rchyard: he went cautiously through the water,
and then his rider gathered up the reins, stuck in the spurs, and put
him at a part of the wall where the moonlight showed a considerable
breach. The good horse rose to it, and cleared it, with a foot to spare;
and the invader landed in the sacred precincts unobserved, for the
road he had come by was not visible from Raby House, nor indeed was the
church itself.

He was of swarthy complexion, dressed in a plain suit of tweed, well
made, and neither new nor old. His hat was of the newest fashion, and
glossy. He had no gloves on.

He dismounted, and led his horse to the porch. He took from his pocket a
large glittering key and unlocked the church-door; then gave his horse
a smack on the quarter. That sagacious animal walked into the church
directly, and his iron hoofs rang strangely as he paced over the brick
floor of the aisle, and made his way under the echoing vault, up to
the very altar; for near it was the vestry-chest, and in that chest his
corn.

The young man also entered the church; but soon came out again with
a leathern bucket in his hand. He then went round the church, and was
busily employed for a considerable time.

He returned to the porch, carried his bucket in, and locked the door,
leaving the key inside.

That night Abel Eaves, a shepherd, was led by his dog, in search of a
strayed sheep, to a place rarely trodden by the foot of man or beast,
viz., the west side of Cairnhope Peak. He came home pale and disturbed,
and sat by the fireside in dead silence. "What ails thee, my man?" said
Janet, his wife; "and there's the very dog keeps a whimpering."

"What ails us, wife? Pincher and me? We have seen summat."

"What was it?" inquired the woman, suddenly lowering her voice.

"Cairnhope old church all o' fire inside."

"Bless us and save us!" said Janet, in a whisper.

"And the fire it did come and go as if hell was a blowing at it. One
while the windows was a dull red like, and the next they did flare so,
I thought it would all burst out in a blaze. And so 'twould, but, bless
your heart, their heads ha'n't ached this hundred year and more, as
lighted that there devilish fire."

He paused a moment, then said, with sudden gravity and resignation and
even a sort of half business-like air, "Wife, ye may make my shroud, and
sew it and all; but I wouldn't buy the stuff of Bess Crummles; she is an
ill-tongued woman, and came near making mischief between y