s of one,
Nicholas Sabathier, a Stranger to this Parish,
who fell by his own Hand on ye
Eve of Ste. Michael and All Angels.
MDCCXXXIX

Of the date he was a little uncertain. The 'Hand' had lost its 'n' and
'd'; and all the 'Angels' rain had erased. He was not quite sure even
of the 'Stranger.' There was a great rich 'S,' and the twisted tail of
a 'g'; and, whether or not, Lawford smilingly thought, he is no Stranger
now. But how rare and how memorable a name! French evidently; probably
Huguenot. And the Huguenots, he remembered vaguely, were a rather
remarkable 'crowd.' He had, he thought, even played at 'Huguenots'
once. What was the man's name? Coligny; yes, of course, Coligny. 'And I
suppose,' Lawford continued, muttering to himself, 'I suppose this poor
beggar was put here out of the way. They might, you know,' he added
confidentially, raising the ferrule of his umbrella, 'they might have
stuck a stake through you, and buried you at the crossroads.' And
again, a feeling of ennui, a faint disgust at his poor little witticism,
clouded over his mind. It was a pity thoughts always ran the easiest
way, like water in old ditches.

'"Here lie ye bones of one, Nicholas Sabathier,"' he began murmuring
again--'merely bones, mind you; brains and heart are quite another
story. And it's pretty certain the fellow had some kind of brains.
Besides, poor devil! he killed himself. That seems to hint at brains...
Oh, for goodness' sake!' he cried out; so loud that the sound of his
voice alarmed even a robin that had perched on a twig almost within
touch, with glittering eye intent above its dim red breast on this other
and even rarer stranger.

'I wonder if it is XXXIX.; it might be LXXIX.' Lawford cast a cautious
glance over his round grey shoulder, then laboriously knelt down beside
the stone, and peeped into the gaping cranny. There he encountered
merely the tiny, pale-green, faintly conspicuous eyes of a large spider,
confronting his own. It was for the moment an alarming, and yet a
faintly fascinating experience. The little almost colourless fires
remained so changeless. But still, even when at last they had actually
vanished into the recesses of that quiet habitation, Lawford did not
rise from his knees. An utterly unreasonable feeling of dismay, a sudden
weakness and weariness had come over him.

'What is the good of it all?' he asked himself inconsequently--this
monotonous, restless, stupid life to wh