"Get another light," I said; "and let us both
go to the vestry together. Quick! quick!"

I hurried him into the house. The treachery
that I had every reason to expect, the treachery
that might deprive me of every advantage I had
gained, was, at that moment, perhaps, in process
of accomplishment. My impatience to reach
the church was so great, that I could not remain
inactive in the cottage while the clerk lit the
lantern again. I walked out, down the garden
path, into the lane.

Before I had advanced ten paces, a man
approached me from the direction leading to the
church. He spoke respectfully as we met. I
could not see his face; but, judging by his voice
only, he was a perfect stranger to me.

"I beg your pardon, Sir Percival——" he
began.

I stopped him before he could say more.

"The darkness misleads you," I said. "I am
not Sir Percival."

The man drew back directly.

"I thought it was my master," he muttered,
in a confused, doubtful way.

"You expected to meet your master here?"

"I was told to wait in the lane."

With that answer, he retraced his steps. I
looked back at the cottage, and saw the clerk
coming out, with the lantern lighted once more.
I took the old man's arm to help him on the
more quickly. We hastened along the lane, and
passed the person who had accosted me. As
well as I could see by the light of the lantern,
he was a servant out of livery.

"Who's that?" whispered the clerk. "Does
he know anything about the keys?"

"We won't wait to ask him," I replied.
"We will go on to the vestry first."

The church was not visible, even by daytime,
until the end of the lane was reached. As we
mounted the rising ground which led to the
building from that point, one of the village
children—a boy—came up to us, attracted by the
light we carried, and recognised the clerk.

"I say, measter," said the boy, pulling officiously
at the clerk's coat, "there be summun
up yander in the church. I heerd un lock the
door on hisself—I heerd un strike a loight wi'
a match."

The clerk trembled, and leaned against me
heavily.

"Come! come!" I said, encouragingly. "We
are not too late. We will catch the man,
whoever he is. Keep the lantern, and follow me as
fast as you can."

I mounted the hill rapidly. The dark mass
of the church-tower was the first object I
discerned dimly against the night sky. As I turned
aside to get round to the vestry, I heard heavy
footsteps close to me. The servant had
ascended to the church after us. "I don't mean
any harm," he said, when I turned round
on him; "I'm only looking for my master."
His tones betrayed unmistakable fear. I took
no notice of him, and went on.

The instant I turned the corner, and came in
view of the vestry, I saw the lantern-skylight
on the roof brilliantly lit, up from within. It
shone out with dazzling brightness against the
murky, starless sky.

I hurried through the churchyard to the door.

As I got near, there was a strange smell
stealing out on the damp night air. I heard a
snapping noise inside—I saw the light above
grow brighter and brighter—a pane of the glass
cracked—I ran to the door, and put my hand on
it. The vestry was on fire!

Before I could move, before I could draw my
breath, I was horror-struck by a heavy thump
against the door, from the inside. I heard the
key worked violently in the lock—I heard a
man's voice, behind the door, raised to a dreadful
shrillness, screaming for help.

The servant, who had followed me, staggered
back shuddering, and dropped to his knees.
"Oh, my God!" he said; "it's Sir Percival!"

As the words passed his lips, the clerk joined
us—and, at the same moment, there was a
last grating turn of the key in the lock.

"The Lord have mercy on his soul!" said
the old man. "He is doomed and dead. He
has hampered the lock."

I rushed to the door. The one absorbing
purpose that had filled all my thoughts, that had
controlled all my actions, for weeks and weeks past,
vanished in an instant from my mind. All
remembrance of the heartless injury the man's
crimes had inflicted; of the love, the innocence,
the happiness he had pitilessly laid waste; of
the oath I had sworn in my own heart to
summon him to the terrible reckoning that he
deserved—passed from my memory like a dream.
I remembered nothing but the horror of his
situation. I felt nothing but the natural human
impulse to save him from a frightful death.

"Try the other door!" I shouted. "Try the
door into the church! The lock's hampered.
You're a dead man if you waste another moment!"

There had been no renewed cry for help, when
the key was turned for the last time. There was
no sound, now, of any kind, to give token that
he was still alive. I heard nothing but the
quickening crackle of the flames, and the sharp
snap of the glass in the skylight above.

I looked round at my two companions. The
servant had risen to his feet: he had taken the
lantern, and was holding it up vacantly at the
door. Terror seemed to have struck him with
downright idiocy—he waited at my heels, he
followed me about when I moved, like a dog.
The clerk sat crouched up on one of the
tombstones, shivering, and moaning to himself. The
one moment in which I looked at them was
enough to show me that they were both helpless.

Hardly knowing what I did, acting desperately
on the first impulse that occurred to me, I
seized the servant and pushed him against the
vestry wall. "Stoop!" I said, "and hold by
the stones. I am going to climb over you to
the roof—I am going to break the skylight, and
give him some air!" The man trembled from
head to foot, but he held firm. I got on his
back, with my cudgel in my mouth; seized the
parapet with both nands; and was instantly on