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Updated: May 23, 2025
He loved small children and would have allowed them to run riot on the Cathedral greens had he not been checked, and he had a pride in the Cathedral that would drive him to any sacrifice in his defence of it. It was natural enough that he should hate the very sight of Davray, and when that gentleman appeared he hung about in the background hoping that he might catch him in some crime.
But they'll get it in the neck for that. This place can bide its time. Just when you think you're its master it turns and stamps you out." Falk said nothing. Davray seemed irritated by his silence. "You wait and see," he said. "It amuses me to see your governor walking up the choir on Sundays as though he owned the place. Owned it! Why, he doesn't realise a stone of it! Well, he'll get it.
You can do what you like with me. You wonder! You wonder!" Falk looked at him. The man was mad. He was holding on to the railing, leaning forward, staring.... "Look here, it isn't safe to lean like that. You'll be tumbling over and breaking your neck if you're not careful." But Davray did not hear him. He was lost in his own dreams.
Outside, as they went down the street still obscured with the wet mist, Davray poured out a flow of words to which he seemed to want no answer. "I hope you didn't mind my speaking to you like that a bit unceremonious. But to tell you the truth I'm lonely sometimes. Also, if you want to know the whole truth and nothing but the truth, I'm a bit tipsy too. Generally am.
The thought that this man should be in the Cathedral at all was shocking to him and, in his present mood, quite intolerable. He saw, dim though the light was, that the man was drunk now. Davray lurched forward a step, then said huskily: "Well, so your fine son's run away with Hogg's pretty daughter."
Please yourself, Mr. Brandon." "Oh paying!" He fumbled in his pocket, produced half-a-crown, gave it to Hogg without looking at him and went out. Davray followed, slouching through the room and passage with the conceited over-careful walk of a man a little tipsy.
Ronder, moved as always by beauty, smiled as though in answer to the dead Bishop. "Why! you're the most alive thing in this Cathedral," he thought to himself. "Pretty good bit of work, isn't it?" he heard at his elbow. He turned and saw Davray, the painter. The man had been pointed out to him in the street; he knew his reputation.
He fainted, slipping to the ground like a man tired out. There, half an hour later, Lawrence found him. The Last Tournament Just as he closed the heavy door behind him there sprang up, close to him, as though from nowhere at all, that horrible man Davray.
He must not think of that man, must not allow him to seize his thoughts. Hogg Davray. Had he dreamt that horrible scene in the Cathedral? Could that have been? He lifted his hand and, as it were, tore the scene into pieces and scattered it on the line. He had command of his thoughts, shutting down one little tight shutter after another upon the things he did not want to see.
"I shouldn't wonder if the Queen isn't feeling more lonely to-day than she has ever felt in all her life before." And then they saw that dreadful man, Davray, lurching along. He was lonely, but then he deserved to be, with his drink and all. Wicked man! Mrs. Bentinck-Major shivered. She didn't know how he dared to go to church. He shouldn't be allowed. On such a day, too.
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