“I will see, my lord.”
The question came from the Bishop3 of Helstonleigh; who, as it fell out, had been to make an evening call upon the dean. The dean’s servant was now conducting his lordship down the grand staircase, on his departure. In proceeding4 to the palace from the deanery, to go through the cloisters cut off quite two-thirds of the distance.
Fordham left the hall, a lamp in his hand, and traversed sundry5 passages which brought him to the deanery garden. Crossing the garden, and treading another short passage, he came to the cloisters. The bishop had followed, lighted by Fordham, and talking affably. A very pleasant man was the Bishop of Helstonleigh, standing6 little upon forms and ceremonies. In frame he was nearly as active as a college boy.
“It is all right, I think, my lord,” said Fordham. “I hear the porter’s voice now in the cloisters.”
“How dark it is!” exclaimed the bishop. “Ketch must be closing late to-night. What a noise he is making!”
In point of fact, Mr. Ketch had just arrived at that agreeable moment which concluded the last chapter—the conviction that no other keys were to be found, and that he and Jenkins were fast. The tone in which he was making his sentiments known upon the calamity7, was not a subdued8 one.
“Shall I light you round, my lord?”
“By no means—by no means. I shall be up with Ketch in a minute. He seems in a temper. Good night, Fordham.”
“Good night to your lordship.”
The servant went back to the deanery. The prelate groped his way round to the west quadrangle.
“Are you closing, Ketch?”
Mr. Ketch started as if he had been shot, and his noise dropped to a calm. Truth to say, his style of complaint had not been orthodox, or exactly suitable to the ears of his bishop. He and Jenkins both recognized the voice, and bowed low, dark though it was.
“What is the matter, Ketch? You are making enough noise.”
“Matter, my lord!” groaned9 Ketch. “Here’s matter enough to make a saint—saving your lordship’s presence—forget his prayers. We be locked up in the cloisters.”
“Locked up!” repeated the bishop. “What do you mean? Who is with you?”
“It is me, my lord,” said Jenkins, meekly10, answering for himself. “Joseph Jenkins, my lord, at Mr. Galloway’s. I came in with the porter just for company, my lord, when he came to lock up, and we have somehow got locked in.”
The bishop demanded an explanation. It was not very easily afforded. Ketch and Jenkins talked one against the other, and when the bishop did at length understand the tale, he scarcely gave credence11 to it.
“It is an incomprehensible story, Ketch, that you should drop your keys, and they should be changed for others as they lay on the flags. Are you sure you brought out the right keys?”
“My lord, I couldn’t bring out any others,” returned Ketch, in a tone that longed to betray its resentment12, and would have betrayed it to any one but a bishop. “I haven’t no others to bring, my lord. The two keys hang up on the nail always, and there ain’t another key besides in the house, except the door key.”
“Some one must have changed them previously—must have hung up these in their places,” remarked the bishop.
“But, my lord, it couldn’t be, I say,” reiterated13 old Ketch, almost shrieking14. “I know the keys just as well as I know my own hands, and they was the right keys that I brought out. The best proof, my lord, is, that I locked the south door fast enough; and how could I have done that with these wretched old rusty15 things?”
“The keys must be on the flags still,” said his lordship.
“That is the only conclusion I can come to, my lord,” mildly put in Jenkins. “But we cannot find them.”
“And meanwhile we are locked in for the night, and here’s his right reverend lordship, the bishop, locked in with us!” danced old Ketch, almost beside himself with anger. “Of course, it wouldn’t matter for me and Jenkins: speaking in comparison, we are nobody; but it is a shameful16 indignity17 for my lord.”
“We must try and get out, Ketch,” said his lordship, in a tone that sounded as if he were more inclined to laugh than cry. “I will go back to the deanery.”
Away went the bishop as quickly as the gloom allowed him, and away went the other two in his wake. Arrived at the passage which led from the cloisters to the deanery garden they groped their way to the end—only to find the door closed and locked.
