Nether-Moynton church-tower was, as in many villages, without a turret, and the only way to the top was by going up to the singers’ gallery, and thence ascending by a ladder to a square trap-door in the floor of the bell-loft, above which a permanent ladder was fixed, passing through the bells to a hole in the roof.  When Lizzy and Stockdale reached the gallery and looked up, nothing but the trap-door and the five holes for the bell-ropes appeared.  The ladder was gone.

‘There’s no getting up,’ said Stockdale.

‘O yes, there is,’ said she.  ’There’s an eye looking at us at this moment through a knot-hole in that trap-door.’

And as she spoke the trap opened, and the dark line of the ladder was seen descending against the white-washed wall.  When it touched the bottom Lizzy dragged it to its place, and said, ’If you’ll go up, I’ll follow.’

The young man ascended, and presently found himself among consecrated bells for the first time in his life, nonconformity having been in the Stockdale blood for some generations.  He eyed them uneasily, and looked round for Lizzy.  Owlett stood here, holding the top of the ladder.

‘What, be you really one of us?’ said the miller.

‘It seems so,’ said Stockdale sadly.

‘He’s not,’ said Lizzy, who overheard.  ’He’s neither for nor against us.  He’ll do us no harm.’

She stepped up beside them, and then they went on to the next stage, which, when they had clambered over the dusty bell-carriages, was of easy ascent, leading towards the hole through which the pale sky appeared, and into the open air.  Owlett remained behind for a moment, to pull up the lower ladder.

‘Keep down your heads,’ said a voice, as soon as they set foot on the flat.

Stockdale here beheld all the missing parishioners, lying on their stomachs on the tower roof, except a few who, elevated on their hands and knees, were peeping through the embrasures of the parapet.  Stockdale did the same, and saw the village lying like a map below him, over which moved the figures of the excisemen, each foreshortened to a crablike object, the crown of his hat forming a circular disc in the centre of him.  Some of the men had turned their heads when the young preacher’s figure arose among them.

‘What, Mr. Stockdale?’ said Matt Grey, in a tone of surprise.

‘I’d as lief that it hadn’t been,’ said Jim Clarke.  ’If the pa’son should see him a trespassing here in his tower, ’twould be none the better for we, seeing how ’a do hate chapel-members.  He’d never buy a tub of us again, and he’s as good a customer as we have got this side o’ Warm’ll.’

‘Where is the pa’son?’ said Lizzy.

’In his house, to be sure, that he mid see nothing of what’s going on—­where all good folks ought to be, and this young man likewise.’

‘Well, he has brought some news,’ said Lizzy.  ’They are going to search the orchet and church; can we do anything if they should find?’