“How silent it seems without the old clock ticking,” said Vane, looking up at the groined roof where, in place of bosses to ornament the handsome old ceiling of the belfry, there were circular holes intended to pour more lead and arrows upon besiegers, in case they made their way through the door, farther progress being through a narrow lancet archway and up an extremely small stone spiral staircase toward which Vane stepped, but the sexton checked him.
“Nay, Mester, I go first,” he said.
“Look sharp then.”
But the only thing sharp about the sexton were his awls and cutting knives, and he took an unconscionably long time to ascend to the floor above them where an opening in the staircase admitted them to a square chamber, lighted by four narrow lancet windows, and into which hung down from the ceiling, and through as many holes, eight ropes, portions of which were covered with worsted to soften them to the ringers’ hands.
Vane made a rush for the rope of the tenor bell, but the sexton uttered a cry of horror.
“Nay, nay, lad,” he said, as soon as he got his breath, “don’t pull: ’twould make ’em think there’s a fire.”
“Oh, all right,” said Vane, leaving the rope.
“Nay, promise as you weant touch ’em, or I weant go no further.”
“I promise,” cried Vane merrily. “Now, then, up you go to the clock.”
The sexton looked relieved, and went to a broad cupboard at one side of the chamber, opened it, and there before them was the great pendulum of the old clock hanging straight down, and upon its being started swinging, it did so, but with no answering tic-tac.