"I really do not see what is to be done," debated the bishop, who, no
doubt, wished himself well out of the dilemma, as any less exalted
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
deference.
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 abode 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.
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