tered the porch and sat for a
moment on one of the stone benches.

Then, scarcely knowing why she did it, she raised the latch of the church
door. To her great surprise the door opened, and without a thought she
entered. She had never been in so tumbledown and neglected a place in her
life; the pew-doors were either hanging or gone altogether, some of the
pews were too rotten to use, the plaster and paint hung off in scales, and
a large hole in the roof showed that the risk of attending service there
was no slight one.

But Stella did not heed the danger; she was too much charmed to find
herself alone and exploring. A sense of importance filled her, and a good
deal of curiosity. She looked at the names in some of the mouldy hymn
books lying in the pews, and mounted the pulpit to see how the church
looked from there. Then she went into the vestry, and coming out of it
she found herself at the entrance to a low dark place which she thought
must be a family vault. It was so low and dark she could at first see
nothing within, and instinctively she drew herself up sharply on the
threshold, doubtful, but of what she did not know. But, somehow, she did
not like to enter, a sudden nervousness came over her, a desire to get
away from the place and be out in the open again.

And then, with a terrified scream, she saw close to her, gleaming out of
the darkness, a wild looking, savage face; two eyes full of desperation,
and hunger, and despair, were fixed on hers; and in another moment she
recognised the hiding convict. The fear in his face lightened when he
found that the footsteps he had listened to for what seemed so long were
only those of a little girl.

"Are you alone?" he asked, in a low, gruff voice.

With the shock, and the fright, and her fear of the man, a sudden panic
seized Stella; she could not answer, and with another terrified cry she
turned and ran. But she did not know her way, and in her hurry she
tripped over a step, and before she could recover herself the man was at
her side. But instead of killing her, as she really thought he would, he
lifted her up, not roughly, and put her on her feet, then picked up her
parcel and after carefully feeling it, handed it to her, though he kept a
tight grip of her hand.

"Missy," he said in a low voice, so hoarse she could hardly make out what
he said--"Missy, I ain't goin' to hurt you. I give 'ee my word I won't
harm you if you'll only promise not to breathe