“Oh do make haste with your breath,” said I, “and tell me where it is.” I was full of curiosity to know where her hiding-place could be: the church was pitch dark, a few minutes of silence there seemed an age. “It’s not in a vault, is it?” I continued.
“A vault—bless the boy—no! I’m not going into a vault before I can help it. Well, if you won’t be quiet, I suppose I’d better show you the place. It is at the other side of the church. Come across quietly, now.”
We did go across as quietly as we could, considering the pitch darkness of the place, all blocked up with high pews according to the fashion of the time. In my after-career I had often occasion to reprove the occupiers of like boxes, who, trusting to their wooden walls to screen them, slumbered happily within a few yards of me, utterly forgetful of the treachery of their own noses.
After having injured her shins several times over unexpected obstacles, Nancy sighed forth, “Oh for a light!”
“Oh for something to eat!” I responded. “I’ve got a flint and steel in my pocket; but I can’t eat that. You can have it if you like.”
“I daren’t strike a light,” said Nancy; “but I’ve got a bit of cheese in my pocket along with the silver spoons. Here, stretch out your hand.”
“Don’t you want it?” I felt impelled by manners to say this, though I felt wolfish.
“Not I. I had my dinner as usual. I put it in my pocket in case of meeting—a friend.”
“Do your—friends like cheese?” I asked with my mouth full.
“You seem to, any way,” retorted Nancy. “I hear them coming.”