Tom felt the force of the words, and was wondering how it was he had not thought of it, when a cry burst from Judith.
“If he is there, he will never come out alive! Oh, sir, what will become of us?”
The master was surprised. He knew it was not a desirable situation for any young boy; but “never come out alive” were strong terms. Judy explained them. She poured into the master’s ears the unhappy story of Charles having been frightened in childhood; of his propensity still to supernatural fears.
“Make haste round! we must have the cloisters opened immediately!” exclaimed the master, as all the full truth of the dread imparted by Judith became clear to him. “Channing, you have light heels; run on, and knock up Ketch.”
Tom tore off; never a lighter pair of heels than his, to-night; and the master and the old servant followed. The master’s sympathies, nay, his lively fears, were strongly awakened, and he could not leave the affair in this stage, late though the hour was.
They arrived, to find Tom pummelling at Ketch’s door. But to pummel was one thing, and to arouse Mr. Ketch was another. Mr. Ketch chose to remain deaf. “I’ll try the window,” said Tom, “He must hear; his bed is close at hand.”
He knocked sharply; and it at length elicited an answer from the drowsy gentleman, composed of growls and abuse.
“Get up!” called out Tom. “The keys of the cloisters are wanted.”
“Then they may be wanted!” responded old Ketch in a muffled tone, as if he were speaking from under the bed-clothes. “I’ll see you all furder before you get the keys from me.”
“Ketch, produce the keys this instant!” interposed the master. “You know my voice; Mr. Pye’s. How dare you?”