refully across him, to stand outside peering
through the evening gloom down into the silent village before, satisfied
and content, he turned back into the hut, closing the door carefully
after him, placing across it a heavy oaken bar, before stepping back
across Punch, to stand in the middle of the floor deep in thought.

Then his hand began to move, from force of habit, searching for and
bringing out from beneath his gown a little, worn snuff-box, which
squeaked faintly as he turned the lid and refreshed himself with two
pinches of its brown contents.

This was done very slowly and deliberately in the semi-darkness, and
finally the box was replaced and a few grains of the dust flicked away.

"Ah!" ejaculated the old man with a long-drawn sigh, as he looked from
one to the other of his guests. "English," he muttered. "Soldiers, but
friends and defenders against the French. English--heretics! But," he
added softly, as if recalling something that had passed, "_Benedictus,
benedicat_. Amen!"

Then, crossing softly to one corner of the room, he drew open what
seemed to be the door of a cupboard; but it was too dark to show that in
place of staircase there was a broad step-ladder.

This the old man ascended, and directly after the ill-fitting boards
which formed the ceiling of his humble living-room creaked as he stepped
upon them, and then there was a faint rustling as if he were removing
leaves and stems of the Indian corn that was laid in company with other
stores in what was undoubtedly a little loft, whose air was heavy with
various odours suggesting the presence of vegetables and fruit.

The oaken boards creaked once more as if the old man was stretching
himself upon them with a sigh of weariness and satisfaction.

"Amen!" he said softly, and directly after a ray of light shot across
the place, coming through the wooden bars in the gable of the sloping
roof, for the moon had just risen over the shoulder of the mountain to
light up the valley beneath, where the priest's hut clung to its rocky
wall; to light up, too, the little loft and its contents, and, above
all, the features of the sleeping man, gentle-looking in their repose.
And could the lads he had befriended have gazed upon him then they would
have seen nothing that appeared grotesque.

CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THROUGH A KNOT-HOLE.

"Yes, what is it?" cried Pen, starting up on the bed at a touch from his
companion, who had laid his hand gently o