d the staircase, and began to wend upwards to the
bell-chamber. About twenty feet up he felt a rush of cool, river air,
and he knew that he had passed the first lattice. A little later, and
he was on the belfry floor, his hands feeling the chill, smooth surface
of the largest bell. Aching with fatigue and excitement, he sat down.
He did not propose to attempt the perilous climb upwards in the
darkness, and daylight could not be far off. Hunger sent in its
claims; he broke the loaf, and munched a couple of sour apples. The
food refreshed him, and he felt he could wait patiently for the dawn.

Day came, and with it a buzz of excitement in the village. Windybank
ventured to peep through the topmost lattice and scan the groups of
excited gossips. Then he looked aloft through the great network of
beams and rafters. He was tired, and his brain swam inside his head.
The apex of the spire looked fearfully high and dark, and the brown,
cobwebbed maze of woodwork bewildered him. The latch below clicked;
some one was in the lower tower. The great bell began to swing; the
sexton was ringing an alarm. Seized by a sudden fright, Windybank
clambered by a bell-wheel to the first huge beam. He got his fingers
on it and swung his body across. He gained the next, and the next; he
was twenty feet above the floor of the bell-chamber. The boom of the
bell was deafening. He paused for breath, and then hurried on his
upward way, slipping sometimes, but never falling.

Suddenly the bell stopped; a deep hum of sound spun and echoed in the
narrowing cone where Windybank was giddily clinging. He had paused
again to recover breath and stability. Looking down, he saw a head
rising from the tower steps into the bell-chamber; the sexton had come
up to readjust the rope. The fugitive's guilty conscience put another
meaning upon his act; he felt sure that signs of his presence had been
noted, and that the fellow had come up to search for him. A little way
above him was darkness and security. He turned quickly to make a last
noiseless dash, but he missed his grip and his footing. For a moment
he hung, while his heart stood still. Then he fell with sickening thud
and crash from beam to beam. The startled sexton looked up and cried
out; and the traitor's body toppled in its last wild spin, and fell at
his feet. He lifted it up. The face was beaten almost out of
recognition, and the neck was broken.

The receding tide left Father