4 Classic Ghostly Tales by Anita Miller

Author:Anita Miller
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Chicago Review Press
Published: 1993-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

3.

Father Murchison was so busy a man that he had little time for brooding over the affairs of others. During Guildea’s week at the sea, however, the Father thought about him a great deal, with much wonder and some dismay. This dismay was soon banished, for the mild-eyed priest was quick to discern weakness in himself, quicker still to drive it forth as a most undesirable inmate of the soul. But the wonder remained. It was destined to a crescendo. Guildea had left London on a Thursday. On a Thursday he returned, having previously sent a note to Father Murchison to mention that he was leaving Westgate at a certain time. When his train ran into Victoria Station, at five o’clock in the evening, he was surprised to see the cloaked figure of his friend standing upon the grey platform behind a line of porters.

“What, Murchison!” he said. “You here! Have you seceded from your order that you are taking this holiday?”

They shook hands.

“No,” said the Father. “It happened that I had to be in this neighbourhood today, visiting a sick person. So I thought I would meet you.”

“And see if I were still a sick person, eh?”

The Professor glanced at him kindly, but with a dry little laugh.

“Are you?” replied the Father gently, looking at him with interest. “No, I think not. You appear very well.”

The sea air had, in fact, put some brownish red into Guildea’s always thin cheeks. His keen eyes were shining with life and energy, and he walked forward in his loose grey suit and fluttering overcoat with a vigour that was noticeable, carrying easily in his left hand his well-filled Gladstone bag.

The Father felt completely reassured.

“I never saw you look better,” he said

“I never was better. Have you an hour to spare?”

“Two.”

“Good. I’ll send my bag up by cab, and we’ll walk across the Park to my house and have a cup of tea there. What d’you say?”

“I shall enjoy it.”

They walked out of the station yard, past the flower girls and newspaper sellers towards Grosvenor Place.

“And you have had a pleasant time?” the Father said.

“Pleasant enough, and lonely. I left my companion behind me in the passage at Number One Hundred, you know.”

“And you’ll not find him there now, I feel sure.”

“H’m!” ejaculated Guildea. “What a precious weakling you think me, Murchison.”

As he spoke he strode forward more quickly, as if moved to emphasise his sensation of bodily vigour.

“A weakling—no. But anyone who uses his brain as persistently as you do yours must require an occasional holiday.”

“And I required one very badly, eh?”

“You required one, I believe.”

“Well, I’ve had it. And now we’ll see.”

The evening was closing in rapidly. They crossed the road at Hyde Park Corner, and entered the Park, in which were a number of people going home from work; men in corduroy trousers, caked with dried mud, and carrying tin cans slung over their shoulders, and flat panniers, in which lay their tools. Some of the younger ones talked loudly or whistled shrilly as they walked.

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