"Peter, Peter!" I shouted anxiously. "Don't lock it! Don't lock it! I am up here."
But do you suppose that Peter heard? Not a bit!
He opened the heavy church door and slammed it shut again. By that time I was right there, shouting and hammering at the door; but the key turned in the lock and Peter went his way round the corner.
Yes, he had gone, and there were we!
I was so afraid,—I don't believe I was ever so afraid in my whole long life! I hammered on the door with my fists, I shouted and screamed. Nobody heard me. Outside, the storm howled and roared.
No, I knew well enough that in such weather no one would think of coming to the churchyard, not even a child or a maid with a baby-carriage. And the church door opened on the churchyard, not on the street. It was impossible for any one to hear us all the way from the street in such a storm.
I turned around almost wild with fright. What could I do? Perhaps—perhaps we could get out through a window.
But if we tried that, we must go into the church itself. And just think! I got more afraid than ever when I thought of that, for all the ghost stories I had ever heard came to my mind. Suppose that Mina's great-grandfather, for instance, whose tomb was in there, should come walking down the church aisle, stiff and white!
I clutched Karl's hand so tightly that he screamed.
"Karl dear—little man—we must go into the church. You won't be afraid, will you?"