based upon a good
foundation: upon regular features, a slightly cleft rounded chin, a
quantity of dark coiled hair, and large, steady, serene brown eyes. Her
hands were not small, but beautifully shaped; her figure slender, well
made, and always at its ease in any attitude. In fact, she had an air of
repose, strength, and all-round competence; and, contrasted with the
other, she resembled a well-bred sheep-dog eyeing an Angora cat.

They were talking now about Laurie Baxter.
"Dear Laurie is so impetuous and sensitive," murmured his mother,
drawing her needle softly through the silk, and then patting her material,
"and it is all terribly sad."
This was undeniable, and Maggie said nothing, though her lips opened
as if for speech. Then she closed them again, and sat watching the
twinkling fire of logs upon the hearth. Then once more Mrs. Baxter
took up the tale.
"When I first heard of the poor girl's death," she said, "it seemed to me