June 9, 2025 • 22 mins
Step into the thrilling narrative of Hugh Walpoles Prelude to Adventure. The story unfolds around Olva Dune, a Cambridge undergraduate who commits a murder and in that moment, senses the divine presence. The novel masterfully encapsulates the essence of Francis Thompsons poem, The Hound of Heaven - a tale of a soul in dread, relentlessly pursued by Gods love. Its highly recommended to enrich your experience by familiarizing yourself with the poem prior to diving into the novel. The story intrigued Carl Jung so much that he praised it as a psychological masterpiece in a letter to Walpole. Hergesheimer likened the suspense and plot to that of a Poe masterpiece, yet grounded in the relatable human experience. The narrative is a riveting blend of suspense, love, fear, triumph, all set against the backdrop of the captivating Cornish sea.
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter eight of the PRELUDEU Adventure by Hugh Walpole. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter eight Revelation
of Bunning one one. On that evening the College debating
Society exercised its mind over the question of naval defense.
One gentleman, timid of voice, uncertain in wit, easily dismayed
(00:25):
by the derisive laughter of the opposite party, asserted that
this House considers the naval policy of the present government
fatal to the country's best interests. An eager politician with
a shrill voice and a torrent of words, denied this statement.
The College, with the exception of certain gentlemen destined for
(00:46):
the Church, they had been told by their parents to
speak on every possible public occasion in order to be
ready for a prospective pulpit, displayed a sublime and somnolent indifference.
The four gentlemen on the paper had prepared their speeches beforehand,
and were armed with notes and a certain nervous fluency.
(01:07):
For the rest. The question was but slightly assisted. The
prospective members of the church thought of many things to say,
until they rose to their feet when they could only
remember that the last gentleman's speech had been the most
preposterous thing they had ever had the pleasure of listening to,
And that the navy was all right. And if the
(01:30):
gentleman who had spoken last but two thought it wasn't well,
all they could say was that it reminded them of
a story they had once heard. Here followed story without point, conclusion,
or brevity, and the fact the navy was all right.
The debate, in short, was languishing. When Done and Cardiac
(01:54):
entered the room together, here was an amazing thing. It
was well known that only last night Cardiac and Doone
had both been proposed for the office of President of
the Wolves. The Wolves, a society of twelve founded for
the purpose of dining well and dressing beautifully, was by
(02:14):
far the smartest thing that Sauls possessed. It was famous
throughout the university for the noise and extravagance of its dinners.
And you might not belong to it unless you had
played for the university on at least one occasion in
some game or another, and unless, be it understood, you
were in yourself quite immensely desirable. Towards the end of
(02:38):
every Christmas term, a president for the ensuing year was elected,
he must be a second year man, and it was
considered by the whole college that this was the highest
honor that the gods could possibly during your stay at
Cambridge confer upon you. Even the members of the Christian Union, horrified,
though they were, by them out of wine that was
(03:01):
drunk on dining occasions, and the consequent peril to their
own goods and chattels, bowed to the shining splendor of
the fortunate hero. It had never yet been known that
a president of the Wolves should also be a member
of the Christian Union. But one must never despair, and nets,
the most attractive and genial of nets, were flung to
(03:24):
catch the great man. On the present occasion. It had
been generally understood that Cardiac would be elected without any
possible opposition. Doone had not for a moment occurred to anyone.
He had during his first term, when his football prowess
had passed swinging through the university, been elected to the Wolves,
(03:46):
but he had only attended one dinner and had then
remained severely and unpleasantly sober. There was no other possible
rival to Cardiac. To his distinction, his power of witty
and malicious affas dinner, speaking, his wonderful clothes, his admirable football,
his haughty indifference. He would of course be elected. And
(04:09):
then some three weeks ago this wonderful, unexpected development of
Alva Doone had startled the world. His football, his sudden geniality,
he had been seen, it was asserted at one of
med Tetlo's revival meetings, with of all people in the world,
bunning his air of being able to do anything whatever
(04:31):
if he wished to exert himself. Here was a character,
indeed so wonderful that it was felt even by the
most patriotic of Salines, that he ought, in reality to
have belonged to Saint Martin's. It became at once, of course,
a case of rivalry between Doune and Cardiac, and it
was confidently expected that Doone would be victorious in every
(04:53):
part of the field. Cardiac had reigned for a considerable period,
and there were many men to whom whom he had
been exceedingly offensive. Doone, although he admitted no one to
closer intimacy, was offensive never If moreover, you had seen
him play the other day against the Harlequins, you could
(05:14):
not but fall down on your knees and worship here too,
he rivaled Cardiac. Tester, Buchan, and Whimper were quite certain
of their places in the university side. Wimper because he
was the greatest three quarter that Cambridge had had for
many seasons, and Tester and Buchum because they had been
at FETs longer, and Buchan had played inside right to
(05:38):
Tester's outside since the very tenderest age. They therefore understood
one another backward. There remained then only this fourth place,
and Cardiac seemed certain enough until Doone's arrival. And now
it depended on Whimper. He would choose of the two men,
the one who suited him the better. Cardiac had with
(06:00):
him more than had Doon. Cardiac was safe, steady, reliable.
