When he awoke a dim reddish light was struggling in through the small windows of the nave. He stretched painfully, stiff from his cramped position. His sleep had not refreshed him, and there was an unpleasant metallic taste in his mouth.
He became aware of a faint whispering from one of the pews on the opposite side of the church, and was able to make out the figures of Tony and Valerie, sitting very close together. They, too, had sought this sanctuary during the night. They were aware of his presence, for when he moved his feet on the stone floor Tony looked round and called softly:
“Are you awake, John?”
Receiving an affirmative reply, he went on:
“You looked so peaceful we hadn’t the heart to disturb you. The rector will be here presently to say Mass.”
Hamilton looked at his wrist-watch, the luminous figures glowing brightly in the gloom. It was after six — the morning must be unusually dark, he thought.
They did not speak to each other again, but sat still, each busy with his own thoughts. Hamilton found himself wondering if this were the last morning the world would ever know. Was evil to triumph thus? He could not believe it, and yet what hope was there? In less than six hours’ time Nicholas Gaunt would loose his hellish powers, and the old, joyful world would be blasted for ever. Never would the happy birds sing again, never would he see the light on the face of a child. His heart was like lead in his breast, and his thoughts moved sluggishly, like footsteps in a dream.
When at last the rector came, opening the door to let in no flood of early sunlight but only an angry crimson glow, Hamilton got slowly to his feet and followed the priest into the little sacristy.
The old man said no word, but began to vest at once. Hamilton saw that he was putting on red vestments, and knew that he intended to say the Mass of the Holy Ghost in a last appeal to the love of God.
He himself put on cassock and surplice, and, taking a taper, he went out to light the altar candles. It was so dark that he lit the tall standard candles in the sanctuary also, making a little pool of light in the midst of the obscurity.
Tony and Valerie formed the only congregation, and Hamilton could see their faces as two pale blurs beyond the chancel screen. Even in the church the heat was now appalling, and Hamilton marveled at the rector’s apparent unconcern, clad as he was in the heavy, clinging garments of his office. But the old man said the Mass with the same care and concentration which he had always known. It was a tremendous encouragement to watch his precise, ordered movements, and to hear his low, clear voice as he stood at the altar, seemingly quite unmoved by the approaching catastrophe. His faith was truly inspiring, and as the service proceeded all three felt their faltering spirits raised by his heartening example.
A disconcerting little incident occurred at the Consecration, for when Hamilton attempted to ring the handbell to announce the coming of the Presence it emitted no sound. Why, he never discovered. It may have been some quite trivial mechanical defect, but at the time it made a profound impression upon his mind, more so even than all the other weird phenomena which had gone before. It seemed to him that matter itself was now leagued against the God Who had created it.
They all made their Communion together, but Hamilton, at least, felt that he had never made so unprofitable a use of the Sacrament. The sublime act of union with Christ made no impression upon him whatsoever. His spiritual faculties seemed quite dead. Truly this was the dark night of the soul.
When it was over the rector unvested and knelt for a while before the Tabernacle to say his thanksgiving. The others left the church together.
If it had been almost unbearably hot within the building it was a thousand times worse in the open air. For a moment all three stood aghast, reeling against the sides of the porch. The still air was like the breath of a furnace, and was full of the smell of fire. Overhead the lowering sky shone like a sea of blood, and the great wall of fog reflected its lurid glow. An ominous silence hung over the whole earth.
As they dragged their weary limbs towards the rectory Valerie pointed mutely to the flower-beds, where the blooms hung black and withered from their stems. The unspoken thought throbbed in each mind: if this is but a presage of the coming disaster, what will the ghastly reality be like?
They were making a miserable pretence of eating when the rector came in. At once they were aware of a new atmosphere in the room, an atmosphere of hope. Breathlessly they waited for him to speak. He stood for a moment in the doorway, looking at them, a little smile on his lips. Then he said:
“Do not despair, my children; all may yet be well. God will not suffer His people to perish utterly. He spoke to me this morning, as He has always spoken; not in words, you understand, but through the inward sense. We will go to Kestrel at once.”
For a moment there was a stupefied silence, broken by Tony, who asked:
“But how, Father? You said yourself that we could never find it in the fog.”
“I spoke hastily, my son. Guidance will be given if we have faith. God has chosen one of us as His agent, but which one I do not know. We will all go together.”
“Valerie, too, Father?”
“Yes. She will be in no more danger there with us than here alone, whether we succeed or fail. But I do not think we shall fail.”
Tony said no more, but stood up with a gesture of resignation. The thought was in his mind that perhaps the frightful tension of the last few hours had unhinged the old man’s brain, but he did not give it voice.
Impelled by a sudden, unaccountable impulse, Hamilton excused himself and rushed upstairs to his room, where he got out the pistol which had stood him in good stead once before. Making sure that it was ready for use, he thrust it into his pocket. Whatever Gaunt’s superhuman powers, seven heavy leaden bullets in his vitals might prove a powerful argument if all else failed, he thought, even if silver bullets were the traditional ammunition against such as he.
When he joined them the others were ready to start, and so the four of them set out: two men, a frail old priest, and a girl, against all the panoply of hell.
Chapter XX
I
Simon Vaughan flung the empty sardine-tin among its fellows on the floor and lit his last cheroot. Soon it would be time for him to join his colleague in the crypt, and he was weary unto death.
For four days he had assisted Gaunt in his efforts to prevent Tony’s return to the island, and the strain was beginning to tell. Neither of them had slept at all, but whereas the doctor seemed to thrive on the unnatural life, Vaughan’s flabby face was drawn and sunken, and there were purple stains beneath his red-rimmed eyes. Even now his great head nodded, and the cigar hung limply from his lips.
The kitchen where he sat was in a state of disorder that would have wrung Mrs. Lorrimer’s heart. A pile of gutted tins and broken bottles showed how the two had lived since they had been left alone, and the remains of a fire smouldered on top of a great heap of ashes in the hearth, for it was very cold within the Abbey walls. An untrimmed lamp flickered on the bare, dirty table.
Presently the cheroot fell from Vaughan’s lips and he roused himself and picked it up with a sigh. Resting his head on his hands, he began to go through the same sequence of thoughts which had weighed upon him ever since that fateful morning when Tony had rebelled against Gaunt. How he envied the young man, free and out of the doctor’s power for ever! Would that he himself had the courage to follow in his footsteps, but he knew that he had not. He would go through with it to the end, helping to bring about a consummation he had no real desire to see. He knew now that he had been deluding himself ever since he had become one of the brotherhood of Darkness. He had delighted in foulness and blasphemy unspeakable against his former faith, but deep in his heart he had never made the ultimate rejection of beauty and every work of God which was the mark of the true Satanist. He did not wish to see the world blasted any more than Tony did — he was too fond of his own comfort. What of wine and the beauty of women? Were they of no account?