Chapter TWENTY SEVEN: The Doctor's Opportunity (2)

"I've brought some tools, doctor," he whispered, as he took a large screw-driver from his pocket.

"I too have come provided," said the doctor, taking sundry implements from his black bag. "Now, Moredock, I want everything to remain here night after night, just as I leave it, ready for me when I come again."

"Come again?" growled the sexton.

"What, shan't you finish to-night?"

"Perhaps not this month," was the stern answer.

Moredock stared. "Why, you--"

"Hush!" said the doctor sternly. "Now, what are you going to do--stay and assist me, or go? If you have the slightest nervous dread, pray leave me at once."

"Nay, I'm not skeared, doctor," said the old man grimly. "I've seen too much o' this sort o' thing. I was a bit frightened when I saw that head going along through the church without the body, but I'm not feared of this."

"Stop, then, and help," said the doctor. "I'll pay you well. Can you use a screw-driver?"

Moredock chuckled and took off his coat, which he hung upon one of the ornamental handles of an old coffin foot. Then rolling up his shirt-sleeves over his thin, sinewy arms, he took up a screw-driver--one that he had brought--and as deftly as a carpenter began removing the screws from the handsome coffin-lid.

As Moredock attacked the head, the doctor busied himself at the foot, with the result that in a few minutes the screws were all laid together upon the stone ledge at the side of the vault, and the coffin-lid, with its engraved breast-plate, setting forth the name, age, and date, was lifted up, and stood on end out of the way.

"What will be the best way of opening this?" said the doctor, as he held the lamp over the gleaming lead inner coffin, with its diamond pattern and silvery-looking solder marks along the sides. "Had we better melt the solder?"

"Melt the sawder?" said Moredock, with a chuckle. "I'll show you a trick worth two of that."

He went to where his coat hung, and took out of one of the pockets a short, curved, chisel-looking tool with a keen point and a stout handle.

"There, doctor, that's the jockey for this job. Want it right open?"

"Yes; I want the lid right off. Can you manage it?"

"Can I manage it!" chuckled the old man derisively. "Look!"

Strange thoughts invaded the doctor's breast as to what at different times had been the pursuits of the old sexton, as he saw him take the singular-looking tool, place its point at the extreme right-hand corner of the leaden coffin, place his shoulder against the butt of the handle, and press down, when the point penetrated the thin lead at once, right over the top of the curved blade. The rest was simple, for the old man only worked the handle up and down close to the side where, acting as a lever, the curved steel cut through the metal with the greatest ease, an inch slit at a time, so that in a very few minutes the top corner was reached. Then the head was cut across, and the old man paused to go back to the foot and cut across there.

"Why didn't you continue cutting round?" said the doctor, speaking in a low, subdued tone.

"You let me be, doctor," said Moredock, with an unpleasant laugh. "If it was a leg, I shouldn't say naught, but let you do it. This is more in my way. Look here."

He finished cutting the lead as he spoke, and then with a grim laugh inserted his fingers in the slit, raised it a little, and then going to the uncut side, hooked his fingers in again, placed his knee against the coffin, and after the exercise of some little force, drew the long leaf of lead over towards him, the uncut side acting like the hinges of a lid, and laying bare the contents of the ghastly case.

"There," said the old sexton; "that means less trouble when we come to shut him up again."

"You seem to know," said the doctor quickly.

"Man in my line picks up a few things, doctor," replied the sexton. "But there you are. What next?"

The doctor took the lamp once more, and held it over the head of the coffin, to scan with the deepest interest the head and face revealed.

"Sheared!" said Moredock grimly; "what is there to be skeared on? Only seems to be asleep."

"Yes," said the doctor, gazing down and thoughtfully repeating the sexton's words; "seems to be asleep. Suppose he is?"

The old man stared with his jaw dropping, and his features full of wonder.

"Asleep? Nay, you said he'd broke his neck. No sleep that, poor chap."

"Hush!" said the doctor.

Moredock looked at him curiously, as he bent lower over the occupant of the coffin.

"Rum game for us if he were only asleep," muttered the sexton uneasily. "Dally wouldn't like that, and I shouldn't like it. That wouldn't do."

"Hale, strong--life arrested by that sudden accident," said the doctor, as he laid his hand upon the cold forehead. "It must be possible. I am satisfied now, and I will."

"Did you speak, doctor?" said Moredock.

"No. Yes," said North, setting down the lamp quickly. "Here, help me."

Moredock approached, wondering what was to be done next, and with a vague idea in his brain that the doctor was about to test whether the body before them contained any remains of life before making some examination for increasing his anatomical knowledge.

"Now, quick. Lift."

"We two can't lift that, doctor. It takes four men. Why, there was eight to bring it down."

"Can we shift it to the edge of this slab?"

"Ay, we might do that." And lifting first at the head, and then at the foot, they moved the coffin to the extreme edge of the stone table, leaving a good space on one side.

"Now, then, lift again. I will take the head; you the feet."

"What! lift him out, doctor?"

"Yes, man, yes. Don't waste time."

Moredock hesitated for a moment, and drew a long breath. Then, obeying the orders he had received, he helped to lift the body out upon the table, where it lay white and strange-looking in the yellow light.

"Now we can easily lift the coffin," said North. "Over yonder--out of the way."