Doone was uncertain, capricious, suddenly indifferent. On the other hand,
not Whimper himself could rival the brilliance of Doone's game
against the Harlequins that was in a place by itself.
Let him play like that at Queen's Club in December,
(06:22):
and no Oxford defense would stop him. And so it
was argued, so discussed certain at any rate that Doone's
recrutescence threatened the ruin of Cardiac's two dearest ambitions, and
Cardiac did not easily either forget or forgive, and yet
behold them now gravely the gaze of the entire company
(06:45):
entering together, sitting together by the fire, watching with serious
eyes the clumsy efforts of an unhappily ambitious freshman to
make clear his opinions of the Navy, the government, and
the British Islands, generally only ultimately producing a tittering, stammering
apology for having burdened so long with his hapless clamor
(07:08):
the debate two. Ova liked Cardiac, Cardiac liked Ova. They both,
in their attitude to college affairs, saw beyond the college
gates into the wide and bright world. Cardiac, when it
had seemed that no danger could threaten either his election
to the Wolves or the acquisition of his football blue,
(07:29):
had regarded both honors quietly and with indifference. It amazed
him now, when both these prizes were seriously threatened, that
he should still appreciate and even seek out doone's company.
Had it been any other man in the college, he
would have been a very attractive enemy. But here was
the one man who had that larger air, that finer style,
(07:52):
whose gravity was beautiful, whose soul was beyond wolves and
rugby football, whose future in the real world promised to
be of a fine and highly ordered kind. Cardiac wished
eagerly that these things might yet be his. But if
he were to be beaten, then, of all men in
the world, let it be by doom. In his own scant,
(08:13):
cynical estimate of his fellow beings, doone alone demanded a
wide and appreciative attention. Tuuva on this evening, it mattered
but little where he was or what he did. The
snow had ceased to fall, and now under a starry
sky lay white and glistening clear, but still with him,
(08:36):
storm seemed to hover, its snow beating his body, its fury,
yielding him no respite. And now there was no longer
any doubt. He faced it with the most matter of
fact self possession of which he was capable. Something was
waiting for his surrender. He figured it. Sitting quietly back
(08:57):
in the reading room, listening to the debate, watching the
faces around him as the tracing of some one who
was dearly loved. There was nothing stranger in it all
than his own certainty that the power that pursued him
was tender, and here he crossed the division between the
real and the unreal. Because his present consciousness of this
(09:18):
power was as actual as his consciousness of the chairs
and tables that filled the reading room. That was the
essential thing that made the supreme gulf between himself and
his companions. It was not because he had murdered Carfax,
but because he was now absolutely conscious of God that
he was so alone. He could not touch his human companions,
(09:41):
he could scarcely see them. It was through this isolation
that God was driving him to confession. Now in the
outer court, huge against the white, dazzling snow, the great
Shadow was hovering its head, piercing the stars, its arms outstretched.
Let him surrender, and at once there would be infinite peace.
(10:04):
But with surrender must come submission, confession. With confession, he
must lose the one thing that he desired, Margaret Craven,
that he might go and talk to her, watch her,
listen to her voice. Meanwhile, he must not think. If
he allowed his brain for an instant to rest, it
(10:25):
was flooded with the sweeping consciousness of the presence. Always
he must be doing something, His football, his companions, and
often at the end of it all calmly, quietly betrayed.
Hearing above all the clatter, that he might make the
gentle accents of that voice. He remembered that piece that
(10:45):
he had had in Saint Martin's Chapel on the day
of the discovery of the body. What he would give
to reclaim that. Now meanwhile he must battle, must quiet
craven suspicions, must play football. Joined company with men who
seemed to him now like shadows as he glanced around
(11:06):
at them, at Lawrence Bunning, Galleon Cardiac, they seemed to
have far less existence than the gray shadow in the
outer court. Sounds passed him like smoke. The lights grew
faint in his eyes. He was being drawn out into
a world that was all of ice, black ice, stretching
to every horizon. On the edge of it, bast against
(11:29):
the night sky, was the gray figure waiting. Come to me,
tell me that you will follow me. I spoke to
you in the wood. You have broken my law. Lot
of piffle, he heard Cardiac's voice from a great distance.
