“But it is for money, isn’t it, doctor?” said Moredock insinuatingly.
“Money!” cried the doctor scornfully. “Do you think I would do this for money?”
The old man made a curious sound in his throat, which might have been laughing, but it was impossible to say, and then led the way out of the cottage, merely closing the door after them, and going on towards the church.
It was a singularly dark night, with not a breath of wind. Away to their left lay the principal part of the village; but not a light was visible; and, save for the uneasy barking of a dog at a distance, there was not a sound.
“Not like this i’ the morning, doctor,” whispered Moredock. “Place was like a fair.”
“Don’t talk,” said the doctor sternly; and after emitting a grunt, the old sexton trudged steadily on to the lych-gate, which he opened, the key clicking a little, and the lock giving a sharp snap.
“Shall I lock it, or leave it?”
“Leave it. No one will come here.”
“Nay, I’ll make sure,” said the old man; and passing his hand through the open woodwork, he locked the gate and withdrew the key.
The two men ascended the steep pathway to the front of the church porch, and continued their journey round by the end of the chancel to the north, where the great mausoleum and the vestry stood side by side.