by H. G. Wells
LII.
There was a cry of "Delia" and no more. But suddenly the flames spurtedout in a blinding glare that shot upward to an immense height, ablinding brilliance broken by a thousand flickering gleams like thewaving of swords. And a gust of sparks, flashing in a thousand colours,whirled up and vanished. Just then, and for a moment by some strangeaccident, a rush of music, like the swell of an organ, wove into theroaring of the flames.
The whole village standing in black knots heard the sound, except GafferSiddons who is deaf--strange and beautiful it was, and then gone again.Lumpy Durgan, the idiot boy from Sidderford, said it began and endedlike the opening and shutting of a door.
But little Hetty Penzance had a pretty fancy of two figures with wings,that flashed up and vanished among the flames.
(And after that it was she began to pine for the things she saw in herdreams, and was abstracted and strange. It grieved her mother sorely atthe time. She grew fragile, as though she was fading out of the world,and her eyes had a strange, far-away look. She talked of angels andrainbow colours and golden wings, and was for ever singing an unmeaningfragment of an air that nobody knew. Until Crump took her in hand andcured her with fattening dietary, syrup of hypophosphites and cod liveroil.)
THE EPILOGUE.
And there the story of the Wonderful Visit ends. The Epilogue is in themouth of Mrs Mendham. There stand two little white crosses in theSiddermorton churchyard, near together, where the brambles comeclambering over the stone wall. One is inscribed Thomas Angel and theother Delia Hardy, and the dates of the deaths are the same. Reallythere is nothing beneath them but the ashes of the Vicar's stuffedostrich. (You will remember the Vicar had his ornithological side.) Inoticed them when Mrs Mendham was showing me the new De la Bechemonument. (Mendham has been Vicar since Hilyer died.) "The granite camefrom somewhere in Scotland," said Mrs Mendham, "and cost ever so much--Iforget how much--but a wonderful lot! It's quite the talk of thevillage."
"Mother," said Cissie Mendham, "you are stepping on a grave."
"Dear me!" said Mrs Mendham, "How heedless of me! And the cripple'sgrave too. But really you've no idea how much this monument cost them."
"These two people, by the bye," said Mrs Mendham, "were killed when theold Vicarage was burnt. It's rather a strange story. He was a curiousperson, a hunchbacked fiddler, who came from nobody knows where, andimposed upon the late Vicar to a frightful extent. He played in apretentious way by ear, and we found out afterwards that he did not knowa note of music--not a note. He was exposed before quite a lot ofpeople. Among other things, he seems to have been 'carrying on,' aspeople say, with one of the servants, a sly little drab.... But Mendhamhad better tell you all about it. The man was half-witted and curiouslydeformed. It's strange the fancies girls have."
She looked sharply at Cissie, and Cissie blushed to the eyes.
"She was left in the house and he rushed into the flames in an attemptto save her. Quite romantic--isn't it? He was rather clever with thefiddle in his uneducated way.
"All the poor Vicar's stuffed skins were burned at the same time. It wasalmost all he cared for. He never really got over the blow. He came tostop with us--for there wasn't another house available in the village.But he never seemed happy. He seemed all shaken. I never saw a man sochanged. I tried to stir him up, but it was no good--no good at all. Hehad the queerest delusions about angels and that kind of thing. It madehim odd company at times. He would say he heard music, and stare quitestupidly at nothing for hours together. He got quite careless about hisdress.... He died within a twelvemonth of the fire."
THE END.
TURNBULL AND SPEARS, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
