or terrified others, was aware of a feeling of cold, which seemed to
pass like a breath through his spirit. The congregation about him,
perhaps struck by the unusual form of the sermon, remained silent and
motionless, waiting. In his stall sat the rector with downcast eyes.
Malling could not at that moment discern his expression. His large
figure and important powerful head and face showed almost like those
of a carven effigy in the lowered light of the chancel. The choirboys
did not stir, and the small, fair man in the pulpit, raising his thin
hands, and resting them on the marble ledge, continued quietly, taking
up his sermon with a repetition of the last words uttered, "whose
footprints were the same as his own."

Again the cold breath went through Malling's spirit. He leaned slightly
forward and gazed at Chichester.

For some time the man thus went onward, following the footprints in
the snow, but not overtaking any one, and becoming momentarily more
eager to satisfy his curiosity. Then, on a sudden, he started, stopped,
and listened. It had now become very dark, and in this darkness, and
the great stillness of night, he heard the faint sound of a footfall
before him, brushing through the crisp snow, which lay lightly, and not
very deep, on the hard highroad leading to the village on the farther
outskirts of which his house was situated. He could not yet see any one,
but he felt sure that the person who made this faint sound was no other
than he in whose steps he had been treading. It would now be a matter of
only a minute or two to come up with him. And the man went on, but more
slowly, whether because he was now certain of attaining his object or
for some other reason.

The sound of the footfall persisted, and was certainly not far off. The