“And she gets parson’s keys, and goes in at the south door, and through the porch, and ’long the south aisle, and then across to the chancel?”
“Yes, gran’fa, with a great veil all over her head; but how did you know?”
“Why, you’re telling me, arn’t you?” said the old man testily, as he recalled the draped head he had seen hastily gliding above the pews. “And Squire Tom?”
“He goes across the meadows and over the churchyard wall, and in at the vestry door by the big vault.”
“Does he, though?” said Moredock, with his jaw dropped still more; “and how does he get the keys?—of course, he’s churchwarden! Hah! nice game in my church! Tchah!” he cried, after a pause. “Stuff! You dreamt it.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t,” said Dally. “I watched her, and saw her go. And another night I watched and followed, and I saw a man go up to the Candlish vault.”
“Eh! You saw that?” cried the old man, catching the girl’s arm.
She nodded.
“Who was it, eh? Not me?”
“You? No, gran’fa!”