It was true that the watchmen had the keys, but the screws were often
drawn from the locks inside; and so frequently was this done that at
last chains with padlocks were fastened to all the doors as soon as
the watch was set over them. But even this did not avail. Many of the
houses had communications at the backs into other streets, and so
eluded the vigilance of the watch; while, in other cases,
communications were broken through the walls into other houses, empty
either by desertion or death, and the escape could thus be made under
the very eye of the watchman.

Very frequently Cyril went into a church when he saw the door open.
Here very small congregations would be gathered, for there was a fear
on the part of all of meeting with strangers, for these might,
unknown to themselves, be already stricken with the pest, and all
public meetings of any kind were, for this reason, strictly
forbidden. One day, he was passing a church that had hitherto been
always closed, its incumbent being one of those who had fled at the
outbreak of the Plague. Upon entering he saw a larger congregation
than usual, some twenty or thirty people being present.

The minister had just mounted the pulpit, and was beginning his
address as Cyril entered. The latter was struck with his appearance.
He was a man of some thirty years of age, with a strangely earnest
face. His voice was deep, but soft and flexible, and in the stillness
of the almost empty church its lowest tones seemed to come with
impressive power, and Cyril thought that he had never heard such
preaching before. The very text seemed strange at such a time:
_"Rejoice ye, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand."_ From most of
the discourses he had heard Cyril had gone out depressed rather than
inspirited. They had been pitched in one tone. The terrible scourge