Tom looked on for a moment, and then left us, blundering away towards Raxton, most likely to a beer-house.

He told the child that she was to go home and mind the house until he returned.  He gave her the church key to take home.  We two were left alone in the churchyard, looking at each other in silence, each waiting for the other to speak.  At last she said, demurely, ‘Good-bye; father says I must go home.’

And she walked away with a business-like air towards the little white gate of the churchyard, opening upon what was called ’The Wilderness Road.’  When she reached the gate she threw a look over her shoulder as she passed through.  It was that same look again—­wistful, frank, courageous.  I immediately began to follow her, although I did not know why.  When she saw this she stopped for me.  I got up to her, and then we proceeded side by side in perfect silence along the dusty narrow road, perfumed with the scent of wild rose and honeysuckle.  Suddenly she stopped and said,

‘I have left my hat on the tower,’ and laughed merrily at her own heedlessness.

She ran back with an agility which I thought I had never seen equalled.  It made me sad to see her run so fast, though once how it would have delighted me!  I stood still; but when she reached the church porch she again looked over her shoulder, and again I followed her:—­I did not in the least know why.  That look I think would have made me follow her through lire and water—­it has made me follow her through fire and water.  When I reached her she put the great black key in the lock.  She had some difficulty in turning the key, but I did not presume to offer such services as mine to so superior a little woman.  After one or two fruitless efforts with both her hands, each attempt accompanied with a little laugh and a little merry glance in my face, she turned the key and pushed open the door.  We both passed into the ghastly old church, through the green glass windows of which the sun was shining, and illuminating the broken remains of the high-hacked pews on the opposite side.  She ran along towards the belfry, and I soon lost her, for she passed up the stone steps, where I knew I could not follow her.

In deep mortification I stood listening at the bottom of the steps—­listening to those little feet crunching up the broken stones—­listening to the rustle of her dress against the narrow stone walls, until the sounds grew fainter and fainter, and then ceased.

Presently I heard her voice a long way up, calling out, ’Little boy, if you go outside you will see something.’  I guessed at once that she was going to exhibit herself on the tower, where, before my accident, I and my brother Frank were so fond of going.  I went outside the church and stood in the graveyard, looking up at the tower.  In a minute I saw her on it.  Her face was turned towards me, gilded by the golden sunshine.  I could, or thought I could, even at that distance, see the flash