“Well, this is a pleasant situation!” exclaimed the bishop, his tone betraying amusement as well as annoyance18; and with his own prelatical hands he pummelled at the door, and shouted with his own prelatical voice. When the bishop was tired, Jenkins and Ketch began to pummel and to shout, and they pummelled and shouted till their knuckles19 were sore and their throats were hoarse20. It was all in vain. The garden intervened between them and the deanery, and they could not be heard.
It certainly was a pretty situation, as the prelate remarked. The Right Reverend the Lord Bishop of Helstonleigh, ranking about fifth, by precedence, on the episcopal bench, locked up ignominiously21 in the cloisters of Helstonleigh, with Ketch the porter, and Jenkins the steward22’s clerk; likely, so far as appearances might be trusted, to have to pass the night there! The like had never yet been heard of.
The bishop went to the south gate, and tried the keys himself: the bishop went to the west gate and tried them there; the bishop stamped about the west quadrangle, hoping to stamp upon the missing keys; but nothing came of it. Ketch and Jenkins attended him—Ketch grumbling23 in the most angry terms that he dared, Jenkins in humble24 silence.
“I really do not see what is to be done,” debated the bishop, who, no doubt, wished himself well out of the dilemma25, as any less exalted26 mortal would have done, “The doors leading into the college are sure to be closed.”
“Quite sure,” groaned Ketch.
“And to get into the college would not serve us, that I see,” added the bishop. “We should be no better off there than here.”
“Saving that we might ring the bell, my lord,” suggested Jenkins, with deference27.
They proceeded to the college gates. It was a forlorn hope, and one that did not serve them. The gates were locked, the doors closed behind them. No reaching the bell that way; it might as well have been a hundred miles off.
They traversed the cloisters again, and tried the door of the schoolroom. It was locked. Had it not been, the senior boy might have expected punishment from the head-master. They tried the small door leading into the residence of Dr. Burrows—fast also; that abode28 just now was empty. The folding doors of the chapter-house were opened easily, and they entered. But what did it avail them? There was the large, round room, lined with its books, furnished with its immense table and easy-chairs; but it was as much shut in from the hearing of the outside world as they were. The bishop came into contact with a chair, and sat down in it. Jenkins, who, as clerk to Mr. Galloway, the steward to the dean and chapter, was familiar with the chapter-house, felt his way to the spot where he knew matches were sometimes kept. He could not find any: it was the time of light evenings.
“There’s just one chance, my lord,” suggested Jenkins. “That the little unused door at the corner of the cloisters, leading into the body of the cathedral, may not be locked.”
“Precious careless of the sextons, if it is not!” grunted29 Ketch.
“It is a door nobody ever thinks of going in at, my lord,” returned Jenkins, as if he would apologize for the sextons’ carelessness, should it be found unfastened. “If it is open, we might get to the bell.”
“The sextons, proud, stuck-up gentlemen, be made up of carelessness and anything else that’s bad!” groaned Ketch. “Holding up their heads above us porters!”
It was worth the trial. The bishop rose from the chair, and groped his way out of the chapter-house, the two others following.
“If it hadn’t been for that Jenkins’s folly30, fancying he saw a light in the burying-ground, and me turning round to order him to come on, it might not have happened,” grumbled31 Ketch, as they wound round the cloisters.
“A light in the burial-ground!” hastily repeated the bishop. “What light?”
“Oh, a corpse-candle, or some nonsense of that sort, he had his mind running on, my lord. Half the world is idiots, and Jenkins is the biggest of ‘em.”
“My lord,” spoke32 poor Jenkins, deprecatingly, “I never had such a thought within me as that it was a ‘corpse-candle.’ I said I fancied it might be a glowworm. And I believe it was one, my lord.”
“A more sensible thought than the other,” observed the prelate.
Luck at last! The door was found to be unlocked. It was a low narrow door, only used on the very rare occasion of a funeral, and was situated33 in a shady, out-of-the-way nook, where no one ever thought of looking. “Oh, come, this is something!” cried the bishop, cheerily, as he stepped into the cathedral.