The sexton uttered a low whistle, as he once more obeyed, taking the bottom handle of the massive casket, and it was placed on one side close to where a generation or two of the passed-away Candlishes lay in their bin-like niches.

This done, the old man passed his arm across his damp forehead.

"Mind me having a pipe, doctor?" he said uneasily. "This is a bit extry like. I didn't know--"

"No, no; you must not smoke here," said the doctor hastily. "One moment--into the middle of the table here."

Moredock obeyed again, and the recumbent figure of the dead squire was placed exactly where the coffin had stood.

"That will do," said North. "Now, Moredock, what do you say to a glass?"

"Glass? Ay, doctor. Want it badly," cried the old man eagerly, as the doctor produced a silver flask, drew the cup from the bottom, and gave it to the sexton.

Before doing so, however, North gave the flask a sharp shake, and the old man's eyes sparkled as his countenance assumed a suspicious look at this movement, so suggestive of medicine.

"I say, what is it?" he said.

"What is it? Cordial."

"Brandy?"

"No."

"Look here, doctor," said the old sexton hoarsely; "no games."

North paused.

"Shall I tell you what you are thinking, Moredock?" he said.

"Nay, you can't do that, clever as you are," cried the old man with a chuckle.

"I can. You are thinking that I have poison here, ready to give you a dose, so that you may die out of the way, and never be able to expose me by betraying what you have seen."

The old man's jaw dropped again, and his face grew more wrinkled and puckered up, if possible, as he scratched his head with one yellow claw.

"Well, it were some'at o' that kind," he said, with a grim chuckle.

"You old fool!" exclaimed the doctor; "don't I know that you could not expose me without exposing yourself? Do you think me blind?"

"Nay, doctor, nay; you're a sharp one. You can see too much."

"Have I not seen how dexterous you are at work of this kind? Do you think I cannot read what it all means? Moredock, I'll be bound to say that one way or another you have made yourself a rich man."

"No, no, doctor; no, no!" cried the sexton. "A few pounds gathered together to keep me out of the workus some day when I grow old."

"You think that I want to poison you, then, and to hide your body here?"

"Nay, nay, doctor, I don't. You haven't got no need, have you? Give us a drop of the stuff."

"Yes, we are wasting time," said North, pouring out a portion of the contents of his flask, and handing it to the old man, who took it, and, in spite of all said, smelt it suspiciously.

"'Tarn't poison, is it, doctor?" he said piteously.

"Yes, if you took enough of it. But that drop will not hurt you. There, don't be afraid. Toss it off. It is a liqueur."

The old man hesitated for a moment, gazing wildly at the doctor, and then tossed it off at a draught.

"There! Do you feel as if you are going to fall down dead, old man, and do you wonder which of these old niches I shall put you in?"

"Tchah! don't talk stuff, doctor," said the old fellow, putting his hand to his throat; "you wouldn't do such a thing. That's good! That's prime stuff. I never tasted nothing like that afore. It warms you like, and makes you feel ready to do anything. Skeared! Who's skeared? Tchah! What is there to mind? I'm ready, doctor. I'll help you. What shall I do next?"

"Sit down on that ledge for a bit till I want you."

"Ay, to be sure," chuckled the old sexton, as he seated himself on a low projection at the far end of the vault. "That's prime stuff. I could drink another drop of that, doctor. But you go on. Nobody can't see from outside, for I've put lights in here before now, and shut the doors of a night, and tried it. There isn't a crack to show; so you go on."

The doctor watched the weird-looking old man, as he settled himself comfortably, with his back in the corner, and went on muttering and chuckling.

"Brandy's nothing to it," he went on--"tasted many a good drop in my time. Eh? What say, doctor?"

"You shall have some more another time."

"Can't see outside. Sheared? Tchah! It wouldn't frighten a child."

The doctor approached him, but the old man took no notice, and went on muttering:

"He! he! he! I could tell you something. I will some day. Frighten a child. Old man? Tchah! Mean to live--long--Ah!"

The last ejaculation was drawn out into a long sigh, followed by a heavy, regular breathing.

North placed his fingers in the sexton's neckcloth to make sure that there was no danger of strangulation, and then turned away.

"Good for four or five hours, Master Moredock," he said; and then, with his face lighting up strangely--"in the service of science--ambition-- yes, and for the sake of love. Shall I succeed?"

He paused for a few minutes, bending over the body on the table.

"It seems very horrible, but it is only the dread of a man about to venture into the unknown. The first doctor who performed a serious operation must have felt as I do now, and--What's that?"

He started upright, throwing his head back, and shaking it quickly, as if he had suffered from a sudden vertigo.

"Pooh! nothing; a little excitement. Now for my great discovery, for I must--I will succeed."

He stooped down quickly, and took a bottle and a case of instruments from his black bag, when once more the curious sensation came over him, and he shook his head again.

"The air is close and stifling," he said, as he recovered himself. "I could have fancied that something brushed by my face."

Then, bending over the prostrate figure he rapidly laid bare again, four hours quickly passed away in the gloomy vault, where the yellowish rays of the shaded lamp shone directly down upon his busy fingers, and the stony face of him who lay motionless in his deep sleep.

Four hours, and then he laid his hand upon the old sexton, who started up wildly, and extended his claw-like hands, as if about to seize him by the throat.

Volume 2, Chapter VI.

THE DOCTOR IS NERVOUS.

