"But won't you stay and stop them from getting in, sir?" "Certainly not, Maine. Let them walk into the trap, and we will keep awake as well as we can in the dark." Lighting a chamber candle, the vicar turned out the lamps, and led the way to his bedroom, where, after placing an easy chair for his companion, he apparently busied himself for a quarter of an hour in undressing, taking care to cast his shadow several times upon the window-blind, then placing matches ready, and the door open, he extinguished the light. "Half-past ten, Maine," he whispered. "Now for a long watch. Can you keep awake?" "I think so, sir," was the reply. "Good; then listen attentively, and warn me of the slightest sound, but no word must be spoken above a whisper. No conversation." One hour in the solemn silence of the night, and no sound was heard. Once the vicar stretched out his hand to have it pressed in reply by way of showing that his companion was on the alert. Another hour passed, and all was perfectly still. The vicar had had no difficulty in keeping awake, for his thoughts were upon the scene that had taken place up at the House; and though he strove to drive away the remembrance, and to nerve himself for the struggle that must be his for weeks to come, there was Eve Pelly's sweet gentle face before him, seeming to ask him wistfully to accede to her wish. At last John Maine, believing him to be asleep, touched his arm. "Yes," was the whispered answer. "I heard them five minutes ago. There they are." At that moment a singular low grating noise was heard. "Diamond cutting glass," said the vicar, with his lips close to his companions ear. A sharp crack. "There goes the pane," whispered the vicar. Then there was the creak--creak--creak of a window being softly raised, after the fastening had been thrust back. Then, again, perfect silence, succeeded at last by a gentle rustling noise; but so quietly had the entry been made that but for a faint glimmer of light seen now and then through the open door, there was nothing to indicate that anything below was wrong. The watchers sat listening with their hearts beating with a heavy dull pulsation, till at length a stair creaked, as if from the weight of some one ascending, and they fancied they could hear the hard breathing of some listener. This ceased in a very short time, and they instinctively knew that the burglar had returned to the study, where the clink of a glass warned them that the bait had proved sufficient attraction for the wolves. There was another pause and a faint whisper or two, followed by the soft rustling made by the men crossing the little hall to the dining-room, from whence arose the metallic sound of silver touching silver. Then there came more rustling and chinking, and John Maine whispered, "Pray, let's go and stop them, sir: they'll get away with the plate." "Oh, no," said the vicar in the same tone. "Wait."