“Three hours afterwards. I was as one imprisoned in a living grave for three long weary hours.”
“Yes; and the Great High Priest would not believe me. He laughed. That was the beginning of all his troubles. He was too lax, they say. Under the new _régime_ there will be greater strictness.” And he sighed.
“Why, she’s a witch, a witch—an impudent, underbred thing,” said Susiebelle excitedly. “Have you told Mr. Barringcourt?”
“I am not personally acquainted with him. But last night, from the way he spoke, one might almost have thought he was excusing her. Of course, there was no putting out of tongues or giving pert answers last night; she spoke as meek and as mildly as you please.”
“If it hadn’t have come from the mouth of a clergyman I wouldn’t have believed it of her,” said Miss Groggerton, glad to have such a reliable source of information.
“But—but” continued Susiebelle, “isn’t there a severe punishment for going inside the curtain, for a woman?”
“It used to be to have her tongue torn out.”
“No one will do it nowadays. The biggest punishment would be a fine. Pawn a few jewels; it’s done in no time.”
“She doesn’t worship the Serpent at all; she worships that little blinking frog,” said Miss Groggerton.
“Well, I’ve got my eye on her. And if there are any heathenish practices going on, you may be sure I will report them before long,” said he, and soon afterwards got up to go.
That same night, when all the wear and tear and excitement of the day were over, and all the cabs had rattled home, and all the theatres been closed, the new Great High Priest sat in an arm-chair in Mr. Barringcourt’s study, whilst the owner sat in his accustomed one beside the table.
Sacred Priest Alphonso was white and haggard, and the deep lines on his face showed the strain that he had passed through. His arms hung heavily on the arms of the chair, his eyes were fixed on the carpet. Mr. Barringcourt was writing a letter. When he had finished it, he sealed it, and tossed it on the table, then bent his eyes upon his guest as a doctor sometimes does upon an uncertain patient he treats as an experiment. Without saying anything, he got up, and went to a side-table, and poured out two glasses of red wine. One he filled, the other only half, then turned his head round and looked at the Priest. Still he sat in the same weary lethargy. A smile curved Mr. Barringcourt’s lips. “Very far gone,” he muttered, and filled the glass.