"It's all very well, Master North, for you to come here bullying me about my health, and ordering me to go fishing, and half ruin myself with cigars," said the curate; "but I feel disposed to retort, `Physician, heal thyself.' Why, you're as white as so much dough."

"Nonsense!" cried the doctor hastily.

"Prisoner denies the impeachment," said Salis. "First witness--Mary Salis--what do you say?"

Mary smiled at North, as she said quietly:

"I think Doctor North looks worn and pale."

"There, you hear," cried Salis triumphantly.

"I'm not convinced," said North. "I shall call a witness on my side. Leo, will you speak for me?"

"Certainly I will," said Leo quietly, as she looked up from her inevitable book. "Do I look pale and worn out?" Leo shook her head.

"No," she said quietly. "I think you look very well. Only, perhaps, a little more earnest than of old."

"Thank you--thank you," cried the doctor eagerly.

"Why, he looks bad," said Salis; "and it's a horrible piece of imposture for him to come here bullying me and wanting to give me abominable decoctions, besides leading me into idleness and debauchery, when all the time he cannot keep himself right."

"Nonsense!" cried the doctor pettishly. "I never was better: never more busy."

"The fellow's a humbug," said Salis, bringing his hand down on the table with a rap. "I'll tell you what's the matter."

North turned upon him a look so full of mingled entreaty and annoyance that he checked himself.

"No," he said, laughing, "I am as bad as Horace North. I can't tell you what's the matter unless it is that he is working too hard over his craze."

North looked at him keenly, and his pallor increased.

"Well, I must be off up to the church. I want to see my friend, Moredock."

"To see Moredock?" said the doctor, with a quick, uneasy look at the speaker.

"Yes. I'm not satisfied with the old man's proceedings."

"What has he been doing?" said the doctor, who fidgeted in his seat, and seemed anything but himself.

"Oh, I'm going to make no special charges against him," said the curate. "Coming my way?"

"N-no, yes," said North, rising, and going to Mary's couch to shake hands, her eyes looking up into his with a calm, patient smile full of resignation and desire for his happiness, which he could not read.

He turned then to Leo, who was reading, and evidently deeply engrossed in her book.

"Going?" she said, letting it fall, and looking up with a placid smile. "What lovely weather, is it not?"

North said it was delightful, as he bent impressively over the extended hand, and gazed with something of a lover's rapture in the beautiful eyes that looked up into his; but there was no returning pressure of the hand; the look was merely pleasant and friendly, and, worn out with anxiety, sleeplessness, and watching, he could not help feeling a thirst for something more, if it were merely sympathy, instead of those calmly bland smiles and gently tolerant reception of his advances.

"Why, Horace, old man, I did not hurt you with my banter?" said Salis, as they walked up towards the church.

"Hurt me? No. I'm a little upset; that's all. Salis, old fellow, I'm not quite happy."

"No?" said the curate inquiringly, as he looked sidewise at his friend's wrinkled face.

"I seem to make no progress with Leo."

"Is that so, or is it your fancy?" said the curate guardedly.

"It is so. She seems to tolerate me. You notice it."

"I notice that she is very quiet and thoughtful with you, but really that is a good sign."

"You would like to see her my wife, Salis?"

"If it were for your happiness and hers, I would gladly see you man and wife," said the curate warmly; "but don't be hasty, my dear fellow. It is for life, remember."

"Remember? Oh, yes, I know all that," said North hastily.

Salis extended his hand, which the other took.

"Don't be offended with me, Horace, old friend. I wish to see you both happy."

"I know it, I know it," said the doctor; and then catching; sight of Moredock in the churchyard, he hesitated, half nervous as to what Salis might have to say to the old man, but, convinced the next moment that his fears were without base, he hurriedly said a few words and went away.

"I can't see it," said Salis bitterly. "They seem so thoroughly unsuited the one for the other. I wish it could have been so, for Leo's sake. Ah, well," he added, as he walked through the old gate, "time settles these things better than we can. Good morning, Moredock."

"Mornin', sir--mornin'."

"Is the vestry open?"

"Yes, sir; door's open, sir. You can go through the church or round at the back. Through the church is best."

"I prefer going round," said the curate gravely; and he went on round by the chancel, followed by the grim old sexton, who watched him furtively, and went up quite close, with his big yellow ears twitching, as Salis paused by the little path leading to the steps of the Candlish vault.

"What's that?" he said. "Eh? What, sir?" said Moredock, hastily stepping before him to snatch up a pocket-handkerchief and crumple it in his hands. "Only a bit of white rag, sir. Blowed there from somebody's washing hung out to dry."

"Nonsense!" said the curate sternly. "Give it to me."

"Doctor's," said Moredock to himself. "The fool!"

He handed the piece of linen unwillingly, and the curate took it, held it out, and turned to the corners, while the sexton's countenance lightened up.

"Humph! `T. Candlish, 24,'" said Salis, reading aloud. "The new baronet is going to favour the church, then, with his presence, I suppose," he added sarcastically, as Moredock drew a breath full of relief, but shivered again as he saw the curate glance at the mausoleum.

"Noo squire's, is it, sir?"

"Yes, and I beg his pardon," said the curate gravely, as he thought of how lately the young man's brother had been laid there to rest. "Moredock, ask Mrs Page to carefully wash and iron the handkerchief, and then you can send one of the school children over with it to the Hall."

