The two large keys, one at each end of a string, were hung up just
within the lodge door; they belonged to the two gates of the cloisters.
Old Ketch took them down and went out with Jenkins, merely closing his
own door; he rarely fastened it, unless he was going some distance.
Very dark were the enclosed cloisters, as they entered by the west
gate. It was later than the usual hour of closing, and it was,
moreover, a gloomy evening, the sky overcast. They went through the
cloisters to the south gate, Ketch grumbling all the way. He locked it,
and then turned back again.
Arrived about midway of the west quadrangle, the very darkest part in
all the cloisters, and the most dreary, Jenkins suddenly startled his
companion by declaring there was a light in the burial-ground.
"Come along!" growled Ketch. "You'll say there's corpse-candles there
next."
"It is only a little spark, like," said Jenkins, halting. "I should not
wonder but it is one of those pretty, innocent glowworms."
He leaned his arms upon the mullioned frame of the open Gothic window,
raised himself on tiptoe to obtain as complete a view as was possible,
and pushed his head out to reconnoitre the grave-yard. Mr. Ketch
shuffled on; the keys, held somewhat loosely in his hand by the string,
clanking together.
"Be you going to stop there all night?" he called out, when he had gone
a few paces, half turning round to speak.
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