He held the lanthorn over the extended form of Tom Candlish, which looked strangely ghastly by the feeble yellow light; and as he bent down, he could see that the young squire had received two terrible blows--one on his forehead, and the other on the right temple--both of which had bled and left a hideous stain upon the sawdust. "Dally 'll have to try again," said the old man to himself. "Enough a year to make me comf'table, and the doctor to keep me alive. You wouldn't ha' done that, Tom Candlish, over the money; and you couldn't ha' kept me alive when I was badly. You'd ha' been a brute to the gel too 'fore you'd had her long. There, it's all a blessing in disguise, as Parson Salis says." He grinned in his ghoul-like way, and turned to touch North on the elbow. "Doctor!" he whispered. North's hands fell from before his eyes, and he turned to gaze wildly at the old man, as one gazes when suddenly awakened from a too heavy sleep. "Yes! What is it? I'd forgotten. My head, man." "Look here," whispered the old sexton, leading him to the far right-hand corner of the vault, where a particularly florid old tarnished coffin handle dimly reflected the light in its ancient niche. The old man gave the end of the coffin a rap with his knuckles. "Empty," he whispered, grinning; and he tapped it again, so that it emitted a hollow sound. "Empty?" "Ay; empty now, doctor. An old Squire Candlish lay in there two hundred years ago a'most; now a new Squire Candlish can lie in it, eh?" "Conceal the body there?" said North, who looked dazed. "Tchah! Only put him in there to sleep: that's all, doctor; and nobody but us'll know." "Quick, then," said North; "I'm a good deal hurt, man, and my head feels confused." "Ay, to be sure, doctor, I'll be quick, and then you can go home and put yourself to rights, and go on again here just as before. Take hold." North obeyed in a dreamy way, apparently not knowing what he did; and as Moredock dragged out the old coffin, with its tattered velvet and tarnished ornamentations, he took the handle at the far end, and it was lifted down into the sawdust. The old man took the screw-driver from where it lay on the new coffin, where Sir Luke should have reposed, and rapidly turned the screws, leaving each standing up in its hole, and then lifted off the lid, to disclose some yellow lining and faded flowers, turning rapidly to so much dust--nothing more. "It'll fit him," whispered Moredock. "All the men Candlishes are 'bout the same size. "There, doctor," he continued, as he set the lid down. "Now, then, to make all safe." The old man's words seemed to rouse North from his dreamy state, and with a start he looked at the old wretch before him, then at the empty coffin, and his quick medical appreciation of the situation seemed for the first time to have fully returned. "Here; hold the light," he said. "Better set it down there," whispered Moredock. "We can see better, then."