"Yes, sir," said the sexton, with a feeling of relief.

"Now come into the vestry. I want to talk to you."

"Grumbling again--grumbling again," muttered the old man, as he followed his superior, to stand before him, humbly waiting for the lecture he expected to receive, but with his conscience quite at rest respecting the vault.

"Now, Moredock," said Salis, "I have received a letter from Mr May, in which he speaks very severely of the state of the churchyard."

"Why, he never said nothing when he were here."

"No; it seems as if he preferred to write, and in addition to complaining of the state of the grass, he thinks that the walks are in very bad condition."

"Why didn't he say so, then?"

"I tell you he preferred to write."

"How can I help the place looking bad when they sheep as Churchwarden Candlish put in was always galloping over the graves!"

"Yes; the sheep do make the place untidy," said the curate, with a sigh.

"And now it'll be just as bad as ever, for Squire Tom sent a fresh lot in 'smorning by one of his men."

"But the walks, Moredock--the weeds in the walks. You know I've complained before."

"Well, look how bad my back's been. How could I weed walks with a back as wouldn't bend; and seems to me, parson, as a man as has seen a deal, as it 'd be better if you mended your own ways about church 'fore you finds fault wi' an old servant like me."

"What do you mean?" said the curate sternly.

"Why, I mean that," said the old man, pointing to the floor with an extremely grubby finger. "I've got it to keep clean, and I do it; but you grumbled at me for smoking a pipe one day when I was digging a nasty grave. You said it wer'n't decent to smoke in the churchyard."

"I did, Moredock, and I repeat it."

"And I say as 'tarn't decent to smoke in vestry, and chuck the bits o' cigars about. You're always a-smoking now."

Salis turned crimson as he followed the direction of the pointing finger, and saw several traces of white ash and the stump of a cigar.

"Why, Moredock, I--I--"

"There, don't go and deny it, parson. You've took to smoking bad as any one now; and I've allus done my best about church, and it comes hard to be found fault on, and if it's coming to this, sooner I goes the better, and sooner Mr May finds fault with you the better, too."

The old man walked defiantly out of the vestry, and went toward his cottage, while Salis picked up the cigar stump and thrust it into his pocket.

"How provoking!" he said. "Must be growing fearfully absent, and dropped it. I'm sure I did not smoke here when I came yesterday--no, it was the day before--to find out about that old baptismal entry. I must have walked in smoking, and thrown the end of the cigar down. Good gracious! If May had seen me--or anybody else. It is outrageous. I'm growing quite a slave to the habit, and forgetful of everything I do. Tut--tut--tut! How provoking! The old man is quite right. How can I reproach him again!"

He walked gloomily back home, meeting Mrs Berens, and so absorbed in his thoughts that he passed without looking at her, making the fair widow flush and return hastily to her house, to be seized with a hysterical fit, which became so bad that North was summoned to administer sal volatile, and calm the suffering woman down, as she asked herself what had she done that dear Mr Salis should treat her so.

Meanwhile Jonadab Moredock had reached his cottage, raised the big wooden latch, and passed in with a sudden bounce, but only to start, as he found himself confronted by Dally Watlock.

"Ah, gran'fa!" cried the girl hastily, trying to conceal her confusion and something-else; "why, there you are!"

"Yes," said the old man suspiciously; "here I am, and what do you want?"

"Oh! only to say that you mustn't forget what you promised."

"Oh! I shan't forget," said the old man. "But you arn't--you arn't been meddlin' with anything, have you?" and he looked inquisitively round.

"Meddling; oh no, gran'fa, dear! I've only just come in, and I can't stop. But do help me. I should like some nice dresses, and you would like to see me there."

"What, missus up at the Hall, my lass? Yes, and you shall be, too. There, give's a kiss. Be a good gel, and you shall have some money and fine clothes and feathers; and I'll get a strong lot o' chaps together as shall ring the bells for hours the day you're wed."

"Oh, you dear old gran'fa. He shall marry me, shan't he?"

"Ay, that he shall, my pretty. Well, if you must go, good-bye."

"Yes, and he shall marry me, my fine madam," muttered Dally, as with flushed face and sparkling eyes she turned back to the Rectory. "Well, if it isn't Joe Chegg," she cried in a vexed tone, as she saw the young man coming, and turned through a gate into the river meadows, to avoid that rustic and get in by the back way.

"You think you can be very clever," continued Dally; "but other people can be clever, too. Let's be sure this is the right one," she added, as she drew a big key out of her pocket.

"Yes; that's the one he give me before. Two can play at that game, Miss," she continued, with a vicious look, as she thrust the stolen key into her pocket. "Ha--ha--ha! how foolish I can make her look. Jealous? No, I'm not jealous; for I'm going to win the day as soon as I've made quite sure."

Joe Chegg was in pursuit, but Dally took the back way through the Rectory orchard, and passed Leo on her way in. "Been out, Dally?"

"Yes, Miss. And I'm very busy. And yes, Miss!" she added, as soon as she was alone; "I've got the key in my pocket. You're very clever; but perhaps Dally Watlock can be clever, too."

Volume 2, Chapter VII.

JOE CHEGG FETCHES HIS TOOLS.

"I don't like it, and I mean to find it out," said Joe, scratching his head on one side. "And if I find as there be anything going on twix' new squire and she, why I'll--"

Joe Chegg did not say what he would do, but raised the other hand to give his head a good scratch on the far side.

