Horace North reeled against the wall, and rested there as he uttered that piteous groan; for, like a flash of lightning, the ray of memory had shot into his darkened brain, and he saw once more the wretched idol he had worshipped gazing wildly at him with starting eyes – she, the woman he had set upon a pinnacle, grovelling before him in her shame! The moment before, the lady of his frank, honest love; the next moment revealed to him as low in mind, as degraded as some miserable rustic wench, ready to accept the kisses of the first man who called her “dear!”

“Am I going mad?” he groaned. “Poor Salis! Poor Mary Salis! They must never know. And poor me! Fool! blind idiot! But I loved her,” he moaned: “and I thought her so sweet and pure and true – a woman for whom I would have shed my heart’s best blood – a woman for whom I – Pah! I must not stand puling here! Blood? Yes, blood! The brute! He’s strong as a horse.”

He took out a pocket-handkerchief, doubled it, and roughly bandaged his head; for it was bleeding from a cut at the back.

“Clear my brain,” he muttered; “I must not stand here. That place left open! Is Moredock there?”

He felt his way to the door; and, as he stepped cautiously along, his foot kicked against something which jingled on the tiled floor.

He felt about, touched the surplice which had been dragged down and entangled his legs; and, as he snatched it away, the key jingled once more, and he caught it up.

He opened and relocked the door after he had passed out, breathing more freely as he stood in the cool, dark night.

“Moredock!” he whispered. “Are you there?”

There was no reply, but he did not stir; for a curious feeling of confusion attacked him once more, and he put his hand to his head to try and master his thoughts.

“Yes,” he muttered; “of course I must go and close that place up. Even if I go mad, that must not be known.”

He took a few steps instinctively towards the vault, and fell over something in the path, contriving, however, to save himself, so that he only came down upon his hands and knees.

The shock acted like a spell, and brought back his wandering mind.

“Who’s this?” he muttered. “Moredock?”

He passed his hands rapidly about the body before him, lying flat upon its back.

“Tom Candlish!” he ejaculated, as his hands came in contact, the one with a curiously-shaped breast-pin the young squire wore, the other with the bunch of charms and the locket he wore on his chain.

“Good heavens! What have I done? The man is dead!”

North started to his feet, trying hard to collect his wandering ideas, for he was at sea once more. He could not comprehend how Tom Candlish had contrived to get there, till he recalled the window, and at the same time recollected that he had struck at him again and again with all his might.

“Have I killed him?” he muttered; and, suffering still from the blow upon his head, his mental faculties seemed to be quite off their balance. The calm medical man, with his accurate judgment, was no longer there; but one full of wild excitement – one moment bubbling over with delirious joy at having triumphed over his enemy, of whom he had been madly jealous; the next, ready to shrink and tremble at the deed he had done.

He did not – he could not – pause to calculate how it had happened, beyond feeling that he must have beaten his enemy horribly, till he had in his last efforts struck him down, and then crawled out from the window to fall and die. He could not arrange all this in an orderly manner, for he was now seized with a frantic horror of discovery; and the question filled his mind, what was he – a murderer – to do?

Only one idea occurred to him, and that was the natural one that occurs to the most ignorant under the circumstances: he had slain this man, and the penalty was death for death. He did not know that he wanted to live, the shock had been too horrible that night; but he must act – he must do something; and, yielding entirely to his impulses, he bent down, and, with a wonderful effort of nervous force, raised the fallen man, and stood thinking for a few moments.

Impulse moved him then; and, without further hesitation, he bore the body down the steps to the door of the mausoleum.

The door yielded to his pressure, and he stepped in with his load, the darkness proving no hindrance to him, for he knew the place so well that he could come and go without touching the sides for guidance.

He stood right in the middle of the place for a few moments, thinking; one brother hanging over his left shoulder, the other lying motionless upon that cold stone slab, as he had lain all through the series of experiments which had been tried.

“It is fate,” he muttered, as he softly lowered his burden down upon the sawdust-covered floor, the brothers side by side, save that the younger was lower – nearer to his mother earth.

Then, in a quick, business-like way, North stepped to the door, passed through, and locked it, and then served the iron gate in the railings the same.

“I must fetch my instruments away some day,” he muttered – “if I stay. No one will seek him there. He will be supposed to have fled from me. But Moredock?

“Moredock can be trusted; I can silence him,” he said grimly. “He knew who was there.”

North stood thinking for a few minutes in the churchyard, half startled, but feeling a certain relief as well as pleasure in the fact that his rival was removed from his path.