These freshers are always gassing. The electric light, seen through
(11:49):
a cloud of tobacco smoke, came slowly back to him,
dull globes of color. It's so hot, I'm cutting, he
whispered to Cardiac and loop out of the room. He
climbed to his room, flung back his door, and saw
that his light was turned on. Facing him, waiting for
him was Bunning. Three. If you don't want me, he
(12:14):
began with his inane giggle, Oh, sit down over, pulled
out the whiskey and two siphons of soda. If I
didn't want you, I'd say so. He filled himself a
strong glass of whiskey and soda and began feverishly to drink.
Bunning sat down. Don't be such a blooming fool. Take
off your gown if you're going to stop. Bunning meekly
(12:36):
took off his gown. His spectacles seemed so large that
they swallowed up the rest of his face. The spectacles
and the enormous, flat toed boots were the principal features
of Bunning's attire. He sat down again and gazed at
Ova with the eyes of a devoted dog. Ova looked
at him over Bunning's red wrists, the brown ends of
(12:58):
a jager. Best you did from under the shirt? I say,
why don't you dress properly, I don't know, began Bunning. Well,
the sleeves of your vest needn't come down like that.
It looks horribly dirty. Turn em up. Bunning, blushing almost
to tears, turned them back. There's no need to make
(13:19):
yourself worse than you are, you know. Olva finished his
whiskey and poured out some more. Why do you come here?
I'm always beastly to you as long as you let
me come. I don't mind how beastly you are. But
what do you get from it? Bunning looked down at
his huge boots. Everything. But it isn't that. It is
(13:41):
that without being here, I haven't got anything else. Well,
you needn't wear such boots as that, and your shirts
and things aren't lean. You don't mind my telling you?
Do you? No? I like it? Nobody's ever told me here.
Obviously was a new claim for intimacy, and this Ova
hurriedly disavowed. Oh, it's only for your own good. You know.
(14:05):
Fellows will like you better if you're decently dressed. Why
hasn't anyone ever told you? Only given me up at home?
Bunning heaved a great sigh. Why who are your people?
My father's a parson in Yorkshire. They're all clergymen in
my family, uncle's cousins, everybody. My older brother I was
to have been a clergyman, was to have been. Aren't
(14:29):
you going to be one? Now? No? Not since I
met you. Oh, but you mustn't take such a step
on my account. I don't want to prevent you. I've
nothing to do with it. I should think you'd make
a very good parson. Olva was brutal. He felt that
in Bunning's moist, devoted eyes there was a dim pain.
(14:50):
But he was brutal because his whole soul revolted against sentimentality,
not at all because his soul revolted against Bunning. No,
I I shouldn't make a good parson. I never wanted
to be one, really, But when your house is full
of it, as our house was, you're driven. When it
wasn't relations, it was all sorts of people in the parish,
(15:12):
helpers and workers, women mostly, I hated them. Here was
a real note of passion. Bunning seemed for an instant
to be quite vigorous. That's why I'm so untidy now.
Bunning went desperately on. Nobody cared how I looked. I
was stupid at school. My reports were awful, and I
(15:33):
was a day boy. It is very bad for anyone
to be a day boy, very he added reflectively, as
though he were recalling scenes and incidents. Yes, said Lphah encouragingly.
He was being drawn by Bunning's artless narration away from
the shadow. It was still there, its arm outstretched above
(15:55):
the snowy court, but Bunning seemed in some odd way
to intervene. I always wanted to find God in those days.
It sounds a stupid thing to say, but they used
to speak about him, mother and the rest, just as
though he lived down the street. They knew all about him,
and I used to wonder why I didn't know too,
(16:15):
But I didn't. It wasn't real to me. I used
to make myself think that it was, but it wasn't.
Why didn't you talk to your mother about it? I did,
but they were always too busy with missions and things.
And then there was my elder brother. He understood about
God and went to all the Bible meetings and things,
and he was always so neat, never dirty. I used
(16:38):
to wonder how he did it, always so neat. Bunning
took off his great spectacles and wiped them with a
very dirty handkerchief. And had you no friends, none, nobody.
