"I'll wager any money it is that old villain, Dry, of Longsoaken, whom I have heard them talk so much about," thought Falgate; but he was not suffered to carry his meditations on that subject farther, for Mr. Dry, turning his head away again towards his companion, said-- "I cannot see; get the lantern." The painter had just time to slip behind the pile of coffins he had observed, and to crouch down, before the other man, after having given another vigorous wrench at the lid, laid down the bar he had in his hands and moved towards the foot of the stairs. The rustle of the surplice seemed to catch his ear, for he stopped for a moment, apparently to listen; but the next instant he advanced again, took up the lantern, looked round with a somewhat nervous stare, and then returned to Mr. Dry. "Did you not hear a noise?" he asked in a low voice. Mr. Dry stopped in his proceedings and evidently trembled. Their agitation gave courage to the painter, and creeping on so as to bring himself nearly on a line with them, he ventured to utter a low groan. Both the culprits started, and gazed around with hair standing on end and teeth chattering. "Now's the time!" thought Falgate, and taking two steps farther towards the end of the lane formed by the coffins and the wall, he uttered another groan, followed by a shrill unearthly shriek, and then started up to his full height, as if he were rising from the midst of the pile of mortal dust upon his right. The rays fell straight upon the white garments and the face of this unexpected apparition, pale and worn as he was by fatigue and fear. Struck with terror and consternation, the limbs of the two men at first refused to move; but when they saw this awful figure advancing straight towards them with another hollow groan, they both darted away, the one crying-- "Through the church! through the church! It will catch you before you can reach the other door!" and Mr. Dry followed at full speed towards the steps by which Falgate had descended. Not liking to be left in the vault in the dark, the painter sprang after them with another wild shriek. Fortune favoured him more than skill; for, just as the foremost of the fugitives was mounting the steps, Mr. Dry seized hold of his cloak to stay his trembling limbs; the other, who was the sexton, in the agony of his terror fancied the ghost had caught him, dropped the lantern and rushed on, his companion clinging close to him. Falgate instantly picked up the light before it was extinguished, and drew the shade over it; and almost at the same moment he heard the door above banged to by those he was pursuing, and a bolt drawn; for they did not stay to inquire whether spiritual beings are to be stopped by material substances or not.