He then paused in his work to stand and examine it, his mind wandering amid the flowers which hung in wreaths; and these wreaths of brilliant hues naturally associated themselves with Dally Watlock, the young lady who had made a very deep impression, and was now causing the young man great uneasiness of spirit.

Joe Chegg was the universal genius of Duke's Hampton, and was ready to turn his hand to anything. Did a neighbour's saucepan leak, Joe said it was a pity to send it over to the town, when maybe he would set it right by clumsily melting a dab of solder over the hole. Did Mrs Berens' gate want mending, Joe Chegg would bring up a hammer and nails and armour-clothe the woodwork with the amount of iron he attached. He was great upon locks. As a rule they did not lock much when he had attacked them; but Joe generally got the credit of having done them good.

He worked in iron and in lead, but he was more wooden than anything else, and delighted in having an opportunity to use a saw.

Nothing, however, pleased him better than being sent for at times to do up the Rectory or Mrs Berens' garden, where he would in one day do more mischief to flower and vegetable than an ordinary jobbing gardener would achieve in three: and if it were the time of year when he had an opportunity to prune, why, then the poor trees had a holiday, for they had neither flower nor fruit to carry for the next two or three seasons.

On the present occasion, Mrs Berens had found half-a-dozen rolls of paper-hanging of one pattern stored away in the attic, and had decided to have a small room papered therewith.

Now, being a sensitive lady with but little knowledge of human nature, in her ignorance of the fact that the party appealed to would have come at once and made a good job of it for Mrs Berens and himself, this lady now felt that the King's Hampton painter would not care to come and paper her room as she had not purchased the paper of him, so Joe Chegg was thought of, and set to work.

It had taken him a long time to begin, for he had to make his own paste. Then while the paste was cooling, he had to fetch his scissors, and it was while fetching these that he had seen, given chase to, and missed Dally Watlock.

He had returned to his work and trimmed the rolls of paper, frowning very severely the while.

That took him to dinner-time, with the paper suggesting Dally at every turn. It rustled like Dally's clothes did when she whisked round; the selvage he cut off ran up into curls like Dally's hair; it smelt like Dally--a peculiarly fresh, soapy odour; it suggested a snug cottage that he would paper with his own hands; and then, too, the pattern--how he would like to buy Dally a dress like that.

After dinner the paper still suggested Dally so much, as aforesaid, with its wreaths and flowers that as Joe Chegg worked away he had slowly achieved to the hanging of three pieces, when Mrs Berens, all silk and scent and lace, rustled into the room to see how he was getting on.

"Why, Joe," she exclaimed; "you've hung it upside down!"

It was no wonder, for ever since he had seen Dally that morning, Joe Chegg had been upside down.

He did not, like Mr Sullivan's immortalised British workman, say, "It'll be all right when it's dry," but looked sheepish, and stared hard at the paper, to see that the roses were all hanging their heads, and the stems pointing straight up.

"Upside down, ma'am?" he said, with a feeble smile.

"Yes, Joe; and you a gardener. Now, did you ever see flowers grow like that?"

"When they've come unnailed, ma'am," said Joe, with a happy thought.

"Nonsense, man! It looks ridiculous."

"Shall I peel it off, ma'am?"

"No; absurd! You must paper all over that again. It's just so much waste of paper-hanging. There, don't stare, man, but go on."

Mrs Berens was rather cross, and she snubbed Joe Chegg in a way that brought tears to the young man's eyes, which he concealed by stooping over the paste pail, and slopping about the contents so vigorously that Mrs Berens, in dread for her garments, hastily beat a retreat.

"It's of no good," said Joe Chegg, "a man can't hang paper properly when he's in love; and when he's crossed and crissed and bothered as I am, he feels a deal more fit to hang himself. I'll go and do it!"

This expression of a determination, however, alluded to something in Joe Chegg's mind which had nothing whatever to do with what lawyers term in legal language _sus per col_. He had made certain plans in his own head, and the cogitating over these had resulted in Mrs Berens' paper-hangings being upside down; and for the furtherance of these plans he packed up his work for the day, went down into the kitchen, where he announced to the maids that he was going to fetch his tools, and then started off home.

That night Joe Chegg behaved furtively. He waited until it was dusk, and then went out cautiously as a conspirator, as he thought, but made enough noise to put any one upon his guard, while he felt satisfied himself that his secrecy and care were surprising.

"She can't deceive me," he said to himself with a satisfied grin, and, going along by fence-side and hedge, he placed himself in a position to watch, which would not have deceived a child.

The place he chose was opposite the sexton's, where he waited till Moredock came out, somewhere about the time when other people went to bed.

Joe Chegg hailed this as a sign that the coast would be clear, and Dally Watlock soon make her appearance to keep an appointment, for he had good reason to believe that she did meet somebody, and it was to have a certain proof that he was there.

But the hours wore on, and no Dally made her appearance, and Joe Chegg's hands went very far down into his pockets, and his forehead grew deeply knit.

Volume 2, Chapter VIII.

WHY DALLY BORROWED THE KEY.

There was a reason for Dally's non-appearance at the sexton's cottage, and that reason was that she did not stir out of the Rectory that evening, but was exceedingly attentive if the bell was rung, and about ten o'clock presented herself at the study door to know if there was anything else wanted before she went up to bed, for it was to be a busy morning, and she wanted to be up early, etcetera, etcetera.