I didn't want them. After a bit, I was afraid
of everybody. I used to go down all the side
streets between school and home for fear lest I should meet.
(16:59):
So I was always very nervous as a boy, very
I still am nervous of people, yes, of everybody, and
of things too. Things I still am. You'd be surprised,
it's odd, because none of the other Bunnings are nervous.
I used to have fancies about God, What sort of fancies.
(17:20):
I used to see him when I was in bed,
like a great big shadow all up against the wall,
a gray shadow with his head ever so high. That's
how I used to think of him. I expect that
all sounds nonsense to you. No, not at all, said Ova.
I think they thought me nearly an idiot at home,
(17:40):
not sane at all. But they didn't think of me
very often. They used to apologize for me when people
came to tea. I wasn't clever, of course, That's why
they thought i'd make a good parson. He paused, Then
very nervously, he went on, But now I've met you.
I sha'n't be. Nothing can make me. I've always watched.
(18:00):
I used to look at you and chapel. You're just
as different from me as anyone can be, and that's
why you're like God to me. I don't want you
to be decent to me. I think i'd rather you weren't.
But I like to come in sometimes and hear you
say that I'm dirty and untidy. That shows that you've noticed.
But I'm not at all the sort of person to
(18:21):
make a hero of, Olva said hurriedly. I don't want
you to feel like that about me. That's all sentimentality.
You mustn't feel like that about anybody. You must stand
on your own legs. I never have, said Bunning, very solemnly,
and I never will. I've always had somebody to make
a hero of. I would love to die for you.
(18:44):
I would, really. It's the only sort of thing that
I can do because I'm not clever. I know you
think me very stupid. Yes I do, said Alva. And
you mustn't talk like a schoolgirl. If we're friends and
I let you come in here, you must let your
vest come over your cuffs, and you must take those
spots off your waistcoat and brush your hair and clean
(19:06):
your nails, and you must just be sensible and have
a little humor. Why don't you play football? I can't
play games. I'm very shortsighted. Well, you must take some
sort of exercise, run around Parker's piece or something, or
go and run at Fenner's. You'll get so fat. I
(19:27):
am getting fat. I don't think it matters much what
I look like. It matters what everyone looks like. And
now you'd better cut. I've got to go out and
see a man. Bunning submissively rose. He said no more,
but bundled out of the door in his usual untidy fashion.
Ova came after him and banged his oak behind him
(19:48):
in outer court, looking now so vast and solemn in
the silence of its snow. Bunning stopped pointed to the
gray building that towered over them. It was against a
wall like that that I he used to imagine God
on a night like this. You'll think that very silly,
he hurriedly added. There's Marshal coming. I know he'll be
(20:08):
at me about those Christian Union cards. Good night, he vanished.
But it was not Marshall. It was Rupert Craven The
boy was walking hurriedly, his eyes on the ground. He
was suddenly conscious of some one and looked up. The
change in him was extraordinary. His eyes had the heavy,
dazed look of one who has not slept for weeks.
(20:30):
His face was a yellow white, his hair unbrushed, and
his mouth moved restlessly. He started when he saw Ova. Oh, Craven,
you're looking seedy. What's the matter? And nothing? Thanks? Good night? No,
but wait a minute, come up to my rooms and
have some coffee. I haven't seen you for days. A
(20:51):
fortnight ago, Craven would have accepted with joy. Now he
shook his head. No, thanks, I'm tired. I have been
sleeping very well. Why's that overwork? No, it's nothing. I
don't know why it is. You ought to see somebody.
I know what not sleeping means. Why are you sleeping badly?
(21:13):
Craven's eyes met Olva's. No, I'm splendid. Thanks, but I
had about of insomna years ago. I shan't forget it.
You look all right. Craven's eyes were busily searching Oliva's face,
and then suddenly they stopped. I'm all right, he said, hurriedly, tired,
that's all Why do you never come and see me? Now? Oh,
(21:35):
I will come some time. I'm busy. What about Ova
stood a stern, dark figure against the snow. Oh, just busy.
