Military and civilians were all snug in their quarters that night; and
the inn, except for the 'Aldermen' in the back parlour, was doing no
business. The door was nearly closed, and only let out a tall, narrow
slice of candle-light upon the lake of mud, over every inch of which the
rain was drumming.
The doctor's lantern glided by--and then across the street--and so
leisurely along the foot-way, by the range of lightless hall doors
towards the Salmon House, also dark; and so, sharp round the corner, and
up to the church-yard gate, which stood a little open, as also the
church door beyond, as was evidenced by the feeble glow of a lantern
from within.
I dare say old Bob Martin, the sexton, and grave Mr. Irons, the clerk,
were reassured when they heard the cheery voice of the rector hailing
them by name. There were now three candles in church; but the edifice
looked unpleasantly dim, and went off at the far end into total
darkness. Zekiel Irons was a lean, reserved fellow, with a black wig and
blue chin, and something shy and sinister in his phiz. I don't think he
had entertained honest Bob with much conversation from those thin lips
of his during their grizzly _tete-a-tete_ among the black windows and
the mural tablets that overhung the aisle.
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