Then that word “rival” seemed to strike him a mental blow, for it brought up to his confused intellect why it was that he and Tom Candlish had been rivals; and at this thought he once again saw Leo, the woman he had loved, gazing wildly in his face; and, with a low moan, he staggered, more than walked, from the churchyard, making instinctively for home; but as he reached the sexton’s cottage, the faint light therein attracted him, and, feeling dizzy, he put his hand to his head, to find that it was bleeding freely.

As he hesitated whether to go in or hurry on, the door, which had been ajar, opened more widely, and a great, claw-like hand was thrust out, and he was guided to the big Windsor chair.

“Hurt, doctor? All over blood? Don’t say you didn’t dress him down.”

North made no answer, for the low-ceiled room seemed sailing round as he turned his ghastly face and gazed in the speaker’s eyes.

Volume Two – Chapter Fifteen.
A Terrible Accident

“My turn now,” said Moredock, with a low chuckle. “Times as he’s given me doses. He, he, he! I can give him one now.”

The old sexton took a key from his vest, and opened a curious old oaken corner cupboard, upon whose shelves were ranged a variety of objects which gleamed out from their prison, and seemed to suggest that they had not been honestly come by. The most prominent object, however, was a square, black schnapps bottle, with a footless glass turned upside down beside it.

“There, doctor,” chuckled the old man, as he made the cork squeak and the liquid gurgle when he poured some out; “that arn’t the same physic as you give me, but it’s real line, and was sent down to me by a London gent as I’ve dealt with many a time.”

North did not hesitate, but drank the dram of strong brandy at a gulp.

“That puts life into you, don’t it, doctor, eh? Better now?”

“Hah!” sighed North, returning the glass, and leaning back in the chair. “No, no; that will do.”

The stimulus did more than carry off the sensation of fainting, it gave back the power to think consistently; and North sat up as if considering what he should do next.

“He’s knocked you about a bit, doctor,” said Moredock, breaking in upon his musings.

“Eh? Yes; we had a sharp struggle,” said North, starting.

“Sent him home like a cur with his tail between his legs, haven’t you, doctor?”

North shuddered and caught Moredock’s arm.

“How did you know that – that he was there?”

“Oh, I foun’ it out!” said the old man evasively. “I’ve seen ends of cigars there and ashes on the floor; and I thought at first that parson smoked, and told him of it.”

“And – and what did he say?”

“Looked guilty,” chuckled the old man.

North was silent for a few moments, sitting with one hand across his eyes, trying to think out what he should do.

“Moredock,” he said, sharply turning on the old man; “why did you show me that to-night?”

The sexton gazed at him fixedly.

“Tell me – the truth.”

“Well, doctor, it didn’t do for young Squire Tom to be dessicating my church.”

“You had some other reason.”

“Well, it warn’t safe for us. He might ha’ foun’ us out.”

“Yes, exactly; but you would have warned me instead of taking me there. Why did you do that?”

“Well, doctor, of course I warn’t blind.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you see,” said the old man, with a grin, “the saxun’s pay arn’t much; and a man looks out for what’s coming to help him on.”

“I don’t understand you, man.”

“Well, berrin’s and christenin’s and marriagein’s as all bring in a bit more. I’ve sin it for long enough.”

“Seen what?”

“That you was doin’ a bit o’ courting up at the Rect’ry; and it didn’t seem nice for your young lady to be going out o’ nights to meet Squire Tom, and in my church.”

North groaned.

“Never you mind, doctor; I like you,” said Moredock soothingly.

“Was this – was this known about the village?”

“’Bout you, or ’bout young miss?”

“Both, man, both!”

“Nay, not it. I see a deal, because I’m a man as thinks, doctor. No; I don’t s’pose any one knows on it. But never you mind, doctor; gels always will be gels and listen to chaps like Squire Tom. But I say,” whispered the old man, with a chuckle, after crossing to the window and seeing that the print curtain was well drawn over the broken patch through which the leaden tobacco jar had been hurled, “did you give it him well?”

North groaned.

“Why, doctor! Took more bad?”

The old man glanced at the hand he had laid upon the doctor’s shoulder, and wiped it, for it was wet with blood; and the sight of the hideous smear seemed to raise a terrible thought in his brain.

“Why, doctor,” he said, in a low whisper; “you haven’t – you haven’t hurt him much?”

North seized the old man’s arm, and sat gazing wildly at him for a few moments without speaking. He was battling with the mental confusion that troubled him and kept him in a state of hesitancy, in which his mind drifted like a derelict at sea.

