She hastened to the churchyard.—p. 42.
"It's the frost," said the architect ruefully, after a thorough examination both inside and out. "It has assisted in disintegrating the masonry, and caused a further settlement that may bring the old tower down with a run any minute. Being Sunday, we can't do anything to prevent it, even if that were possible now. The dust in the church is no fault of old Reed, but is simply caused by the stones of the tower grinding together, because every moment they are becoming more displaced. To-morrow, if it stands till then, I'll try and get men to take it down."
Poor Llewellyn looked very dejected. "Oh, Lane, this is bad news! If the tower falls, it will wreck half the church!"
"It's a pity, certainly, but it's nobody's fault. You mustn't have service in it again, for it really isn't safe."
Fortunately, during the dark winter months Llewellyn, at the urgent request of the inhabitants at the other end of his very large and straggling parish, was accustomed to hold service on alternate Sunday evenings in a large room at the outskirts of the village, and was due there that night. He decided not to say anything about the tower, for fear of alarming his parishioners; but he carefully locked the churchyard gate so that no one could enter it, and, returning home, he took the key of the church from the nail where it usually hung, telling his old servant Dorcas that nobody must go into the church on any pretext whatsoever, as he feared it was unsafe.
That afternoon he called to soothe old Reed's wounded feelings by saying in confidence what had caused the dust. He strictly enjoined the sexton in case any strangers came to inspect the church, as they did sometimes, not to admit them on any account. Reed promised faithfully; but that Sunday was a sadly anxious time for Llewellyn, who expected every moment to hear a mighty crash and see the tower fall.
Early next day Lane set off to engage men and appliances; for the old tower, to his great surprise, was still standing, though perceptibly more out of the perpendicular. Llewellyn departed to the school, and had not been gone long, when an imperative knock sounded at the Rectory door. Dorcas opened it to behold Miss Lancaster and another girl, Daisy Staples, an old schoolfellow, who was staying at the Manor.
"I've come to borrow the key of the church, please. I want my friend to see it, and I'll bring back the key when we've done with it." Laura, it is needless to say, had heard no whisper of the precarious state of the tower.
Dorcas, who, like all the villagers, stood considerably in awe of Miss Lancaster, was much taken aback. "I'm very sorry, miss," stammered she, "but you mustn't go into the church—master says it's not safe; and I wasn't to give the key to anybody."