Six nights he waited to no purpose. Judging the passing of time by the march of the moon across the sky, he relaxed his visit when she was over, or near, a yew tree without. He made allowance each night for her later rising. Clear skies favoured this reckoning. The seventh night, patience being by now well-nigh exhausted, and sleep lying heavy on his eyelids, he heard a footfall without, marked its ascent of the turret stair. Here was his opportunity. He slipped softly from his chamber, and adown the corridor.
He had time enough for his purpose. Never less than twenty minutes or so had elapsed betwixt the Sage’s ascent and descent of the stair. He passed down the corridor, made his way to the dimly lighted hall, and thence to the vaulted passages leading to the Temple. The silence was profound: here in the passages darkness reigned. He groped his way along them, feeling to the left for the Temple door, as he had felt more than once already. Anon his fingers touched it. Excitement beating high in his heart, he found the handle, turned it softly. The door did not yield to his pressure. Bringing his shoulder to bear against it, he found it locked. Here, at the moment he believed his purpose accomplished, defeat faced him. An’ he had not waited seven nights for this moment the disappointment had been less hard to endure. Now he felt it very bitterly.
Casting about in his mind what next course to pursue, he saw on a sudden from afar whence he had come, a swaying light. A dim speck at the first, it grew larger. There was small doubt but that it came from a lamp carried by one approaching the place where he was standing. To remain where he was were madness. Turning, he groped swiftly down the passage away from the light.
Some twenty paces or so further he found the wall come to an end. Feeling cautiously he found the passage turn leftwards. An’ the bearer of the light stopped at the Temple door, this gave him cover. He paused to listen, ready to make further flight should the steps come near him. He heard them echoing softly in the vaulted spaces; anon they came to a halt. He fetched a deep breath of relief. He heard the turning of a key.
Waiting to be sure of safety, he saw on a sudden a gleam of light above him, perceived that it came from a square opening in the wall. His brain worked quickly. Someone within the Temple had lighted a lamp or candles. Here was a wall of the Temple, and a window giving on to it. An’ he could gain the window, chance had brought him a safer means of viewing the ceremony about to take place than had he ventured through the door. Also he saw no means whereby he could now enter undiscovered. Had he guessed at the truth of the happening, he would have known that Castrano had forgotten to make the place ready; had come swiftly to repair the omission, and return to his couch before Menippus arrived at the Temple. Even now Castrano was leaving it, and Peregrine would have found entrance easy; though for exit later I am none so sure.
Peregrine felt the wall below the window. The stones, rough and jutting forward in places, would afford him slight foothold. He set himself to climb. Grazing knee and hand somewhat, and with danger of a fall, he gained the aperture above him. It was a square opening, barred, giving on to the Temple within; sufficiently deep, too, to afford him seating of some sort. He saw clearly the risk of Menippus glancing towards it, perceiving his crouching figure. This risk he was ready to take. There is naught to be gained without some venture. Getting his seat secure, and holding to the bars, he looked within. The place was as he had seen it on the night of his entry there, save that, instead of the stone pillar in the middle of the floor, there was now an altar against the wall to his right. Peregrine guessed some new ritual about to be performed.
No one was in sight. Whoever had lighted the candles on the altar had now withdrawn. Peregrine debated for a moment, had idea of making descent, of trying again the Temple door. This thought he put aside for two reasons. First, he ran grave risk of coming upon Menippus; second, he saw himself vastly safer without the Temple than within it. He drew his cloak close around him, trusting to its darkness to give appearance of shadow in the embrasure, and waited.
He had not long to wait. The door opened: through the gloom Peregrine saw two figures enter, one small, in size no more than a child. He heard the lock turned behind them. An’ he had possessed courage sufficient to try the door formerly, it would have availed him little.
The figures descended the steps, came forward towards the light. Now Peregrine saw them plainly, a small boy dressed as an acolyte, and swinging a golden censer; behind him Menippus vested as a priest. They came before the altar. Then Menippus began to speak. Familiar words struck on Peregrine’s ear, setting his heart thumping. He heard the boy’s voice come in with response,—a lifeless voice, as of one drugged.
Heart and brain sick, he crouched rigid. Here was horror of which he had never dreamt. But for the bars, he had made an entry at whatever danger to life and limb, stopped the horrid sacrilege. He could not look at it. Slithering from the wall, bruising himself in the descent, he gained the passage, made along it, and thence to his own chamber. Here he found his breath coming in deep sobs.