The words, and the way of saying them, quickened the Parson to tremendous life.
"You're right, old friend," he cried, his voice naming in the gloom.
"Death to face, but nothing to fear."
"Death to face," echoed the old man, "and Christ to follow."
II
"I'm distressed to disturb you," came a cold voice from without. "But time's nearly up."
"You said five minutes, sir!" called Kit.
"You've had three, my boy. You've got two."
"And we'll make good use of em," gasped the Parson, and raced up the ladder.
Snatching the despatch-bag from the staple, he tumbled the contents on the floor, and set the whole ablaze. The papers curled and crackled; and their dreadful secret escaped joyfully in merry little flames.
"May God deal so with all traitors in his own good time!" prayed the
Parson.