shut the door, it distinctly shook and tottered to and fro over the
esquire.

"Why, by my halidame," thought Manners, "the whole contrivance will
fall down together and crush me."

This fear was strengthened soon, for as the priest fixed himself
conveniently in his elevated position, the floor above the esquire's
head creaked and groaned and threatened every minute to fall.

The service quickly began, much to Manners' relief; but oh, horrors!
Father Nicholas began to preach, and by the time the lover expected to
have clasped his darling in his arms, the discourse was just getting
into full swing.

"Stop, Nicholas, in the name of mercy, stop," he whispered through the
floor; but Nicholas heard him not, and quietly pursued the even tenour
of his way.

Another half-hour had elapsed, and the situation had become well
nigh intolerable. Apart from being cramped, Manners was uncomfortable
enough. He felt that it would have immensely relieved him to have
screamed, but he dared not do it. He wanted to cough, or sneeze, but
he had to repress his feelings. The place in which he was boxed up
was damp and humid, and the darkness in which he was enveloped was
oppressive. He could bear it no longer, and raising himself up he
groped around with his hands, and easily lifting a piece of the old
pulpit flooring, he looked up at Nicholas and groaned.

Nicholas involuntarily started at the sound, but recollecting the