He was down on his knees, in his white shirt, his sword a gleam of silver on the slabs before him.

"Kit."

The boy, swift to grasp his meaning, knelt beside him, pulling Blob after him.

An arm stole round him; his stole round Blob.

So they knelt in the twilight, hugging close in that aweful sense of loneliness that comes to men when the Gates of Death are seen to swing back to let them through.

Kit thought of his Confirmation six months ago.

Now the end was come--so soon.

Well, well, he had often died before. And how clearly it all came back to him, this final stage in the little pilgrimage, these last few steps, solemn, beautiful, and slow, up to the familiar threshold; then the old door, the old smile, and--the old forgetfulness.

He had no regrets, and was strangely calm, strangely uplifted. He could look back without shame, and forward without fear. Now he was thankful that in these days of his ordeal he had been true to himself and to his trust. He had done his best. There was little more to do.

That little should be done as became the son of his father.

IV

In the gloom they knelt before this unanointed Priest of Jehovah.

His office sat upon that white old man, native to him as his soul.

He spread his great-knuckled hands above them, a patriarch, a prophet, an apostle of Jesus Christ by the will of G.o.d.

"G.o.d bless you, sir--and you, Master Kit--and you, Boy Hoad." He drew his hand across his mouth.

"So be. Amen," he added solemnly.

"Amen," said they all.

The Parson rose.

He gripped the old man's hand.

Blob he patted on the back.

"Kit," he said, and, drawing the boy towards him, kissed him.

CHAPTER LXIX

THE PARSON'S SORTIE

I

"Time!" came the stern voice from without.

The Parson slammed back the last bolt with a clang, and whipped up his sword.

"_Ready?_"

The man was in a white flame, roaring for battle.

"_Yes_."

Time had stopped: Eternity was there.

"_Then G.o.d help us all to die!_"

He flung back the door and plunged.

It was a venture of despair; but there was no despair in that heart of oak.

Swift as a flood, and as silent, he made for the wall, the despatch- bag flopping in the small of his back. And his silence added to the terror of his coming.

The white-hearted crew huddling behind the wall felt it. Here and there a scared head dodged up only to duck again.

One man alone left cover and went out to meet the solitary swordsman.

The Gentleman vaulted the wall, and came across the sward with steady eyes, twisting his sword-knot about his wrist.

There was a rimy look about his face, and a snarl in the voice that shouted to the crew behind him,

"Come! close in there! You've got to finish this job before you go.

The soldiers are on your heels, remember."

Close at hand a sudden drum rolled.

It smote the guilty hearts of the Gang like a summons to the Last Judgment.

"_What's that?_"

They rose up like dead men and looked behind them. It was not much they saw, but it was sufficient.

Close in their rear, on a rise of the ground, a man stood against the sky, thundering fatally on a monster drum.

He wore a red coat; he was a soldier.

And as they gazed, he beat a furious rat-a-tan-tan and charged.