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HANNAH.
[_Hysterically flinging herself upon THE DEAN._] Oh, Master, Master!
THE DEAN.
[_Putting her from him sternly._] Hannah! Mrs. Topping!
HANNAH.
Oh, I know, I know, but crime levels all, dear sir!
THE DEAN.
You appear to misapprehend the precise degree of criminality which attaches to me, Mrs. Topping. In the eyes of that majestic, but imperfect instrument, the law, I am an innocent if not an injured man.
HANNAH.
Ah, stick to that, sir! Stick to it, if you think it's likely to serve your wicked ends!
[_Placing bread with other things on the table._
THE DEAN.
My good woman, a single word from me to those at the Deanery, would instantly restore me to home, family, and accustomed diet.
HANNAH.
Ah, they all tell that tale what comes here. Why don't you send word, Dean dear?
THE DEAN.
Because it would involve revelations of my temporary moral aberration!
HANNAH.
[_Putting her ap.r.o.n to her eyes with a howl._] Owh!
THE DEAN.
Because I should return to the Deanery with my dignity--that priceless possession of man's middle age!--with my dignity seriously impaired!
HANNAH.
Oh, don't, sir, don't!
THE DEAN.
How could I face my simple children who have hitherto, not unreasonably, regarded me as faultless? How could I again walk erect in the streets of St. Marvells with my name blazoned on the Records of a Police Station of the very humblest description?
[_Sinking into a chair and s.n.a.t.c.hing up a piece of breads which he begins munching._
HANNAH.
[_Wiping her eyes._] Oh, sir, it's a treat to hear you, compared with the hordinary criminal cla.s.s. But, master, dear, though my Noah don't recognize you--through his being a stranger to St. Marvells--how'll you fare when you get to Durnstone?
THE DEAN.
I have one great buoyant hope--that a word in the ear of the Durnstone Superintendent will send me forth an unquestioned man. You and he will be the sole keepers of my precious secret. May its possession be a lasting comfort to you both.
HANNAH.
Master, is what you've told me your only chance of getting off unknown?
THE DEAN.
It is the sole remaining chance of averting a calamity of almost national importance.
HANNAH.
Then you're as done as that joint in my oven!
THE DEAN.
Woman!
HANNAH.
The Superintendent at Durnstone--John Ruggles--also the two Inspectors, Whitaker and Parker----
THE DEAN.
Well!
HANNAH.
Them and their wives and families are chapel folk!
THE DEAN.
[_Aghast._] No!
HANNAH.
Yes. [_THE DEAN totters across to a chair, into which he sinks with his head upon the table._] Master! Listen!
THE DEAN.
It's all over! It's all over!
