They were getting a little agitated by all these elaborate preparations for the coming disclosure.
'Shut the door!' said Mr Wray, in a stage whisper. 'Now sit close and listen; I'm ready to explain the mystery.'
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IV 'I suppose,' said old Reuben, 'you have neither of you forgotten that, on the second day of our visit to Stratford, I went out in the afternoon to dine with an intimate friend of mine, whom I'd known from a boy, and who lived at some little distance from the town--'
'Forget that!' cried Annie! 'I don't think we ever shall--I was frightened about you, all the time you were gone.'
'Frightened about what?' asked Mr Wray sharply. 'Do you mean to tell me, Annie, you suspected--'
'I don't know what I suspected, grandfather; but I thought your going away by yourself, to sleep at your friend's house (as you told us), and not to come back till the next morning, something very extraordinary. It was the first time we had ever slept under different roofs--only think of that!'
'I'm ashamed to say, my dear'--rejoined Mr Wray, suddenly beginning to look and speak very uneasily--'that I turned hypocrite, and something worse, too, on that occasion. I deceived you. I had no friend to go and dine with; and I didn't pass that night in any house at all.'
'Grandfather!'--cried Annie, jumping up in a fright--'What can you mean!'
'Beg pardon, sir,' added 'Julius Caesar', turning very red, and slowly clenching both his enormous fists as he spoke--'Beg pardon; but if you was put upon, or made fun of by any chaps that night, I wish you'd just please tell me where I could find 'em.'
'Nobody ill-used me,' said the old man, in steady, and even solemn tones. 'I passed that night by the grave of William Shakespeare, in Stratford-upon-Avon Church!'
Annie sank back into her seat, and lost all her pretty complexion in a moment. The worthy carpenter gave such a start, that he broke the back rail of his chair. It was a variation on his usual performances of this sort, which were generally confined to cups, saucers, and wine-glasses.
Mr Wray took no notice of the accident. This was of itself enough to show that he was strongly agitated by something. After a momentary silence, he spoke again, completely forgetting the Kemble manner and the Kemble elocution, as he went on.
'I say again, I passed all that night in Stratford Church; and you shall know for what. You went with me, Annie, in the morning--it was Tuesday: yes, Tuesday morning--to see Shakespeare's bust in the church. You looked at it, like other people, just as a curiosity--I looked at it, as the greatest treasure in the world; the only true likeness of Shakespeare! It's been done from a mask, taken from his own face, after death--I know it: I don't care what people say, I know it. Well, when we went home, I felt as if I'd seen Shakespeare himself, risen from the dead! Strangers would laugh if I told them so; but it's true--I did feel it. And this thought came across me, quick, like the shooting of a sudden pain:-- I must make that face of Shakespeare mine; my possession, my companion, my great treasure that no money can pay for! And I've got it!--Here!--the only cast in the world from the Stratford bust is locked up in this old cash box!'
He paused a moment. Astonishment kept both his auditors silent.
'You both know,' he continued, 'that I was bred apprentice to a statuary. Among other things, he taught me to take casts: it was part of our business--the easiest part. I knew I could take a mould off the Stratford bust, if I had the courage; and the courage came to me: on the Tuesday, it came. I went and bought some plaster, some soft soap, and a quart basin--those were my materials--and tied them up together in an old canvas bag. Water was all I wanted besides; and that I saw in the church vestry, in the morning--a jug of it, left I suppose since Sunday, where it had been put for the clergyman's use. I could carry my bag under my cloak quite comfortably, you understand. The only thing that troubled me now was how to get into the church again, without being suspected. While I was thinking, I passed the inn door. Some people were on the steps, talking to some other people in the street: they were making an appointment to go all together, and see Shakespeare's bust and grave that very afternoon. This was enough for me: I determined to go into the church with them.'
'What! and stop there all night, grandfather?'
'And stop there all night, Annie. Taking a mould, you know, is not a very long business; but I wanted to take mine unobserved; and the early morning, before anybody was up, was the only time to do that safely in the church. Besides, I wanted plenty of leisure, because I wasn't sure I should succeed at first, after being out of practice so long in making casts. But you shall hear how I did it, when the time comes. Well, I made up the story about dining and sleeping at my friend's, because I didn't know what might happen, and because--because, in short, I didn't like to tell you what I was going to do. So I went out secretly, near the church; and waited for the party coming. They were late--late in the afternoon, before they came. We all went in together; I with my bag, you know, hid under my cloak. The man who showed us over the church in the morning, luckily for me, wasn't there: an old woman took his duty for him in the afternoon. I waited till the visitors were all congregated round Shakespeare's grave, bothering the poor woman with foolish questions about him. I knew that was my time, and slipped off into the vestry, and opened the cupboard, and hid myself among the surplices, as quiet as a mouse. After a while, I heard one of the strangers in the church (they were very rude, boisterous people) asking the other, what had become of the 'old fogey with the cloak?' and the other answered that he must have gone out, like a wise man, and that they had all better go after him, for it was precious cold and dull in the church. They went away: I heard the doors shut, and knew I was locked in for the night.'
'All night in a church! Oh, grandfather, how frightened you must have been!'
'Well, Annie, I was a little frightened; but more at what I was going to do, than at being alone in the church. Let me get on with my story though. Being autumn weather, it grew too dark after the people went, for me to do anything then; so I screwed my courage up to wait for the morning. The first thing I did was to go and look quietly, all by myself, at the bust; and I made up my mind that I could take the mould in about three or four pieces. All I wanted was what they call a mask: that means just a forehead and face, without the head. It's an easy thing to take a mask off a bust--I knew I could do it; but, somehow, I didn't feel quite comfortable just then. The bust began to look very awful to me, in the fading light, all alone in the church. It was almost like looking at the ghost of Shakespeare, in that place, and at that time. If the door hadn't been locked, I think I should have run out of the church; but I couldn't do that; so I knelt down and kissed the grave-stone--a curious fancy coming over me as I did so, that it was like wishing Shakespeare good night--and then I groped my way back to the vestry.