Craven suddenly looked up as though he were going to
ask Olva a question. Then he apparently changed his mind,
muttered a good knight, and disappeared round the corner of
(21:55):
the building. Ova was alone in the court. From some
room came the sound of voices and laughter. From some
other room, a piano, some one called a name. In
little court, a sheet of stars drew the white light
from the snow to heaven. Ulva turned very slowly and
entered his black stairway. In his heart, he was crying,
(22:18):
how long can I stand this? Another day? Another hour,
this loneliness. I must break it. I must tell someone,
I must tell someone. As he entered his room, he
thought that he saw against the farther wall an old
gilt mirror, and in the light of it, a dark
figure facing him. A voice, heavy with some great, overburdening
(22:43):
sorrow spoke to him, how terrible a thing it is
to be alone with God? End of Chapter eight
Chapter eight of the PRELUDEU Adventure by Hugh Walpole. This
LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter eight Revelation
of Bunning one one. On that evening the College debating
Society exercised its mind over the question of naval defense.
One gentleman, timid of voice, uncertain in wit, easily dismayed
(00:25):
by the derisive laughter of the opposite party, asserted that
this House considers the naval policy of the present government
fatal to the country's best interests. An eager politician with
a shrill voice and a torrent of words, denied this statement.
The College, with the exception of certain gentlemen destined for
(00:46):
the Church, they had been told by their parents to
speak on every possible public occasion in order to be
ready for a prospective pulpit, displayed a sublime and somnolent indifference.
The four gentlemen on the paper had prepared their speeches beforehand,
and were armed with notes and a certain nervous fluency.
(01:07):
For the rest. The question was but slightly assisted. The
prospective members of the church thought of many things to say,
until they rose to their feet when they could only
remember that the last gentleman's speech had been the most
preposterous thing they had ever had the pleasure of listening to,
And that the navy was all right. And if the
(01:30):
gentleman who had spoken last but two thought it wasn't well,
all they could say was that it reminded them of
a story they had once heard. Here followed story without point, conclusion,
or brevity, and the fact the navy was all right.
The debate, in short, was languishing. When Done and Cardiac
(01:54):
entered the room together, here was an amazing thing. It
was well known that only last night Cardiac and Doone
had both been proposed for the office of President of
the Wolves. The Wolves, a society of twelve founded for
the purpose of dining well and dressing beautifully, was by
(02:14):
far the smartest thing that Sauls possessed. It was famous
throughout the university for the noise and extravagance of its dinners.
And you might not belong to it unless you had
played for the university on at least one occasion in
some game or another, and unless, be it understood, you
were in yourself quite immensely desirable. Towards the end of
(02:38):
every Christmas term, a president for the ensuing year was elected,
he must be a second year man, and it was
considered by the whole college that this was the highest
honor that the gods could possibly during your stay at
Cambridge confer upon you. Even the members of the Christian Union, horrified,
though they were, by them out of wine that was
(03:01):
drunk on dining occasions, and the consequent peril to their
own goods and chattels, bowed to the shining splendor of
the fortunate hero. It had never yet been known that
a president of the Wolves should also be a member
of the Christian Union. But one must never despair, and nets,
the most attractive and genial of nets, were flung to
(03:24):
catch the great man. On the present occasion. It had
been generally understood that Cardiac would be elected without any
possible opposition. Doone had not for a moment occurred to anyone.
He had during his first term, when his football prowess
had passed swinging through the university, been elected to the Wolves,
(03:46):
but he had only attended one dinner and had then
remained severely and unpleasantly sober. There was no other possible
rival to Cardiac. To his distinction, his power of witty
and malicious affas dinner, speaking, his wonderful clothes, his admirable football,
his haughty indifference. He would of course be elected. And
(04:09):
then some three weeks ago this wonderful, unexpected development of
Alva Doone had startled the world. His football, his sudden geniality,
he had been seen, it was asserted at one of
med Tetlo's revival meetings, with of all people in the world,
bunning his air of being able to do anything whatever
(04:31):
if he wished to exert himself. Here was a character,
indeed so wonderful that it was felt even by the
most patriotic of Salines, that he ought, in reality to
have belonged to Saint Martin's. It became at once, of course,
a case of rivalry between Doune and Cardiac, and it
was confidently expected that Doone would be victorious in every
(04:53):
part of the field. Cardiac had reigned for a considerable period,
and there were many men to whom whom he had
been exceedingly offensive. Doone, although he admitted no one to
closer intimacy, was offensive never If moreover, you had seen
him play the other day against the Harlequins, you could
(05:14):
not but fall down on your knees and worship here too,
he rivaled Cardiac. Tester, Buchan, and Whimper were quite certain
of their places in the university side. Wimper because he
was the greatest three quarter that Cambridge had had for
many seasons, and Tester and Buchum because they had been
at FETs longer, and Buchan had played inside right to
(05:38):
Tester's outside since the very tenderest age. They therefore understood
one another backward. There remained then only this fourth place,
and Cardiac seemed certain enough until Doone's arrival. And now
it depended on Whimper. He would choose of the two men,
the one who suited him the better. Cardiac had with
(06:00):
him more than had Doon. Cardiac was safe, steady, reliable.
