“In the Candlish vault. I carried him there!”
“Hah!”
The sexton drew a long breath. “You must come on and remove all traces of the struggle in the vestry, and then—”
“In the morslem, eh, doctor?” said the old man thoughtfully, and growing resigned to the difficulties of his position. “Well, we can put him where no one’s likely to find him there. Hey, doctor, but it’s been a bad thing for me to ha’ met you!”
“Your lanthorn and matches—quick!” said North. “There is no time to lose!”
“But if—if—doctor?”
“If what?”
“If it is found out, you’ll say a word for me. You’ve made me do all this. I do want to live my fifteen or twenty years more in peace.”
“Trust me as you’ve trusted me before,” said North, who was now speaking calmly enough, and had grasped the situation. “I tell you it was an accident—a horrible accident. It was in fair fight; and I have come off none too well.”
“I’ll stand by you, doctor,” said the old man; “and we’ll hide it safe. But there’s Dally,” he muttered to himself—“Dally. She’ll know there’s something wrong, for she won’t believe. Not that he has gone away out o’ fear o’ doctor? Ay, she’ll have to think that. My poor little lass—my poor little lass!”