"Thank ye, my lord. I'm going along with my hands held out before me,
to save my head," returned Ketch.

Most likely the bishop and Jenkins were doing the same. Dexterously
steering clear of the pillars, they emerged in the wide, open body of
the cathedral, and bent their steps across it to the spot where hung
the ropes of the bells.

The head sexton to the cathedral--whom you must not confound with a
gravedigger, as you might an ordinary sexton; cathedral sextons are
personages of more importance--was seated about this hour at supper in
his home, close to the cathedral. Suddenly the deep-toned college bell
boomed out, and the man started as if a gun had been fired at him.

"Why, that's the college bell!" he uttered to his family. And the
family stared with open mouths without replying.

The college bell it certainly was, and it was striking out sharp
irregular strokes, as though the ringer were not accustomed to his
work. The sexton started up, in a state of the most amazed
consternation.

"It is magic; it is nothing less--that the bell should be ringing out
at this hour!" exclaimed he.

"Father," suggested a juvenile, "perhaps somebody's got locked up in
the college." For which prevision he was rewarded with a stinging smack
on the head.