"I expect the devil hunt has begun," said Honoria. But when they
came in sight of the building its windows were brightly lit.
The noise inside was terrific.
The two children approached it with all the precaution proper to
scouts. Suddenly the clamour ceased and the evening fell so silent
that Taffy heard the note of an owl away in the Tredinnis plantations
to his left. This silence was daunting, but they crept on and soon
were standing in the illuminated ring of furze whins which surrounded
the Chapel.
"Can you reach up to look in?"
Taffy could not; so Honoria obligingly went on hands and knees, and
he stood on her back.
"Can you see? What's the matter?"
Taffy gasped. "_He's_ in there!"
"What?--the Old Gentleman?"
"Yes; no--your grandfather!"
"What? Let me get up. Here, you kneel--"
It was true. Under the rays of a paraffin lamp, in face of the
kneeling congregation, sat Squire Moyle; his body stiffly upright on
the bench, his jaws rigid, his eyes with horror in them fastened upon
the very window through which Honoria peered--fastened, it seemed to
her, upon her face. But, no; he saw nothing. The Bryanites were
praying; Honoria saw their lips moving. Their eyes were all on the
old man's face. In the straining silence his mouth opened--but only
for a moment--while his tongue wetted his parched lips.
A man by the pulpit-stairs shuffled his feet.
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