He mastered it at last, and began to see clearly that, from what the old sexton knew, he must continue to make him his confidant. There could be no half measures. For his own safety he must tell him all; though even now there was Leo, who knew of the encounter.

No; she dare not speak, suspect what she might. For her reputation’s sake, she must hold her tongue.

Meanwhile, the old man glanced at his hand again, and, with a look of disgust, went through the action of wiping it.

“Why, doctor – doctor!” he whispered; “don’t say you’ve – !”

“I couldn’t help it, Moredock,” said North excitedly. “It was in the struggle: it was a fight for life. We were both mad with rage, and I – I struck him.”

“Ay, ay, doctor; but you needn’t ha’ hit him so hard. Look at the blood! Deary, deary; and all this trouble about a gel.”

“I don’t know how it happened,” panted North, clinging tightly to the old man’s arm. “I must have given him a terrible blow.”

“But it’s a hanging matter, doctor – a hanging matter!” whispered the sexton. “Don’t hold me, man; I didn’t do it! I won’t be dragged into it! I didn’t know you’d go and do that!”

“I didn’t mean to, Moredock. It was in my rage.”

“But it’s murder, doctor; it’s murder, and they’ll try you for your life!”

“It must not be known. We must – ”

“Nay, nay: it isn’t we,” protested the old man. “It was you did it. I was skeered about you both getting wild, and I thought I’d be out of it, and came home.”

“But you must help me, Moredock! You shall help me, man!”

“I can’t help you, doctor: it’s murder!” protested the sexton, trying to escape from the fierce grasp which held him.

“It was not murder! It was fair fight!” cried North fiercely. “And, look here, man, you cannot help yourself. You must help me to hide this terrible night’s work.”

The old man ceased struggling: for the doctor’s words impressed him, and he felt how thoroughly they two were linked together.

“But it’s like cutting short a man’s days,” he half whimpered.

“Silence! Do what I say, and no one need know what has occurred.”

“But – ”

“Silence, I say!” cried North, firmly now. “Get your hat; we must go to the church at once.”

Moredock stood half bent, and with his head turned to his companion.

“Where – where is he, doctor?”

“In the Candlish vault. I carried him there!”

“Hah!”

The sexton drew a long breath. “You must come on and remove all traces of the struggle in the vestry, and then – ”

“In the morslem, eh, doctor?” said the old man thoughtfully, and growing resigned to the difficulties of his position. “Well, we can put him where no one’s likely to find him there. Hey, doctor, but it’s been a bad thing for me to ha’ met you!”

“Your lanthorn and matches – quick!” said North. “There is no time to lose!”

“But if – if – doctor?”

“If what?”

“If it is found out, you’ll say a word for me. You’ve made me do all this. I do want to live my fifteen or twenty years more in peace.”

“Trust me as you’ve trusted me before,” said North, who was now speaking calmly enough, and had grasped the situation. “I tell you it was an accident – a horrible accident. It was in fair fight; and I have come off none too well.”

“I’ll stand by you, doctor,” said the old man; “and we’ll hide it safe. But there’s Dally,” he muttered to himself – “Dally. She’ll know there’s something wrong, for she won’t believe. Not that he has gone away out o’ fear o’ doctor? Ay, she’ll have to think that. My poor little lass – my poor little lass!”

Volume Two – Chapter Sixteen.
The Doctor is Relieved

The old clock wheezed, and rattled, and spun round, and its weights ran down as the doctor and old Moredock entered the belfry door. Then, as the portal was closed, the dark place seemed to be filled with sound as the chimes rang out the four quarters, and then the deep-toned strokes of hammer upon bell proclaimed that it was nearing day.

“Only three o’clock,” thought North, “and it seems as many days as hours.”

They passed into the church as soon as the old man had lit his lanthorn and covered it with the skirt of his coat, which he held so that the light fell only upon the matting, and here and there upon a brass or some half-worn letters cut in the stones.

The chancel door stuck and refused to open till the old man had held down his lanthorn to see what held it.

“What’s here?” he whispered, as something glittered. “Young miss’s bracelet,” he added, as he dragged out the shining gewgaw, which Leo had dropped in her flight, and which had fallen close to the bottom of the door, and acted as a wedge. “Take hold, doctor.”

“Pah!” ejaculated North, drawing back. “Throw it away.”

“Ay, I’ll throw it away,” muttered the old man, stuffing the heavy gold circle into his pocket: “I’ll throw it away. Hey, but lookye here.”

He held up the lanthorn, and revealed the state of the vestry – the chair overturned, the table driven into a corner, and the gown and surplice torn from the pegs on which they had hung, trampled and twisted, while in one place the tiles close to the wainscot were stained with blood, a few drops of which had splashed the panelled oak.

