The Darkest Hours - 18 Chilling Dystopias in One Edition. Samuel Butler

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      III

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      It was not until mid-day breakfast on the following morning that husband and wife met again. Oliver had slept in town and telephoned about eleven o'clock that he would be home immediately, bringing a guest with him: and shortly before noon she heard their voices in the hall.

      Mr. Francis, who was presently introduced to her, seemed a harmless kind of man, she thought, not interesting, though he seemed in earnest about this Bill. It was not until breakfast was nearly over that she understood who he was.

      "Don't go, Mabel," said her husband, as she made a movement to rise. "You will like to hear about this, I expect. My wife knows all that I know," he added.

      Mr. Francis smiled and bowed.

      "I may tell her about you, sir?" said Oliver again.

      "Why, certainly."

      Then she heard that he had been a Catholic priest a few months before, and that Mr. Snowford was in consultation with him as to the ceremonies in the Abbey. She was conscious of a sudden interest as she heard this.

      "Oh! do talk," she said. "I want to hear everything."

      It seemed that Mr. Francis had seen the new Minister of Public Worship that morning, and had received a definite commission from him to take charge of the ceremonies on the first of October. Two dozen of his colleagues, too, were to be enrolled among the ceremoniarii, at least temporarily—and after the event they were to be sent on a lecturing tour to organise the national worship throughout the country.

      Of course things would be somewhat sloppy at first, said Mr. Francis; but by the New Year it was hoped that all would be in order, at least in the cathedrals and principal towns.

      "It is important," he said, "that this should be done as soon as possible. It is very necessary to make a good impression. There are thousands who have the instinct of worship, without knowing how to satisfy it."

      "That is perfectly true," said Oliver. "I have felt that for a long time. I suppose it is the deepest instinct in man."

      "As to the ceremonies—-" went on the other, with a slightly important air. His eyes roved round a moment; then he dived into his breast-pocket, and drew out a thin red-covered book.

      "Here is the Order of Worship for the Feast of Paternity," he said. "I have had it interleaved, and have made a few notes."

      He began to turn the pages, and Mabel, with considerable excitement, drew her chair a little closer to listen.

      "That is right, sir," said the other. "Now give us a little lecture."

      Mr. Francis closed the book on his finger, pushed his plate aside, and began to discourse.

      "First," he said, "we must remember that this ritual is based almost entirely upon that of the Masons. Three-quarters at least of the entire function will be occupied by that. With that the ceremoniarii will not interfere, beyond seeing that the insignia are ready in the vestries and properly put on. The proper officials will conduct the rest…. I need not speak of that then. The difficulties begin with the last quarter."

      He paused, and with a glance of apology began arranging forks and glasses before him on the cloth.

      "Now here," he said, "we have the old sanctuary of the abbey. In the place of the reredos and Communion table there will be erected the large altar of which the ritual speaks, with the steps leading up to it from the floor. Behind the altar—extending almost to the old shrine of the Confessor—will stand the pedestal with the emblematic figure upon it; and—so far as I understand from the absence of directions—each such figure will remain in place until the eve of the next quarterly feast."

      "What kind of figure?" put in the girl.

      Francis glanced at her husband.

      "I understand that Mr. Markenheim has been consulted," he said. "He will design and execute them. Each is to represent its own feast. This for Paternity—-"

      He paused again.

      "Yes, Mr. Francis?"

      "This one, I understand, is to be the naked figure of a man."

      "A kind of Apollo—or Jupiter, my dear," put in Oliver.

      Yes—that seemed all right, thought Mabel. Mr. Francis's voice moved on hastily.

      "A new procession enters at this point, after the discourse," he said. "It is this that will need special marshalling. I suppose no rehearsal will be possible?"

      "Scarcely," said Oliver, smiling.

      The Master of Ceremonies sighed.

      "I feared not. СКАЧАТЬ