who burst a blood-vessel drinking at Weymouth races, was buried there;
but there was a tale that one Sunday afternoon, many years back, there
had come from the vault so horrible and unearthly a cry, that parson and
people got up and fled from the church, and would not worship there for
weeks afterwards.

We thought of these stories, and huddled up closer to the brazier, being
frightened at the noise, and uncertain whether we should not turn tail
and run from the church. For it was certain that something was moving in
the Mohune vault, to which there was no entrance except by a ringed stone
in the chancel floor, that had not been lifted for forty years.

However, we thought better of it, and did not budge, though I could see
when standing up and looking over the tops of the seats that others
beside ourselves were ill at ease; for Granny Tucker gave such starts
when she heard the sounds, that twice her spectacles fell off her nose
into her lap, and Master Ratsey seemed to be trying to mask the one noise
by making another himself, whether by shuffling with his feet or by
thumping down his prayer-book. But the thing that most surprised me was
that even Elzevir Block, who cared, men said, for neither God nor Devil,
looked unquiet, and gave a quick glance at Ratsey every time the sound
came. So we sat till Mr. Glennie was well on with the sermon. His
discourse interested me though I was only a boy, for he likened life to
the letter 'Y', saying that 'in each man's life must come a point where
two roads part like the arms of a "Y", and that everyone must choose for
himself whether he will follow the broad and sloping path on the left or
the steep and narrow path on the right. For,' said he, 'if you will look
in your books, you will see that the letter "Y" is not like the Mohune's,
with both arms equal, but has the arm on the left broader and more
sloping than the arm on the right; hence ancient philosophers hold that