“What shall we do?” she asked.  Her voice sounded appealing, like that of a child.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. May,” said Nick, with sudden cheerfulness.  “We’ll get out all right.  I was just studying what must have happened.  That’s why I was so mum.  I reckon the Padre must have been away—­though why he left the key in the door beats me—­and coming back he locked up for the night.  Unless he went around in the direction of the auto he wouldn’t have seen it.  If he looked in here, of course he’d have thought the church empty, we being in the gallery.  And it’s late in the day now, so late he wouldn’t expect visitors.”

“It’s so ‘late in the day’ that it’s night!” cried Angela.  “Another reason for his not seeing the motor.”

“Not quite night yet!  And I’m going down to make all the noise I can at the door, assisted by Billy.  There’ll be such a din, between the two of us, you’ll want to stop your ears, and as for the Padre, he’ll come trotting as fast as his legs will carry him, to stop the row.”  Nick laughed so jovially that Angela began to be seriously concerned.  If it were necessary to assume such gaiety he must regard the situation as desperate.  She remembered how far away was the sole occupied room among the many empty, echoing cells.

Nick helped her down the steep stairway, and the touch of his hand upon her arm was comforting.  It was cold in the darkening church, and she felt the chill more in imagination than in body; yet she shivered.

“What if we have to stay here all night?” she thought.  But she kept the thought to herself.

Nick and Billy took turns in pounding on the door, shouting, “Hi, Padre!” then doing it together; but the separate and combined noises, ear-splitting inside the church, produced no result.  The dreamy silence was shattered in vain, and at last, when the two refused to be discouraged by lack of success, Angela stopped them.

“It’s no use,” she said.  “He isn’t going to hear.  And I shall have hysterics or something idiotic if you keep on for one more minute.”

“I was thinking of trying another way,” said Nick, still painfully cheerful.

“What other way?—­since even Samson couldn’t batter down the door.”

“A lot simpler than battering.  Climb out of a window.”

“Too high,” said Angela.

“No.  I can manage all right.  I’ll get out, find the Padre, and——­”

“And leave me here in the dark?  No!”

“But there’ll be Billy.”

“Let Billy go,” Angela half whispered, “and you stay with me.  Supposing you went, and the Padre wasn’t there, and—­and you weren’t able to get back.  Oh, I couldn’t bear that!”

Never had Nick known so exquisite a moment.  He was sorry this queer, mysterious accident had happened, because it seemed to reflect somehow on his intelligence and foresight as a guide.  And he hated to have Angela distressed.  But—­after his strivings with jealousy, and his defeat—­it was balm that she should depend upon him, and want him with her in this adventure.