Doone was uncertain, capricious, suddenly indifferent. On the other hand,
not Whimper himself could rival the brilliance of Doone's game
against the Harlequins that was in a place by itself.
Let him play like that at Queen's Club in December,
(06:22):
and no Oxford defense would stop him. And so it
was argued, so discussed certain at any rate that Doone's
recrutescence threatened the ruin of Cardiac's two dearest ambitions, and
Cardiac did not easily either forget or forgive, and yet
behold them now gravely the gaze of the entire company
(06:45):
entering together, sitting together by the fire, watching with serious
eyes the clumsy efforts of an unhappily ambitious freshman to
make clear his opinions of the Navy, the government, and
the British Islands, generally only ultimately producing a tittering, stammering
apology for having burdened so long with his hapless clamor
(07:08):
the debate two. Ova liked Cardiac, Cardiac liked Ova. They both,
in their attitude to college affairs, saw beyond the college
gates into the wide and bright world. Cardiac, when it
had seemed that no danger could threaten either his election
to the Wolves or the acquisition of his football blue,
(07:29):
had regarded both honors quietly and with indifference. It amazed
him now, when both these prizes were seriously threatened, that
he should still appreciate and even seek out doone's company.
Had it been any other man in the college, he
would have been a very attractive enemy. But here was
the one man who had that larger air, that finer style,
(07:52):
whose gravity was beautiful, whose soul was beyond wolves and
rugby football, whose future in the real world promised to
be of a fine and highly ordered kind. Cardiac wished
eagerly that these things might yet be his. But if
he were to be beaten, then, of all men in
the world, let it be by doom. In his own scant,
(08:13):
cynical estimate of his fellow beings, doone alone demanded a
wide and appreciative attention. Tuuva on this evening, it mattered
but little where he was or what he did. The
snow had ceased to fall, and now under a starry
sky lay white and glistening clear, but still with him,
(08:36):
storm seemed to hover, its snow beating his body, its fury,
yielding him no respite. And now there was no longer
any doubt. He faced it with the most matter of
fact self possession of which he was capable. Something was
waiting for his surrender. He figured it. Sitting quietly back
(08:57):
in the reading room, listening to the debate, watching the
faces around him as the tracing of some one who
was dearly loved. There was nothing stranger in it all
than his own certainty that the power that pursued him
was tender, and here he crossed the division between the
real and the unreal. Because his present consciousness of this
(09:18):
power was as actual as his consciousness of the chairs
and tables that filled the reading room. That was the
essential thing that made the supreme gulf between himself and
his companions. It was not because he had murdered Carfax,
but because he was now absolutely conscious of God that
he was so alone. He could not touch his human companions,
(09:41):
he could scarcely see them. It was through this isolation
that God was driving him to confession. Now in the
outer court, huge against the white, dazzling snow, the great
Shadow was hovering its head, piercing the stars, its arms outstretched.
Let him surrender, and at once there would be infinite peace.
(10:04):
But with surrender must come submission, confession. With confession, he
must lose the one thing that he desired, Margaret Craven,
that he might go and talk to her, watch her,
listen to her voice. Meanwhile, he must not think. If
he allowed his brain for an instant to rest, it
(10:25):
was flooded with the sweeping consciousness of the presence. Always
he must be doing something, His football, his companions, and
often at the end of it all calmly, quietly betrayed.
Hearing above all the clatter, that he might make the
gentle accents of that voice. He remembered that piece that
(10:45):
he had had in Saint Martin's Chapel on the day
of the discovery of the body. What he would give
to reclaim that. Now meanwhile he must battle, must quiet
craven suspicions, must play football. Joined company with men who
seemed to him now like shadows as he glanced around
(11:06):
at them, at Lawrence Bunning, Galleon Cardiac, they seemed to
have far less existence than the gray shadow in the
outer court. Sounds passed him like smoke. The lights grew
faint in his eyes. He was being drawn out into
a world that was all of ice, black ice, stretching
to every horizon. On the edge of it, bast against
(11:29):
the night sky, was the gray figure waiting. Come to me,
tell me that you will follow me. I spoke to
you in the wood. You have broken my law. Lot
of piffle, he heard Cardiac's voice from a great distance.
