IV

The clergyman, meanwhile, had closed the heavy door, shutting out the darkness, and now led the way across a large, flagged hall into a room, ablaze with lamp and fire, the walls lined thickly with books, furnished cozily if plainly.  The laden tea table, and a kettle hissing merrily on the hob, were pleasant to look upon, but what instantly arrested the gaze of the secretary was the face of the old woman in cap and apron—­evidently the housekeeper already referred to as “Mrs.”  Mawle—­who stood waiting to pour out tea.  For about her worn and wrinkled countenance there lay an indefinable touch of something that hitherto he had seen only in pictures of the saints by the old masters.  What attracted his attention, and held it so arrestingly, was this singular expression of happiness, aye, of more than mere happiness—­of joy and peace and blessed surety, rarely, if ever, seen upon a human face alive, and only here and there suggested behind that mask of repose which death leaves so tenderly upon the features of those few who have lived their lives to noblest advantage.

Spinrobin caught his breath a little, and stared.  Aged and lined as it unquestionably was, he caught that ineffable suggestion of radiance about it which proclaimed an inner life that had found itself and was in perfect harmony with outer things:  a life based upon certain knowledge and certain hope.  It wore a gentle whiteness he could find only one word to describe—­glory.  And the moment he saw it there flashed across him the recognition that this was what Mr. Skale also possessed.  That giant, athletic, vigorous man, and this bent, worn old woman both had it.  He wondered with a rush of sudden joy what produced it;—­whether it might perhaps one day be his too.  The flame of his own spirit leapt within him.

And, so wondering, he turned to look at the clergyman.  In the softer light of fire and lamp his face had the appearance of forty rather than sixty as he had first judged; the eyes, always luminous, shone with health and enthusiasm; a great air of youth and vitality glowed about him.  It was a fine head with that dominating nose and the shaggy tangle of hair and beard; very big, fatherly and protective he looked, a quite inexpressible air of tenderness mingled in everywhere with the strength.  Spinrobin felt immensely drawn to him as he looked.  With such a leader he could go anywhere, do anything.  There, surely, was a man whose heart was set not upon the things of this world.

An introduction to the housekeeper interrupted his reflections; it did not strike him as at all out of the way; doubtless she was more mother than domestic to the household.  At the name of “Mrs.”  Mawle (courtesy-title, obviously), he rose and bowed, and the old woman, looking from one to the other, smiled becomingly, curtseyed, put her cap straight, and turned to the teapot again.  She said nothing.