He found a chair, mounted it, and cut the lantern down, then led the
way again along an endless corridor, stone-flagged and flanked on either
side by rows of cells. Many of the doors stood open, as if in silent
token of the tenants' hurried flight, showing what a panic had been
spread by the sudden advent of this troop.

Mr. Butler became more and more deeply intrigued, more and more deeply
suspicious that here all was not well. Why should a community of loyal
monks take flight in this fashion from British soldiers?

"Bad luck to them!" he growled, as he stumbled on. "They may hide as
they will, but it's myself 'll run the shavelings to earth."

They were brought up short at the end of that long, chill gallery by
closed double doors. Beyond these an organ was pealing, and overhead
the clapper of the alarm bell was beating more furiously than ever. All
realised that they stood upon the threshold of the chapel and that the
conventuals had taken refuge there.

Mr. Butler checked upon a sudden suspicion. "Maybe, after all, they've
taken us for French," said he.

A trooper ventured to answer him. "Best let them see we're not before we
have the whole village about our ears."

"Damn that bell," said the lieutenant, and added: "Put your shoulders to
the door."

Its fastenings were but crazy ones, and it yielded almost instantly to
their pressure--yielded so suddenly that Mr. Butler, who himself had
been foremost in straining against it, shot forward half-a-dozen yards
into the chapel and measured his length upon its cold flags.

Simultaneously from the chancel came a great cry: "Libera nos, Domine!"
followed by a shuddering murmur of prayer.

The lieutenant picked himself up, recovered the lantern that had rolled
from his grasp, and lurched forward round the angle that hid the chancel
from his view. There, huddled before the main altar like a flock of
scared and stupid sheep, he beheld the conventuals--some two score of
them perhaps and in the dim light of the heavy altar lamp above them he
could make out the black and white habit of the order of St. Dominic.

He came to a halt, raised his lantern aloft, and called to them
peremptorily:

"Ho, there!"

The organ ceased abruptly, but the bell overhead went clattering on.

Mr. Butler addressed them in the best French he could command: "What
do you fear? Why do you flee? We are friends--English soldiers, seeking
quarters for the night."

A vague alarm was stirrin