The Argosy — page 290: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

276 The Key of the Church. “I suppose not. But it was some minutes, I can tell you, before my pulses were at all at their ordinary rate of beating.” He went on to say that the only plan he could think of was to endea- vour to get away, and go out of the country. To stand his trial was not to be thought of. His word, that he had not been the guilty man, had never even had a gun in his hand that night, would go for nothing, against Gisby’s word and Shepherd’s. Whatever came of it, he would have to be out of the church before Sunday. The great question was : how could he get away unseen? I told him Tod was coming with me at night, and we would consult together. Locking up the church again, and the prisoner in it, I gladdened Bumford’s heart by handing over the key, and ran home to breakfast. Life yet lingered in Gisby ; but the doctors thought he could not live through the day. The injury he had received was chiefly internal, somewhere in the region of the lungs. Fresh parties went out to scour the country after Fred Westerbrook, with fresh ardour; and so the day passed. Chancing to meet Shepherd late in the afternoon, he told me Gisby still lived. At sundown I went in to practise again, and took a big mould-candle with me, showing it to Bumford, that he might not be uneasy on the score of his stock in the vestry. As soon as dusk came on, and before the tell-tale moon was much up, I left the organ, opened the church- door, and stood at it, according to the plan concerted with Tod. He came swiftly up with his basket of provisions, which he had got together by degrees during the day ; and then we locked the door again. After Fred had regaled himself, we consulted together. Fred was to steal out of the church about one o’clock on Sunday morning, and make off across the country. But, to do this in safety, it was necessary he should be disguised. By that time, perhaps, the ardour of the night-searching might have somewhat passed ; and the hour, one o'clock in the morn- ing, was as silent and lonely a one as could be expected. It was most essential that he should not be recognised by any person who might chance to meet him. ‘But you must manage one thing for me,” said Fred, after this was settled. “I will not go away without seeing Edna. She can come in here with you to-morrow night.” We both objected. “ It will be very hazardous, Fred. Old Bum- ford would be sure to see her: his eyes are everywhere.” “Tell him you want her to sing over the chants with you, Johnny. Tell him anything. But, go away for an indefinite period, without first convincing her that it is not guilt that sends me, I will not.” So there was no more to be said. The getting provisions together seemed to have been easy, compared with what we should have to get up now—a disguise. A smock-fiock, say, and the other items of a day-labourer’s apparel. EOMRniilElooe _ SS (CO)