“And your lordship now sees what fine careless sextons we have got!” struck in Ketch.
“We must overlook their carelessness this time, in consideration of the service it renders us,” said the bishop, in a kindly34 tone. “Take care of the pillars, Ketch.”
“Thank ye, my lord. I’m going along with my hands held out before me, to save my head,” returned Ketch.
Most likely the bishop and Jenkins were doing the same. Dexterously35 steering36 clear of the pillars, they emerged in the wide, open body of the cathedral, and bent37 their steps across it to the spot where hung the ropes of the bells.
The head sexton to the cathedral—whom you must not confound with a gravedigger, as you might an ordinary sexton; cathedral sextons are personages of more importance—was seated about this hour at supper in his home, close to the cathedral. Suddenly the deep-toned college bell boomed out, and the man started as if a gun had been fired at him.
“Why, that’s the college bell!” he uttered to his family. And the family stared with open mouths without replying.
The college bell it certainly was, and it was striking out sharp irregular strokes, as though the ringer were not accustomed to his work. The sexton started up, in a state of the most amazed consternation38.
“It is magic; it is nothing less—that the bell should be ringing out at this hour!” exclaimed he.
“Father,” suggested a juvenile39, “perhaps somebody’s got locked up in the college.” For which prevision he was rewarded with a stinging smack40 on the head.
“Take that, sir! D’ye think I don’t know better than to lock folks up in the college? It was me, myself, as locked up this evening.”
“No need to box him for that,” resented the wife. “The bell is ringing, and I’ll be bound the boy’s right enough. One of them masons must have fallen asleep in the day, and has just woke up to find himself shut in. Hope he likes his berth41!”
Whatever it might be, ringing the bell, whether magic or mason, of course it must be seen to; and the sexton hastened out, the cathedral keys in his hand. He bent his steps towards the front entrance, passing the cloisters, which, as he knew, would be locked at that hour. “And that bear of a Ketch won’t hurry himself to unlock them,” soliloquized he.
He found the front gates surrounded. The bell had struck upon the wondering ears of many living within the precincts of the cathedral, who flocked out to ascertain42 the reason. Amongst others, the college boys were coming up in troops.
“Now, good people, please—by your leave!” cried the sexton. “Let me get to the gates.”
They made way for the man and his ponderous43 keys, and entrance to the college was gained. The sexton was beginning a sharp reproof44 to the “mason,” and the crowd preparing a chorus to it, when they were seized with consternation, and fell back on each other’s toes. It was the Bishop of Helstonleigh, in his laced-up hat and apron45, who walked forth46.
The sexton humbly47 snatched off his hat; the college boys raised their trenchers.
“Thank you all for coming to the rescue,” said the bishop, in a pleasant tone. “It was not an agreeable situation, to be locked in the cathedral.”
“My lord,” stammered48 the sexton, in awe-struck dread49, as to whether he had unwittingly been the culprit: “how did your lordship get locked in?”
“That is what we must inquire into,” replied the bishop.
The next to hobble out was Ketch. In his own fashion, almost ignoring the presence of the bishop, he made known the tale. It was received with ridicule50. The college boys especially cast mockery upon it, and began dancing a jig51 when the bishop’s back was turned. “Let a couple of keys drop down, and, when picked up, you found them transmogrified into old rusty machines, made in the year one!” cried Bywater. “That’s very like a whale, Ketch!”
Ketch tore off to his lodge52, as fast as his lumbago allowed him, calling upon the crowd to come and look at the nail where the keys always hung, except when in use, and holding out the rusty dissemblers for public view, in a furious passion.
He dashed open the door. The college boys, pushing before the crowd, and following on the bishop’s heels—who had probably his own reasons for wishing to see the solution of the affair—thronged into the lodge. “There’s the nail, my lord, and there—”
Ketch stopped, dumbfounded. On the nail, hanging by the string, as quietly as if they had hung for ages, were the cloister2 keys. Ketch rubbed his eyes, and stared, and rubbed again. The bishop smiled.
