"It has been very useful," said Sophie. "Not long ago, the first night in January, I think, Mr. Bronson came to see my husband. He lived here when he was a boy, and remembers stories told by his father of escapes, from the church to the tower, of women and children, at the approach of Indians. One stroke of the bell during service, and all obeyed the signal. Deserted was the church, and peopled the tower, when the foes came up to meet the defenders outside."
"I knew my darling old structure had a history," said I. "Is there time for me to take one little look before dinner?"
"No," somewhat hastily said Sophie; "and I don't wish you to go up there alone."
"Don't wish me to go alone, Sophie? Why, I have spent hours there, and never a word said you."
"I--believe--the--place--is--haunted," slowly replied she, "by living, human beings."
"Never! Why, Sophie, think how absurd! Here's the key,--a great, strong, honest key; where could another be found to open the heavy door? Such broad, true wards it has,--look, and believe!"
As if unhearing, Sophie went on,--
"I certainly heard a voice in there one day. Old Mother Hudson died, and was buried in the corner, close beside the church. My husband went away as soon as the burial was over, and I came across the graveyard alone. It was a bright winter's day, with the ground all asnow, and no footstep had broken the fleecy white that lay on my way. As I passed under the tower I heard a voice, and the words, too, Anna, as plainly as ever spoken words were heard."
"What were they, Sophie?"
"'But hope will not die; it has a root of life that goes down into the granite formation; human hand cannot reach it.'"