He felt that he had gazed for the first time at one of the peripatetic horrors of which he had heard since he was a child, and in which he had always religiously believed. In fact, he would never have ventured to the churchyard at midnight had he not been moved by one of the strongest passions of our nature. He had gone there most fully convinced that somewhere about he would encounter the gentleman who met Dally Watlock; and to emphasise their meeting, he had brought his smallest mallet from his tool-basket, as being a handy kind of tool. But he had not reckoned upon seeing a tall dark figure draped in a long black cloak glide silently by him, growing taller and taller as it disappeared, leaving him with his tongue cleaving to the roof of his mouth, and without the wit to consider that where he stood in the meadow he was in the dry ditch, that the churchyard wall formed a kind of haha at that spot by the rise of the earth resulting from centuries of interments; and that, in addition, there was a steep slope up to the church, sufficient to make any one standing by the vestry door ten feet above his head. But Joe Chegg would not have believed these simple physical facts had they been explained to him. He had seen a veritable spirit that might mean his own "fetch." Whether or no, he wanted to go home and keep his own counsel, mentally vowing--as he at last wrenched himself away, and ran as hard as he could over the dewy grass--that, come what might, he would, if he were spared, never run such a risk again. He was in the act of dragging himself away, thankful that he was on the meadow-side of the wall, when a low muttering moan rose upon the night air, from the direction in which the monstrous figure had disappeared; and that moan acted as a spur to the frightened man. It was simple enough, as simple as the explanation of other supernatural sounds, for as the dark figure stood close to the vestry door for a few moments and at last uttered an impatient "tut-tut-tut," there was a grumbling, muttering sound from a horizontal stone, and Moredock rose, saying in a low voice: "All right, doctor--all right. I was half asleep, and didn't hear you come." The next moment they had entered the Candlish vault, and the door was closed, Moredock directly after proceeding to strike a match. "How much longer's this a-going on?" he grumbled. "Till I have finished," said the doctor sternly; but there was a strange intonation of the voice--a peculiar manner--which made the sexton, as he struck the light and held it to the candle in his lanthorn, gaze sharply at the speaker. "All right, doctor. I don't grumble; you'll give me my dose again-- seems to settle and comfort a man while he's waiting." "Yes, yes, of course," said North hastily. "You can rouse me up if I drop off to sleep, doctor. Couldn't get my nap i' the chair 'safternoon, and it makes a man a bit drowsy."