CHAPTER XII. — A MISHAP TO THE BISHOP.
“Fordham, I wonder whether the cloisters are closed?”
“I will see, my lord.”
The question came from the Bishop of Helstonleigh; who, as it fell out, had been to make an evening call upon the dean. The dean’s servant was now conducting his lordship down the grand staircase, on his departure. In proceeding to the palace from the deanery, to go through the cloisters cut off quite two-thirds of the distance.
Fordham left the hall, a lamp in his hand, and traversed sundry passages which brought him to the deanery garden. Crossing the garden, and treading another short passage, he came to the cloisters. The bishop had followed, lighted by Fordham, and talking affably. A very pleasant man was the Bishop of Helstonleigh, standing little upon forms and ceremonies. In frame he was nearly as active as a college boy.
“It is all right, I think, my lord,” said Fordham. “I hear the porter’s voice now in the cloisters.”
“How dark it is!” exclaimed the bishop. “Ketch must be closing late to-night. What a noise he is making!”
In point of fact, Mr. Ketch had just arrived at that agreeable moment which concluded the last chapter—the conviction that no other keys were to be found, and that he and Jenkins were fast. The tone in which he was making his sentiments known upon the calamity, was not a subdued one.
“Shall I light you round, my lord?”
“By no means—by no means. I shall be up with Ketch in a minute. He seems in a temper. Good night, Fordham.”