Cautiously he descended the stairs, terrified at every creak they made under his weight. Did he hear anything? No; it was only the pattering of the rain-drops outside. Stealthily he peeped into the kitchen; no one was there, the few smouldering ashes in the grate being the only token of recent occupation. So he went back to his friends in the chamber.
“Eh, see, what’s here!” cried one of the men, in an agitated voice; “look on the floor.”
They turned the light of the lantern on to the chamber-floor, and a strange sight indeed presented itself. Right across the room, in regular lines, were immense letters in red and black adhering to the boards.
“Ben, you’re a scholar,” said Jones; “read ’em.”
Stone, thus appealed to, made the light travel slowly along the words, and read in a low and faltering voice,—
“No drunkard shall inherit the kingdom of God.”
Then he passed on to the red letters, and the words were,—
“Prepare to meet thy God.”
A deathlike stillness fell on the whole party, who had hitherto spoken in loud whispers. Terror seized the hearts of some, and bitter shame stung the consciences of others.
“We must get out of this as fast as we can,” said Jones. “If we’re taken roving about the house this fashion, we shall all be clapped in prison for housebreakers. Least said about this, mates, soonest mended. We’d best hold our tongues. Old Tommy’s clean outwitted us; he has for sure. Maybe it serves us right.”