His hands, thrown wildly out, fell to his side. He sank back into the arms of one of those who had hurried from their places at my father’s gesture. A last cry, more awful than anything I have ever heard, woke hideous echoes amongst the wormeaten, black oak beams, and before it had died away, I saw Adelaide Fortress glide like a black wraith from her seat and fall on her knees by the fainting man’s side. My father lifted up his arms, and with a deep, solemn tremor in his tone pronounced the Benediction. Then, with his surplice flying round him, he came swiftly down the aisle between the little crowd of horrified people. They all fell back at his approach. He sank on one knee by the side of the prostrate man and looked steadfastly into his face. The congregation all waited in their places, and Alice, who was only partly aware of what was going on, commenced to play a soft voluntary. There was some whispering for a moment or two, then they lifted him up and carried the lifeless body out into the open air. My father followed close behind. For a few minutes there was an uneasy silence. People forgot that the Benediction had been pronounced, and were uncertain whether to go or stay. Then some one made a start, and one by one they got up and left the church. Lady Naselton paused and sat by my side for a moment. She was trembling all over. “Do you know who it was?” she whispered. I shook my head. “I am not sure. It was a stranger; was it not?” She shuddered. “It was either a stranger, or my guest, Mr. Berdenstein. I only caught a glimpse of his face for a moment, and I could not be sure. He looked so horrible.” She paused, and suddenly discovered that I was half fainting. “Come out into the air,” she whispered. I got up and went out with her just in time. They had carried him into a distant corner of the churchyard. My father, when he saw us standing together in a little group, came slowly over as though to check our further advance. His face was haggard and drawn. He seemed to walk with difficulty, and underneath his surplice I could see that one hand was pressed to his side. “The man is dead,” he said, quietly. “There must have been an accident or a fight. No one seems to know where he came from.” “I wonder,” remarked the Bishop, thoughtfully, “why he should have dragged himself up to the church in such a plight. One of those cottages or the Vicarage would have been nearer.” “Perhaps,” my father answered, gravely, “he was struggling for sanctuary.” And the Bishop held up his right hand towards the sky with a solemn gesture. “God grant that he may have found it,” he prayed. CHAPTER X CANON OF BELCHESTER