Mary wanted nothing more, and Leo gave consent, so Dally Watlock went up to bed, but did not go.

On the contrary, she bustled about for some little time without attempting to undress, spoke to her fellow-servant through the plaster wall, and ended by yawning loudly and extinguishing her candle. Then softly opening her window she sat down by it to enjoy the softness and beauty of the dark, calm night.

The old Rectory at Duke's Hampton stood back fifty yards from the road, with its back to the meadows through which ran the sparkling trout-stream. There was a fine old garden full of bushy evergreens and tall, flowering shrubs, so that partly through the efforts of nature, partly through the running of the ancient gardener who had planned the place ingeniously, it was quite possible for half-a-dozen people to be about the place at once without being aware of each other's presence.

The beautiful old ivy-clad place was built in the shape of an L, with steep gable-ends; and matters had been so arranged that while Salis and poor invalid Mary slept in the front, Leo's pretty bedroom was placed so that she could look straight down the green-embowered path right to the meadows. Just below her window was an old rustic summer-house, covered with clematis and jasmine; a little more to the right, in the angle of the L, was a tiny vinery, and beyond that the lean-to tool-house--made an object of beauty by the dense mass of ivy which clustered over the thatched roof and walls.

Hence it was that while Leo could look down on the creeper-covered summer-house, and across at the ivy-clad tool-house and the rose-encircled bedroom window of Dally Watlock, the latter apple-cheeked young lady enjoyed the reverse view, with the slight disadvantage that when she looked across at Leo's window, she could not see roses, but the long, laurel-like leaves of a great magnolia, carefully trained all round--a matter not of the smallest importance, for Dally preferred the window to its surroundings.

Daily's proceedings were strange that night. She sat there eager and watchful till there was a sudden glow in Leo's window, indicating that her young mistress had gone up to bed. Then as she watched she saw the blind drawn aside, and a shadowy hand unfasten the casement, throw it open, and put in the iron hook.

Dally drew a long breath full of satisfaction, and then waiting till the blind dropped and the shadow of Leo appeared upon it from time to time, she proceeded to behave in a remarkably strange manner for a young person whose character means her life as a domestic servant.

Dally said softly through her nipped-together teeth:

"I thought as much, ma'am!" and then, with all the activity of a boy of fourteen, she tied a dark handkerchief tightly over her head and under her chin, stepped from her chair on to the window-sill, lowered herself on to the top of the tool-house, where she lay flat down in the bed of leaves, to form, had it been light, as prettily rustic-looking an idea for an artist of a Dryad in her leafy wreath as he need wish to have.

But Dally Watlock was not going to have a night's rest _al fresco_, for she was exceedingly wide awake, and as soon as she was extended at full length parallel with her part of the house, and with her feet towards that portion where her superiors slept, she began to revolve upon her own axis in a very slow and careful manner, down and down the ivy slope of the lean--to thatched shed, there being plenty of stout ivy-boughs for her to grasp, so as to act as breaks and govern her speed. Now she was on her side, then as she slowly turned, her little red face was buried in the dark green leaves. A little more and it came up, and she was on the other side, and soon after upon her back. And so on and on till, merely crushing down the leaves a little, and without breaking a twig, she rolled down to the very edge, when, holding on tightly by the ivy, she let her legs drop, and touched the earth, making scarcely any more noise than a cat.

She remained perfectly motionless for a few minutes, and then crept stealthily to the main green walk in the garden, gazed watchfully back at Leo's window, where the head and shoulders of her young mistress could be plainly seen upon the illuminated blind, and then ran swiftly down the grass path to the iron hurdle which separated the garden from the meadow, climbed it like a boy and as quickly, and then ran rapidly across the meadows in the direction of the church.

Dally Watlock had not gambolled about the old sexton's knees as a child for nothing. She had been with the old man constantly, and been furnished by him with strange playthings in her time. To wit, there was a bag of buttons that had afforded her endless amusement, some being black, others silvered, while a certain portion were of superior make and richly gilt. Moredock called them buttons, but their shapes were peculiar, and looked as if they had been driven into the material to which they had been attached, instead of sewn. There were some ornaments, too, of stamped metal which had always been great favourites with Dally, from the fact of their containing the plump faces of baby boys with curly hair and wings.

Dally had many a time sat perched upon a tombstone and eaten apples while "gran'fa" dug graves, and the sight of the old man growing lower and lower as he dug, till from being buried to his knees he went down to his waist, to his chest, and then quite out of sight, was always full of fascination for the child.

As a natural result, the church had been a familiar playground on Saturdays, when, as the old man dusted and arranged cushions and hassocks, Dally would have scandalised a looker-on, for she played at visiting, treating the pews as houses, the aisles of the church as streets, and made calls after duly knocking at all the pew doors, the knocker being temporary in every case, and formed of a large, old, tarnished gilt coffin handle, which she held up with her left chubby fingers while she knocked with the right.

Moredock used to grin and enjoy it, petting the child, and humouring her in every way. She would be his companion in the belfry when he tolled or chimed the bells, and was even allowed to take a pull at one of the ropes, while they had often afforded her opportunities for a swing.