These freshers are always gassing. The electric light, seen through
(11:49):
a cloud of tobacco smoke, came slowly back to him,
dull globes of color. It's so hot, I'm cutting, he
whispered to Cardiac and loop out of the room. He
climbed to his room, flung back his door, and saw
that his light was turned on. Facing him, waiting for
him was Bunning. Three. If you don't want me, he
(12:14):
began with his inane giggle, Oh, sit down over, pulled
out the whiskey and two siphons of soda. If I
didn't want you, I'd say so. He filled himself a
strong glass of whiskey and soda and began feverishly to drink.
Bunning sat down. Don't be such a blooming fool. Take
off your gown if you're going to stop. Bunning meekly
(12:36):
took off his gown. His spectacles seemed so large that
they swallowed up the rest of his face. The spectacles
and the enormous, flat toed boots were the principal features
of Bunning's attire. He sat down again and gazed at
Ova with the eyes of a devoted dog. Ova looked
at him over Bunning's red wrists, the brown ends of
(12:58):
a jager. Best you did from under the shirt? I say,
why don't you dress properly, I don't know, began Bunning. Well,
the sleeves of your vest needn't come down like that.
It looks horribly dirty. Turn em up. Bunning, blushing almost
to tears, turned them back. There's no need to make
(13:19):
yourself worse than you are, you know. Olva finished his
whiskey and poured out some more. Why do you come here?
I'm always beastly to you as long as you let
me come. I don't mind how beastly you are. But
what do you get from it? Bunning looked down at
his huge boots. Everything. But it isn't that. It is
(13:41):
that without being here, I haven't got anything else. Well,
you needn't wear such boots as that, and your shirts
and things aren't lean. You don't mind my telling you?
Do you? No? I like it? Nobody's ever told me here.
Obviously was a new claim for intimacy, and this Ova
hurriedly disavowed. Oh, it's only for your own good. You know.
(14:05):
Fellows will like you better if you're decently dressed. Why
hasn't anyone ever told you? Only given me up at home?
Bunning heaved a great sigh. Why who are your people?
My father's a parson in Yorkshire. They're all clergymen in
my family, uncle's cousins, everybody. My older brother I was
to have been a clergyman, was to have been. Aren't
(14:29):
you going to be one? Now? No? Not since I
met you. Oh, but you mustn't take such a step
on my account. I don't want to prevent you. I've
nothing to do with it. I should think you'd make
a very good parson. Olva was brutal. He felt that
in Bunning's moist, devoted eyes there was a dim pain.
(14:50):
But he was brutal because his whole soul revolted against sentimentality,
not at all because his soul revolted against Bunning. No,
I I shouldn't make a good parson. I never wanted
to be one, really, But when your house is full
of it, as our house was, you're driven. When it
wasn't relations, it was all sorts of people in the parish,
(15:12):
helpers and workers, women mostly, I hated them. Here was
a real note of passion. Bunning seemed for an instant
to be quite vigorous. That's why I'm so untidy now.
Bunning went desperately on. Nobody cared how I looked. I
was stupid at school. My reports were awful, and I
(15:33):
was a day boy. It is very bad for anyone
to be a day boy, very he added reflectively, as
though he were recalling scenes and incidents. Yes, said Lphah encouragingly.
He was being drawn by Bunning's artless narration away from
the shadow. It was still there, its arm outstretched above
(15:55):
the snowy court, but Bunning seemed in some odd way
to intervene. I always wanted to find God in those days.
It sounds a stupid thing to say, but they used
to speak about him, mother and the rest, just as
though he lived down the street. They knew all about him,
and I used to wonder why I didn't know too,
(16:15):
But I didn't. It wasn't real to me. I used
to make myself think that it was, but it wasn't.
Why didn't you talk to your mother about it? I did,
but they were always too busy with missions and things.
And then there was my elder brother. He understood about
God and went to all the Bible meetings and things,
and he was always so neat, never dirty. I used
(16:38):
to wonder how he did it, always so neat. Bunning
took off his great spectacles and wiped them with a
very dirty handkerchief. And had you no friends, none, nobody.
I didn't want them. After a bit, I was afraid
of everybody. I used to go down all the side
streets between school and home for fear lest I should meet.
(16:59):
So I was always very nervous as a boy, very
I still am nervous of people, yes, of everybody, and
of things too. Things I still am. You'd be surprised,
it's odd, because none of the other Bunnings are nervous.
I used to have fancies about God, What sort of fancies.
