We soon gained the bank of a little brook, about a mile from the convent walls, and here Magdalen, bidding me look well to my feet, slipped into the bed of the stream. I followed her, and we made our way down the channel, despite the rushing water and rolling stones, till we reached the spot where the brook descended into a deep ravine.
"We may rest a moment, now!" said Magdalen. As she spoke, we clearly heard borne on the wind the sound of the convent bell, ringing as if an alarm.
"Can they have missed us already?" said I.
"Nay, they would hardly ring the bell if they had!" answered Magdalen.
As she spoke, a red gleam shot up, and was reflected on the tall spire of the church, increasing momently in brightness.
"The torch! The torch!" I exclaimed.
"What torch?" asked Magdalen.
I told her how I had found and lighted the remains of the funeral torch. I had left it propped up in the corner when I ascended the stairs, and doubtless it had fallen over on the ground, where the fragments of cere cloths and coffins, and the straw of my bed would be as tinder to the flame. I had set the shrine on fire!
"So much the better!" said Magdalen, coolly. "They will have their hands full enough for the next hour."
"Specially if the flame reaches the stores of fuel in the shed which joins the shrine!" I said. "I fear the whole will go!"