“I don’t like disturbing people so late; but it makes me very uneasy. Do you think the little ones would be quiet while we both went?”
The suggestion now offered by Beaky Jem, that the governor might be “a bit on,” was, when interpreted, scouted with indignation; and it was at last determined that Patty should stay, while Mrs Jared and Beaky Jem went to Purkis’s for the keys, and then searched the church, with or without the beadle’s aid.
“Which he won’t turn out of his warm bed, bless you,” said Mr Chawner; “he’s too—”
He did not finish his sentence, for as Mrs Jared, bonneted and shawled, stood with the others in the passage, there came a buzz of voices at the front door, and, directly after, a gentle double knock.
“There’s something wrong, Patty,” gasped Mrs Jared, holding her hand to her side, while the one apostrophised admitted Mr Timson, the vicar, and Purkis the beadle, all very muffled and snowy.
“Something struck me that you wouldn’t be in bed,” began Mr Timson; but he was stopped by the vicar, who brushed by him just in time to catch Mrs Jared as she was staggering to fall.
“Is—is he dead?” she gasped, recovering herself by a strong effort.
“Who? who?” exclaimed the vicar.
“My husband,” panted Mrs Jared.
“God forbid!” ejaculated the vicar, piously; “no, where is he?”