Dally Watlock, then, in earlier life had stolen away from home as often as possible, and was as familiar with the church roof, tower, and interior, as her grandfather; hence, on the night when she stole out of the Rectory and ran across the meadows, she had no difficulty in the way of the plan she had designed, which was to reach the old lych-gate, try whether it was locked, and, if so, climb it.

It was locked, and she clambered over quickly and silently, took a short cut among the graves to the old railed tomb, close to the big buttress by the centre south window that had once contained stained glass. Here the smaller casement used for ventilation readily opened at the insertion of the blade of a pocket-knife, leaving room for the active girl, who had reached it by climbing up and standing upon the tomb railings, to pass through and lower herself into the dark interior of the church.

Here, standing upon the cushions of one of the primitive old square pews, she crouched and listened breathlessly; but all was still, and after satisfying herself as far as she could that she was alone, she slipped down, passed through the door into the aisle, and then on and on, bent almost double, so as to keep below the level of the pew tops, where the darkness was intense.

The girl's every movement was as lithe and stealthy as that of some wild animal; always on the alert for danger and ready for instant flight; but there seemed to be no cause for fear, and she crept on and on till the rood-screen was reached, and she passed into the chancel, where she soon lay down by the ornamental railings of the Candlish tomb, between it and the oak panels of that family's pew, where there was an interval quite large enough to hide her compact little frame.

It was not so dark here, for a faint twilight streamed in through the great east window; but still the gloom was too deep for any one who passed to be recognisable.

Dally listened, and still crouched there, with her heart beating fast and her keen eyes roving from place to place as her ears strove to catch the faintest sound. The two grotesque effigies of the Candlishes reclined just above her head, the tablets on the walls faintly shimmered, and a dark mass--the pulpit--loomed up beyond the rood-screen, and all was so still that her breath sounded to her laboured, and as if passing through rustling paper.

After carefully scrutinising the place in all directions, she fixed her eyes upon the dark patch with pointed top which represented the way into the vestry. It was just opposite to her, and seemed to be the great object of her nocturnal journey.

For a few minutes all was still. Then there was a faint chirruping noise which emanated from Dally's lips, as she backed softly a little more into her hiding-place.

No response!

She chirruped again, and failing to obtain any reply, she made a quick motion with one hand, the result being a sharp rap as if a tiny stone had struck the vestry door to make a second sound as it fell upon the stone floor.

No response!

"Safe!" whispered Dally to herself, and making a faint rustling sound, she glided out from her hiding-place, and crossing the chancel, raised the heavy latch of the vestry door.

There was a faint _click_ as she passed in and closed it after her. Then another rustling sound, and a peculiar rattling noise, for Dally had drawn the large key she had borrowed from the sexton's cottage, placed it in the lock of the spiral staircase leading up to the rood-loft, opened it, and after withdrawing and inserting the key on the inner side, she crept in, locked the door, went rapidly up to the opening where she had sat during the funeral service, and then resting her arms upon the carved stone tracery, she thrust her head and shoulders as far forward as she could, and listened and waited for what was to come.

Volume 2, Chapter IX.

WATCHERS.

The old church at Duke's Hampton, a fine old structure, built in the latter part of the thirteenth century, stood calm and still upon its eminence that dark night. The older folks at the village said it was terribly haunted "arter dark," and the younger believed. Strange sights and sounds were said to have been seen and heard. Ghostly forms glided on silent wing round the tower and swept low amongst the tombs, uttering weird shrieks. Curious mutterings and croaks were heard on high among the corbels and demoniacal gargoyles, the holes in the tower among the ivy, and low moans often proceeded from the shuttered windows where the big bells hung.

All true, for down there in leafy Warwickshire there were plenty of owls, daws, starlings, and pigeons to make the old ivy-clothed building a bird sanctuary where they were never touched. They seemed to belong to "my church;" to Moredock; and he never took nest or destroyed their young.

On the night when Dally Watlock took upon herself to watch, high up in the rood-loft, steps approached the church from the back, about half an hour later, and a dark figure entered the churchyard, to walk cautiously and silently up towards the outer door of the vestry.

As it silently crossed the yard, a head slowly appeared above the wall, and watched the tall dark figure for a few minutes, as it seemed to glide in and out among the tombstones, and then fade completely away.

The watcher held on by the churchyard wall for a few minutes, rigid and paralysed. There was a faint sound of breathing heard, but it was catching and spasmodic, as if the watcher were in pain. But at last, after gazing in the direction where the dark figure had disappeared, with starting eyes, and a sensation on the top of the head as if the cap there was being softly lifted, the gentleman of inquiring mind tried to wrench his hands from where they clutched the top of the wall.

It was a momentary act, resulting in his grasping the coping-stone more tightly, and uttering the words:

"Ha' mussy upon us!" For Joe Chegg felt his legs give way at the knees, and that he was bathed in a cold perspiration.

"If I can only get back safe home again," he moaned to himself, "never no more--never no more!"

He felt that he had gazed for the first time at one of the peripatetic horrors of which he had heard since he was a child, and in which he had always religiously believed. In fact, he would never have ventured to the churchyard at midnight had he not been moved by one of the strongest passions of our nature. He had gone there most fully convinced that somewhere about he would encounter the gentleman who met Dally Watlock; and to emphasise their meeting, he had brought his smallest mallet from his tool-basket, as being a handy kind of tool.

