Holding the door ajar, the Vicar of Heriz Magna heard a horse's hoofs slap their leisurely way down the hillside. Presently the sound died and he turned back into the hall.
"A brave woman, that! Oh, a trifling, shallow-hearted jilt, but a brave creature!
"I had to lie to her. She would have stayed else. And perhaps it is true that, in reality, I have loved her all my life,--or in any event, have hankered after the pink-and-white flesh of her as any gentleman might. Pschutt! a pox on all lechery says the dying man,--since it is now necessary to put that strapping yellow-haired trollop out of your mind, Simon Orts--yes, after all these years, to put her quite out of your mind. Faith, she might wheedle me now to her heart's content, and my pulse would never budge; for I must devote what trivial time there is to hoping they will kill me quickly. He was their god, that man!"
Simon Orts went toward the dead body, looking down into the distorted face. "And I, too, loved him. Yes, such as he was, he was the only friend I had. And I think he liked me," Simon Orts said aloud, with a touch of shy pride. "Yes, and you trusted me, didn't you, Vincent? Wait for me, then, my Lord,--I shall not be long. And now I'll serve you faithfully. I had to play the man's part, you know,--you mustn't grudge old Simon his one hour of manhood. You wouldn't, I think. And in any event, I shall be with you presently, and you can cuff me for it if you like--just as you used to do."
He covered the dead face with his handkerchief, but in the instant he drew it away. "No, not this coarse cambric. You were too much of a fop, Vincent. I will use yours--the finest linen, my Lord. You see old Simon knows your tastes."
He drew himself erect exultantly.
"They will come at dawn to kill me; but I have had my hour. God, the man I might have been! And now--well, perhaps He would not be offended if I said a bit of a prayer for Vincent."
So the Vicar of Heriz Magna knelt beside the flesh that had been Lord Rokesle, and there they found him in the morning.
