The Captain and the Attorney Converse Among the Tombs.

I cannot tell whether that slender, silken machinator, Captain Lake, loitered in the chapel for the purpose of talking to or avoiding Jos. Larkin, who was standing at the doorway, in sad but gracious converse with the vicar.

He was certainly observing him from among the tombs in his sly way. And the attorney, who had a way, like him, of noting things without appearing to see them, was conscious of it, and was perhaps decided by this trifle to accost the gallant captain.

So he glided up the short aisle with a sad religious smile, suited to the place, and inclined his lank back and his tall bald head toward the captain in ceremonious greeting as he approached.

‘How d’ye do, Larkin? The fog makes one cough a little this evening.’

Larkin’s answer, thanks, and enquiries, came gravely in return. And with the same sad smile he looked round on the figures, some marble, some painted stone, of departed Brandons and Wylders, with garrulous epitaphs, who surrounded them in various costumes, quite a family group, in which the attorney was gratified to mingle.

‘Ancestry, Captain Lake — your ancestry — noble assemblage — monuments and timber. Timber like the Brandon oaks, and monuments like these — these are things which, whatever else he may acquire, the novus homo, Captain Brandon Lake — the parvenu — can never command.’

Mr. Jos. Larkin had a smattering of school Latin, and knew half-a-dozen French words, which he took out on occasion.

‘Certainly our good people do occupy some space here; more regular attendants in church, than, I fear, they formerly were; and their virtues more remarked, perhaps, than before the stone-cutter was instructed to publish them with his chisel,’ answered Lake, with one of his quiet sneers.

‘Beautiful chapel this, Captain Lake — beautiful chapel, Sir,’ said the attorney, again looking round with a dreary smile of admiration. But though his accents were engaging and he smiled — of course, a Sabbath-day smile — yet Captain Lake perceived that it was not the dove’s but the rat’s eyes that were doing duty under that tall bald brow.

‘Solemn thoughts, Sir — solemn thoughts, Captain Lake — silent mentors, eloquent monitors!’ And he waved his long lank hand toward the monumental groups.

‘Yes,’ said Lake, in the same mocking tone, that was low and sweet, and easily mistaken for something more amiable. ‘You and they go capitally together — so solemn, and eloquent, and godly — capital fellows! I‘m not half good enough for such company — and the place is growing rather cold — is not it?’

‘A great many Wylders, Sir — a great many Wylders.’ And the attorney dropped his voice, and paused at this emphasis, pointing a long finger toward the surrounding effigies.

Captain Lake, after his custom, glared a single full look upon the attorney, sudden as the flash of a pair of guns from their embrasures in the dark; and he said quietly, with a wave of his cane in the same direction —

‘Yes, a precious lot of Wylders.’

‘Is there a Wylder vault here, Captain Brandon Lake?’

‘Hanged if I know! — what the devil’s that to you or me, Sir?’ answered the captain, with a peevish sullenness.

‘I was thinking, Captain Lake, whether in the event of its turning out that Mr. Mark Wylder was dead, it would be thought proper to lay his body here?’

‘Dead, Sir! — and what the plague puts that in your head? You are corresponding with him — aren’t you?’

‘I’ll tell you exactly how that is, Captain Lake. May I take the liberty to ask you for one moment to look up?’

As between these two gentlemen, this, it must be allowed, was an impertinent request. But Captain Lake did look up, and there was something extraordinarily unpleasant in his yellow eyes, as he fixed them upon the contracted pupils of the attorney, who, nothing daunted, went on —

‘Pray, excuse me — thank you, Captain Lake — they say one is better heard when looked at than when not seen; and I wish to speak rather low, for reasons.’

Each looked the other in the eyes, with that uncertain and sinister gaze which has a character both of fear and menace.

‘I have received those letters, Captain Lake, of which I spoke to you when I last had the honour of seeing you, as furnishing, in certain circumstances connected with them, grave matter of suspicion, since when I have not received one with Mr. Wylder’s signature. But I have received, only the other day, a letter from a new correspondent — a person signing himself James Dutton — announcing his belief that Mr. Mark Wylder is dead — is dead — and has been made away with by foul means; and I have arranged, immediately on his arrival, at his desire, to meet him professionally, and to hear the entire narrative, both of what he knows and of what he suspects.’

As Jos. Larkin delivered this with stern features and emphasis, the captain’s countenance underwent such a change as convinced the attorney that some indescribable evil had befallen Mark Wylder, and that Captain Brandon Lake had a guilty knowledge thereof. With this conviction came a sense of superiority and a pleasant confidence in his position, which betrayed itself in a slight frown and a pallid smile, as he looked steadily in the young man’s face, with his small, crafty, hungry eyes.

Lake knew that his face had betrayed him. He had felt the livid change of colour, and that twitching at his mouth and cheek which he could not control. The mean, tyrannical, triumphant gaze of the attorney was upon him, and his own countenance was his accuser.

Lake ground his teeth, and returned Jos. Larkin’s intimidating smirk with a look of fury, which — for he now believed he held the winning cards — did not appal him.

Lake cleared his throat twice, but did not find his voice, and turned away and read half through the epitaph on Lady Mary Brandon, which is a pious and somewhat puritanical composition. I hope it did him good.

‘You know, Sir,’ said Captain Lake, but a little huskily, turning about and smiling at last, ‘that Mark Wylder is nothing to me. We don’t correspond: we have not corresponded. I know — upon my honour and soul, Sir — nothing on earth about him — what he’s doing, where he is, or what’s become of him. But I can’t hear a man of business like you assert, upon what he conceives to be reliable information — situated as the Brandon title is — depending, I mean, in some measure, upon his life — that Mark Wylder is no more, without being a good deal shocked.’

‘I quite understand, Sir — quite, Captain Lake. It is very serious, Sir, very; but I can’t believe it has gone that length, quite. I shall know more, of course, when I’ve seen James Dutton. I can’t think, I mean, he’s been made away with in that sense; nor how that could benefit anyone; and I’d much rather, Captain Lake, move in this matter — since move I must — in your interest — I mean, as your friend and man of business — than in any way, Captain Lake, that might possibly involve you in trouble.’

‘You are my man of business — aren’t you? and have no grounds for ill-will — eh?’ said the captain, drily.

‘No ill-will certainly — quite the reverse. Thank Heaven, I think I may truly say, I bear ill-will to no man living; and wish you, Captain Lake, nothing but good, Sir — nothing but good.’

‘Except a hasty word or two, I know no reason you should not,’ said the captain, in the same tone.

‘Quite so. But, Captain Brandon Lake, there is nothing like being completely above-board — it has been my rule through life; and I will say — ............