They both emerged into the night air; and crouching down, Lupin ran along the little yard in which they were, and which was not above half-a-dozen yards across. He paused at a door, and then suddenly starting away from it, he muttered—
"It is not this one. Ah! this is it! Stand quite close up against the wall, and then there will be the less chance of any one seeing you. I must work away at this door."
"Where does it lead to?" whispered Todd.
"To the chapel."
Todd screwed himself up into the smallest space that he possibly could against the wall, close to the door, while Lupin tried to open it. That door for more than ten minutes baffled him. Probably that fact was owing in some degree to the circumstance of his being in the dark, for of course, before emerging from the vaulted passage, he had thought it prudent to extinguish the little light he had.
"It baffles you," said Todd, in a voice of great anxiety.
"As yet, yes. No. It is open."
Todd breathed more freely.
"Come in," said Lupin. "Come in. We have done wonders as yet, my friend, and we will do wonders yet, I think, if Providence only looks with a gracious—There I go again. When shall I forget that chapel, I wonder?"
"It don't matter," said Todd. "I used to find a little religion answer very well myself."