Here, as he afterwards confessed, his presence of mind failed him;
and small blame to him, I say! Without a thought of turning off the
taps, he waded back to the doorway and leaned there awhile to recover
his wits with his breath.
While he leaned, gasping, with a hand against the door-jamb, the
clock in the church tower above him chimed and struck the hour of
five. He gazed up at it stupidly, saw the smoke drifting through the
elm-tops beyond, heard the rooks cawing over them, and then suddenly
bethought himself of the bell which had clanged amid his dreams.
Yes, it had been the clang of a real bell, and from his own belfry.
But how could anyone have gained entrance into the church, of which
he alone kept the keys? How? Why, by the little door at the east
end of the south aisle, which stood ajar. Across the alley he could
see it, and that it stood ajar; and more by token a heifer had
planted her forefoot on the step and was nosing it wider. Someone
had forced the lock. Someone was at this moment within the church!
The Vicar collected his wits and ran for it; thrust his way once more
through the crowd of cattle, and through the doorway into the aisle,
shouting a challenge. A groan from the belfry answered him, and
there, in the dim light, he almost stumbled over a man seated on the
cold flags of the pavement and feebly rubbing the lower part of his
spine.
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