Silas Kirby, the sexton, bowed to the visitors, and in a few muffled words intimated his readiness to oblige them, and walked on before, swinging a large key in his hand.
When he reached the church door he put the key in the ponderous lock, turned it with a great twist, and unlocked it with a loud noise.
The travelers entered an obscurity of rich light and shade from stained glass windows, half-hidden in ivy, and glowing down upon dark oaken pews and tessellated floor.
When their eyes became accustomed to the semidarkness, the travelers went up toward the chancel, and saw the recumbent effigy of the founder of the family of Anglesea, and memorial tablets of many of their descendants.
Some little time was spent in reading the inscriptions upon these monuments, and examining the paintings on the walls between the windows; and then Mr. Force inquired:
“Is the monument of the late Lady Mary Anglesea in this church?”
“Noa, maister; not in the church.”
“Are her remains in the vault?”
“Loikely they be, maister. I ha’ not had occasion to go into t’ vault since I coom to t’ parish.”
“Then you were no here when Lady Mary Anglesea died, then?”