But he had not reckoned upon seeing a tall dark figure draped in a long black cloak glide silently by him, growing taller and taller as it disappeared, leaving him with his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth, and without the wit to consider that where he stood in the meadow he was in the dry ditch, that the churchyard wall formed a kind of haha at that spot by the rise of the earth resulting from centuries of interments; and that, in addition, there was a steep slope up to the church, sufficient to make any one standing by the vestry door ten feet above his head.

But Joe Chegg would not have believed these simple physical facts had they been explained to him. He had seen a veritable spirit that might mean his own "fetch." Whether or no, he wanted to go home and keep his own counsel, mentally vowing--as he at last wrenched himself away, and ran as hard as he could over the dewy grass--that, come what might, he would, if he were spared, never run such a risk again.

He was in the act of dragging himself away, thankful that he was on the meadow-side of the wall, when a low muttering moan rose upon the night air, from the direction in which the monstrous figure had disappeared; and that moan acted as a spur to the frightened man.

It was simple enough, as simple as the explanation of other supernatural sounds, for as the dark figure stood close to the vestry door for a few moments and at last uttered an impatient "tut-tut-tut," there was a grumbling, muttering sound from a horizontal stone, and Moredock rose, saying in a low voice:

"All right, doctor--all right. I was half asleep, and didn't hear you come."

The next moment they had entered the Candlish vault, and the door was closed, Moredock directly after proceeding to strike a match.

"How much longer's this a-going on?" he grumbled.

"Till I have finished," said the doctor sternly; but there was a strange intonation of the voice--a peculiar manner--which made the sexton, as he struck the light and held it to the candle in his lanthorn, gaze sharply at the speaker.

"All right, doctor. I don't grumble; you'll give me my dose again-- seems to settle and comfort a man while he's waiting."

"Yes, yes, of course," said North hastily.

"You can rouse me up if I drop off to sleep, doctor. Couldn't get my nap i' the chair 'safternoon, and it makes a man a bit drowsy."

North lit his lamp, which stood ready upon the stone table, and the yellow light filled the grim place with its soft glow once more--a pleasantly subdued light which displayed the surrounding niches and the empty coffin of the late squire, and shone softly upon gilt plate, handle, and tarnished nail, but lay in an intense ring of brightness upon the table that bore it and the sawdust around.

The customary portion from the flask was poured out, and swallowed by the old sexton with a satisfied smack of the lips before he set down the glass upon a coffin-lid.

"Ha! that's fine, doctor," he said with a loud laugh, as his countenance puckered into a goblin grin. "Cordial that is. Goes down into a man's toes and the tips of his fingers, and makes his heart beat. You're a clever one, doctor--a clever one, that you are. Rouse me up if you want me. I may go to sleep again--I may go to sleep."

"Yes, yes, I'll call you," said North, as the old man seated himself once more in his corner with head against the wall, while before the doctor had settled the shade of his lamp to his satisfaction, a stertorous snore came from Moredock's corner, accompanied at intervals by a low moaning gasp.

"How easy to produce death!" said North, in a low voice. "Science gives us the power to cause that and sleep, which is its semblance, at our will. Why should it be more difficult to produce life?"

"How many nights is this?" he continued. "Ten, and I seem no nearer-- nay, further away, for--ah!" he ejaculated savagely, "there is that wretched coward shrinking again."

He shivered and looked hastily round as he drew in his breath hard and with a curious catch.

"Good heavens! of what am I afraid? The first amputator, the first explorer into Nature's hidden paths, where she guards her secrets so religiously--they only felt the same. Have I gone so far only to hesitate to go further?"

He stood shrinking, with his hand clutching the white cloth spread over the table, and his eyes fixed on vacancy.

"Am I--an experienced medical man--to be frightened by a shadow? I say that there is nothing wrong in my researches," he cried passionately, as if addressing some one in the corner of the vault. "It is for the benefit of posterity. My experiments upon this vile body here are right.

"And yet I feel as if I cannot go further," he muttered, with the same abject shiver attacking him again; "as if I dared not--as if I must pause, and I have learned so much. I dare not! It is as if the hand of one's guardian angel were laid upon my breast, and a voice whispered--`Rash man, pause before it is too late!'"

He caught at the nearest object for support, for he was weak with excitement, and his face looked ghastly in the gloom, as he stood there trembling till he realised what he, the living, had seized to sustain him--a coffin handle--and snatched his fingers away with a cry of horror, to shrink back and rest against the further side of the vault, but only to start away again, for his shoulder was against another coffin.

He glanced at Moredock, but the old man was sleeping heavily, and once more he looked wildly round the vault.

"I cannot go on," he groaned; "it is too horrible. There is a terror beyond that dark veil which seems to hold me back. I'll wake him up. This night shall end it all, and I'll rest in peace, contented with what I know. I dare go no further."

He drew a long breath, as if relieved, and felt stimulated by his thoughts. It was all so simple to try and leave everything as nearly as possible in its old state, generously recompense the old sexton, and return to his regular course. The proceedings of the past would be the joint secret of Moredock and himself.

"I've done," he said. "I'll be satisfied. It is too horrible to go on."

He crossed to the old man, who was now sleeping quite peacefully, and had raised his hand to shake him and bid him rise and help, but his hand stopped within a few inches of the old sexton's shoulder, and he stepped back with an ejaculation full of anger.