(17:20):
I used to see him when I was in bed,
like a great big shadow all up against the wall,
a gray shadow with his head ever so high. That's
how I used to think of him. I expect that
all sounds nonsense to you. No, not at all, said Ova.
I think they thought me nearly an idiot at home,
(17:40):
not sane at all. But they didn't think of me
very often. They used to apologize for me when people
came to tea. I wasn't clever, of course, That's why
they thought i'd make a good parson. He paused, Then
very nervously, he went on, But now I've met you.
I sha'n't be. Nothing can make me. I've always watched.
(18:00):
I used to look at you and chapel. You're just
as different from me as anyone can be, and that's
why you're like God to me. I don't want you
to be decent to me. I think i'd rather you weren't.
But I like to come in sometimes and hear you
say that I'm dirty and untidy. That shows that you've noticed.
But I'm not at all the sort of person to
(18:21):
make a hero of, Olva said hurriedly. I don't want
you to feel like that about me. That's all sentimentality.
You mustn't feel like that about anybody. You must stand
on your own legs. I never have, said Bunning, very solemnly,
and I never will. I've always had somebody to make
a hero of. I would love to die for you.
(18:44):
I would, really. It's the only sort of thing that
I can do because I'm not clever. I know you
think me very stupid. Yes I do, said Alva. And
you mustn't talk like a schoolgirl. If we're friends and
I let you come in here, you must let your
vest come over your cuffs, and you must take those
spots off your waistcoat and brush your hair and clean
(19:06):
your nails, and you must just be sensible and have
a little humor. Why don't you play football? I can't
play games. I'm very shortsighted. Well, you must take some
sort of exercise, run around Parker's piece or something, or
go and run at Fenner's. You'll get so fat. I
(19:27):
am getting fat. I don't think it matters much what
I look like. It matters what everyone looks like. And
now you'd better cut. I've got to go out and
see a man. Bunning submissively rose. He said no more,
but bundled out of the door in his usual untidy fashion.
Ova came after him and banged his oak behind him
(19:48):
in outer court, looking now so vast and solemn in
the silence of its snow. Bunning stopped pointed to the
gray building that towered over them. It was against a
wall like that that I he used to imagine God
on a night like this. You'll think that very silly,
he hurriedly added. There's Marshal coming. I know he'll be
(20:08):
at me about those Christian Union cards. Good night, he vanished.
But it was not Marshall. It was Rupert Craven The
boy was walking hurriedly, his eyes on the ground. He
was suddenly conscious of some one and looked up. The
change in him was extraordinary. His eyes had the heavy,
dazed look of one who has not slept for weeks.
(20:30):
His face was a yellow white, his hair unbrushed, and
his mouth moved restlessly. He started when he saw Ova. Oh, Craven,
you're looking seedy. What's the matter? And nothing? Thanks? Good night? No,
but wait a minute, come up to my rooms and
have some coffee. I haven't seen you for days. A
(20:51):
fortnight ago, Craven would have accepted with joy. Now he
shook his head. No, thanks, I'm tired. I have been
sleeping very well. Why's that overwork? No, it's nothing. I
don't know why it is. You ought to see somebody.
I know what not sleeping means. Why are you sleeping badly?
(21:13):
Craven's eyes met Olva's. No, I'm splendid. Thanks, but I
had about of insomna years ago. I shan't forget it.
You look all right. Craven's eyes were busily searching Oliva's face,
and then suddenly they stopped. I'm all right, he said, hurriedly, tired,
that's all Why do you never come and see me? Now? Oh,
(21:35):
I will come some time. I'm busy. What about Ova
stood a stern, dark figure against the snow. Oh, just busy.
Craven suddenly looked up as though he were going to
ask Olva a question. Then he apparently changed his mind,
muttered a good knight, and disappeared round the corner of
(21:55):
the building. Ova was alone in the court. From some
room came the sound of voices and laughter. From some
other room, a piano, some one called a name. In
little court, a sheet of stars drew the white light
from the snow to heaven. Ulva turned very slowly and
entered his black stairway. In his heart, he was crying,
(22:18):
how long can I stand this? Another day? Another hour,
this loneliness. I must break it. I must tell someone,
I must tell someone. As he entered his room, he
thought that he saw against the farther wall an old
gilt mirror, and in the light of it, a dark
figure facing him. A voice, heavy with some great, overburdening
(22:43):
sorrow spoke to him, how terrible a thing it is
to be alone with God? End of Chapter eight
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