ground. He had to go carefully, lest the match should be blown out
by the wind of his passage; but on coming close he saw that it was
Stephen lying senseless in front of a great coffin which rested on a
built-out pile of masonry. Then the match went out. In the flare of
the next one he lit he saw a piece of candle lying on top of the
coffin. He seized and lit it. He was able to think coolly despite
his agitation, and knew that light was the first necessity. The
bruised wick was slow to catch; he had to light another match, his
last one, before it flamed. The couple of seconds that the light
went down till the grease melted and the flame leaped again seemed of
considerable length. When the lit candle was placed steadily on top
of the coffin, and a light, dim, though strong enough to see with,
spread around, he stooped and lifted Stephen in his arms. She was
quite senseless, and so limp that a great fear came upon him that she
might be dead. He did not waste time, but carried her across the
vault where the door to the church steps stood out sharp against the
darkness, and bore her up into the church. Holding her in one arm,
with the other hand he dragged some long cushions from one of the
pews and spread them on the floor; on these he laid her. His heart
was smitten with love and pity as he looked. She was so helpless; so
pitifully helpless! Her arms and legs were doubled up as though
broken, disjointed; the white frock was smeared with patches of thick
dust. Instinctively he stooped and pulled the frock down and
straightened out the arms and feet. He knelt beside her, and felt if
her heart was still beating, a great fear over him, a sick
apprehension. A gush of thankful prayer came from his heart. Thank
God! she was alive; he could feel her heart beat, though faintly
underneath his hand. He started to his feet and ran towards the
door, seizing his hat, which lay on a seat. He wanted it to bring
back some water. As he passed out of the door he saw Leonard a