At length—it was near the hour of four—they came to the head of Wall street once more, and paused in front of the portals of unfinished Trinity.
"Here you must leave me," cried Barnhurst, in a tone of desperation, "I have an appointment in this church at the hour of four. Leave me,—at least for a little while—"
But Arthur held fast the false clergyman's arm.
"I will never leave you," he said. "Keep your appointment, I will witness it. It will be very interesting to know what business it is, that can bring you to this unfinished church at the hour of four in the morning."
Barnhurst set his teeth together in silent rage.
"You cannot,—cannot,—" he began.
"Not a word," sternly interrupted Dermoyne. "Go in and keep your appointment like a man of your word."
Barnhurst led the way, and they passed under heavy piles of scaffolding into the dark church. Dark indeed, and unenlivened by a single ray of light. All around was silent as the grave. The profound stillness was well calculated to strike the heart with awe, and Arthur and Barnhurst, as they groped their way along, did not utter a word.
"Here, near the third pillar, I am to meet him," whispered Barnhurst.
"Give me your left hand, then; I will conceal myself behind the pillar, and hold you firmly, while you converse with your friend."