And first of all he had
learned to be silent while he had nought to reveal. He had been
trained to babble about religion, but through God's grace had
failed in his babble, and that was in itself a success. He would
have made one of the swarm that year after year cast themselves
like flies on the burning sacrifice that they may live on its flesh,
with evil odours extinguishing the fire that should have gone up
in flame; but a burning coal from off the altar had been laid on
his lips, and had silenced them in torture. For thirty years he
had held his peace, until the word of God had become as a fire in
his bones: it was now breaking forth in flashes.
On the Monday, Mrs Catanach sought the shop of the deacon that was
an ironmonger, secured for herself a sitting in the chapel for the
next half year, and prepaid the sitting.
"Wha kens," she said to herself "what birds may come to gether
worms an' golachs (beetles) aboot the boody craw (scarecrow), Sanny
Grame!"
She was one to whom intrigue, founded on the knowledge of private
history, was as the very breath of her being: she could not exist
in composure without it. Wherever she went, therefore--and her
changes of residence had not been few--it was one of her first
cares to enter into connection with some religious community, first
that she might have scope for her calling--that of a midwife,
which in London would probably be straightened towards that of mere
monthly nurse--and next that thereby she might have good chances
for the finding of certain weeds of occult power that spring mostly
in walled gardens, and are rare on the roadside--poisonous things
mostly, called generically secrets.
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