"Church Lane was never so long as all this," asserted Mrs. Pope, coming to a desperate halt; "and you needn't try to persuade me."
"It does seem a long way," Miss Gabriel conceded; "but no doubt the fog magnifies things."
"You had the same tale just now, about the church bell. For my part, I don't believe in your church bell, and—listen!"
"Eh?"
"It has stopped ringing!"
So it had. It was too much, perhaps, to say that Miss Gabriel's blood ran cold, there in the darkness, as Mrs. Pope clutched and clung to her; but certainly her heart sunk.
"All the better," she said, bravely, clenching her jaw that her teeth might not be heard to chatter. "Whoever was ringing the bell will be returning this way presently, and we can ask his help."
But here inspiration came to Mrs. Pope.
"It's my belief," she said, "we are not in Church Lane at all, but in the churchyard; and these rails don't belong to Church Lane, but to old Bonaday's grave."
"My dear Charlotte! When we've been following them for at least two hundred yards!"