“I told you, Ketch, I thought you must be mistaken, in supposing you brought the proper keys out.”
Ketch burst into a wail53 of anger and deprecation. He had took out the right keys, and Jenkins could bear him out in the assertion. Some wicked trick had been played upon him, and the keys brought back during his absence and hung up on their hook! He’d lay his life it was the college boys!
The bishop turned his eyes on those young gentlemen. But nothing could be more innocent than their countenances54, as they stood before him in their trenchers. Rather too innocent, perhaps: and the bishop’s eyes twinkled, and a half-smile crossed his lips; but he made no sign. Well would it be if all the clergy55 were as sweet-tempered as that Bishop of Helstonleigh!
“Well, Ketch, take care of your keys for the future,” was all he said, as he walked away. “Good night, boys.”
“Good night to your lordship,” replied the boys, once more raising their trenchers; and the crowd, outside, respectfully saluted56 their prelate, who returned it in kind.
“What are you waiting for, Thorpe?” the bishop demanded, when he found the sexton was still at the great gates, holding them about an inch open.
“For Jenkins, my lord,” was the reply. “Ketch said he was also locked in.”
“Certainly he was,” replied the bishop. “Has he not come forth?”
“That he has not, my lord. I have let nobody whatever out except your lordship and the porter. I have called out to him, but he does not answer, and does not come.”
“He went up into the organ-loft in search of a candle and matches,” remarked the bishop. “You had better go after him, Thorpe. He may not know that the doors are open.”
The bishop left, crossing over to the palace. Thorpe, calling one of the old bedesmen, some of whom had then come up, left him in charge of the gate, and did as he was ordered. He descended57 the steps, passed through the wide doors, and groped his way in the dark towards the choir58.
“Jenkins!”
There was no answer.
“Jenkins!” he called out again.
Still there was no answer: except the sound of the sexton’s own voice as it echoed in the silence of the large edifice59.
“Well, this is an odd go!” exclaimed Thorpe, as he leaned against a pillar and surveyed the darkness of the cathedral. “He can’t have melted away into a ghost, or dropped down into the crypt among the coffins60. Jenkins, I say!”
With a word of impatience61 at the continued silence, the sexton returned to the entrance gates. All that could be done was to get a light and search for him.
They procured62 a lantern, Ketch ungraciously supplying it; and the sexton, taking two or three of the spectators with him, proceeded to the search. “He has gone to sleep in the organ-loft, that is what he has done,” cried Thorpe, making known what the bishop had said.
Alas63! Jenkins had not gone to sleep. At the foot of the steps, leading to the organ-loft, they came upon him. He was lying there insensible, blood oozing64 from a wound in the forehead. How had it come about? What had caused it?
Meanwhile, the college boys, after driving Mr. Ketch nearly wild with their jokes and ridicule touching65 the mystery of the keys, were scared by the sudden appearance of the head-master. They decamped as fast as their legs could carry them, bringing themselves to an anchor at a safe distance, under shade of the friendly elm trees. Bywater stuck his back against one, and his laughter came forth in peals66. Some of the rest tried to stop it, whispering caution.
“It’s of no good talking, you fellows! I can’t keep it in; I shall burst if I try. I have been at bursting point ever since I twitched67 the keys out of his hands in the cloisters, and threw the rusty ones down. You see I was right—that it was best for one of us to go in without our boots, and to wait. If half a dozen had gone, we should never have got away unheard.”
“I pretty nearly burst when I saw the bishop come out, instead of Ketch,” cried Tod Yorke. “Burst with fright.”
“So did a few more of us,” said Galloway. “I say, will there be a row?”
“Goodness knows! He is a kind old chap is the bishop. Better for it to have been him than the dean.”
“What was it Ketch said, about Jenkins seeing a glowworm?”
“Oh!” shrieked68 Bywater, holding his sides, “that was the best of all! I had taken a lucifer out of my pocket, playing with it, while they went round to the south gate, and it suddenly struck fire. I threw it over to the burial-ground: and that soft Jenkins took it for a glowworm.”
