uestion they put. He had business in hand,
which was not to be delayed. They would see him again in a day or two,
with money in his purse. With that assurance he took his cudgel from
the corner of the room, and stalked out swiftly by the back door of the
house into the night.

ELEVENTH SCENE.

Outside the House

The evening was chilly, but not cold for the time of year. There was no
moon. The stars were out, and the wind was quiet. Upon the whole, the
inhabitants of the little Somersetshire village of Baxdale agreed that
it was as fine a Christmas-eve as they could remember for some years
past.

Toward eight in the evening the one small street of the village was
empty, except at that part of it which was occupied by the public-house.
For the most part, people gathered round their firesides, with an eye to
their suppers, and watched the process of cooking comfortably indoors.
The old bare, gray church, situated at some little distance from the
village, looked a lonelier object than usual in the dim starlight. The
vicarage, nestling close under the shadow of the church-tower, threw
no illumination of fire-light or candle-light on the dreary scene. The
clergyman's shutters fitted well, and the clergyman's curtains were
closely drawn. The one ray of light that cheered the wintry darkness
streamed from the unguarded window of a lonely house, separated from
the vicarage by the whole length of the church-yard. A man stood at the
window, holding back the shutter, and looking out attentively over the
dim void of the burial-ground. The man was Richard Turlington. The room
in which he was watching was a room in his own house.

A momentary spark of light flashed up, as from a kindled match, in the
burial-ground. Turlington instantly left the empty room in which he had
been watching. Passing down the back garden of the house, and crossing
a narrow lane at the bottom of it, he opened a gate in a low stone wall
beyond, and entered the church-yard. The shadowy figure of a man of
great stature, lurking among the graves, advanced to meet him. Midway
in the dark and lonely place the two stopped and consulted together in
whispers. Turlington spoke first.

"Have you taken up your quarters at the public-house in the village?"

"Yes, master."

"Did you find your way, while the daylight lasted, to the deserted
malt-house behind my orchard wall?"

"Yes, master."

"Now listen--we have no time to lose. Hide there, behind that m