“Shut that window, man – quick! Hide your light.”

Moredock obeyed, screening his lanthorn, and then climbing on to the oak chest and drawing in and fastening the hasp.

“Shall I – ” he began, as he got down.

“Hang it, man, no!”

“Hist! Don’t say that there word,” whispered Moredock excitedly.

“You can come up here to-morrow, and clean up, and arrange the place. Let’s get to the vault at once.”

The old sexton’s hands trembled as he opened the vestry door, but as he felt how calm and decisive his companion seemed to be, he took courage and followed North through the iron gate and down the steps to the mausoleum door.

“Keep that lanthorn well covered,” whispered North, as he unlocked the door; “and you have not locked the gates.”

The old man stepped back, feeling the wisdom of his companion’s proceedings as far as caution was concerned; and by the time he had stepped back, North was inside the great vault, holding the door for him to enter.

“There, let’s have the light now,” said the doctor bitterly. “Be firm. You are not afraid to face a dead man?”

“Nay, I’m not sheered now, doctor,” whispered Moredock; “but you’ll – you’ll – you’ll – ”

“Pay you?”

“Ay, doctor. You see, it’s – it’s – ”

“Don’t halt and stammer, man,” said the doctor sternly. “This is a terrible business, but I can trust you, and you can trust me. Stand by me firmly over this, and I will give you enough every year to make you comfortable to the end of your days.”

“Hi, doctor, that’s speaking out like a man,” said Moredock, smiling hideously as he opened the horn lanthorn to snuff the candle with his fingers, when the light shone full in his face. “And he warn’t no good, were he?”

“I dare say he valued his life as highly as I valued mine – yesterday,” added the doctor softly.

“And he tried to kill you, didn’t he?” whispered Moredock, closing the lanthorn again.

“As much as I tried to kill him, I suppose,” said North. “We were fighting like two brute beasts.”

“Ay, and it was for life, like,” said Moredock, in a satisfied tone. “It warn’t murder, doctor, were it?”

“By law, I suppose not,” said North quietly, as he stood in his former attitude with his hand over his eyes. “There, we must not waste time. My experiment is over now, and we must restore this place to its old state.”

“Not murder,” said Moredock, with a chuckle; “of course not. I feel easy now.”

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.”

“Hold the light, I say,” cried the doctor sternly; and he went down on one knee by the young squire’s side.

Moredock looked on wonderingly, for it had not occurred to him to make any inquiry into the young man’s state. North had as good as told him that he was slain, and to have questioned the doctor’s verdict would have been unnatural. He stood there then in a bent position, holding the lanthorn, as North made a rapid examination of the young baronet, and then rose to his feet in a calm, practical manner, uttering a sigh of relief.

“Ready, doctor?” whispered Moredock, to whom all this seemed in the highest degree unnecessary.

“Ready, man? No. Put that ghastly thing away. Tom Candlish will go on working wickedness for years after you’ve been under ground.”

Moredock straightened himself up, and held the lanthorn above his head, so that its light could fall upon the doctor’s face. Then, apparently not satisfied, he lowered it, moved the wire slide, and opened the little door, before turning the light on the doctor’s face again.

“Well?” said North.

“What yer talking about, doctor? You don’t mean – mean as – as – ”

“I mean that the man is only stunned,” said North, frowning, as he stood gazing down at his rival; “and we must alter all our plans, Moredock. Neither you nor I will be hung for murdering Tom Candlish,” he added, with a half-savage laugh, as resentment against the man began to take the place of the horror which had pervaded his soul.

“Why, doctor,” whispered Moredock, “you’re a bit off your head. Come, man, quick; and let’s get it done. No one will know.”

“Pshaw! I’m as sane as you are when this confused feeling is not here.”

“But Tom Candlish – the squire?”

“I tell you he’s alive, man! Do you not understand?”

And the party in question endorsed his rival’s statement by uttering a low moan.

At that moment, by natural magnetism, or influence, or occult action of mind upon mind, or whatever it may have been, two people who had lain wakeful and excited in their separate beds, now feverish, now perspiring profusely from horror and abject fear, turned their weary heads upon their pillows, and dropped off fast asleep.

The name of one of the sleepers was Leo Salis, and of the other Joe Chegg.

“But he’s nearly dead, doctor,” whispered Moredock, and he glanced round at the coffin.

“Don’t you think that – ”

He made a significant sign towards the coffin, and there was a strange leer upon his ghoulish face.

Dr North turned swiftly round, and caught his tempter by the throat!