“It’s a stunning69 go!” emphatically concluded Mr. Tod Yorke. “The best we have had this half, yet.”
“Hush—sh—sh—sh!” whispered the boys under their breath. “There goes the master.”
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1
cloisters
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| n.（学院、修道院、教堂等建筑的）走廊( cloister的名词复数 )；回廊；修道院的生活；隐居v.隐退，使与世隔绝( cloister的第三人称单数 ) | |
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cloister
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| n.修道院；v.隐退，使与世隔绝 | |
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bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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proceeding
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| n.行动，进行，(pl.)会议录，学报 | |
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sundry
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| adj.各式各样的，种种的 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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9
groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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credence
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| n.信用，祭器台，供桌，凭证 | |
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resentment
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| n.怨愤，忿恨 | |
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reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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shrieking
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| v.尖叫( shriek的现在分词 ) | |
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rusty
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| adj.生锈的；锈色的；荒废了的 | |
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shameful
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| adj.可耻的，不道德的 | |
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indignity
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| n.侮辱，伤害尊严，轻蔑 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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knuckles
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| n.（指人）指关节( knuckle的名词复数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝v.（指人）指关节( knuckle的第三人称单数 )；（指动物）膝关节，踝 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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ignominiously
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| adv.耻辱地，屈辱地，丢脸地 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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grumbling
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| adj. 喃喃鸣不平的, 出怨言的 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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dilemma
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| n.困境，进退两难的局面 | |
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exalted
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| adj.(地位等)高的，崇高的；尊贵的，高尚的 | |
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deference
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| n.尊重，顺从；敬意 | |
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abode
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| n.住处，住所 | |
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grunted
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| （猪等）作呼噜声( grunt的过去式和过去分词 )； （指人）发出类似的哼声； 咕哝着说 | |
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folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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dexterously
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| adv.巧妙地，敏捷地 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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juvenile
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| n.青少年，少年读物；adj.青少年的，幼稚的 | |
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smack
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| vt.拍，打，掴；咂嘴；vi.含有…意味；n.拍 | |
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berth
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| n.卧铺，停泊地，锚位；v.使停泊 | |
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42
ascertain
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| vt.发现，确定，查明，弄清 | |
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43
ponderous
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| adj.沉重的，笨重的，(文章)冗长的 | |
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44
reproof
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| n.斥责，责备 | |
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apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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47
humbly
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| adv. 恭顺地，谦卑地 | |
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48
stammered
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| v.结巴地说出( stammer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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49
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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50
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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51
jig
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| n.快步舞（曲）；v.上下晃动；用夹具辅助加工；蹦蹦跳跳 | |
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52
lodge
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| v.临时住宿，寄宿，寄存，容纳；n.传达室，小旅馆 | |
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53
wail
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| vt./vi.大声哀号，恸哭；呼啸，尖啸 | |
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54
countenances
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| n.面容( countenance的名词复数 )；表情；镇静；道义支持 | |
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55
clergy
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| n.[总称]牧师，神职人员 | |
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56
saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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57
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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58
choir
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| n.唱诗班，唱诗班的席位，合唱团，舞蹈团；v.合唱 | |
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59
edifice
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| n.宏伟的建筑物(如宫殿，教室) | |
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60
coffins
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| n.棺材( coffin的名词复数 )；使某人早亡[死，完蛋，垮台等]之物 | |
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61
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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62
procured
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| v.（努力）取得， （设法）获得( procure的过去式和过去分词 )；拉皮条 | |
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63
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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64
oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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65
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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66
peals
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| n.（声音大而持续或重复的）洪亮的响声( peal的名词复数 )；隆隆声；洪亮的钟声；钟乐v.（使）（钟等）鸣响，（雷等）发出隆隆声( peal的第三人称单数 ) | |
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67
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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68
shrieked
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| v.尖叫( shriek的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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69
stunning
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| adj.极好的；使人晕倒的 | |
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