Big
drops glittered in the moonlight, pouring a copious shower on the
travellers as they passed. The clerk began a low chant, humming and
whistling by turns: this gradually grew more audible, until the full
burst of the "_Miserere_" commenced, richly adorned with his own
original quavers. So enamoured was he of his qualifications in this
respect that he was fairly getting through high mass, when, midway in a
ravishing "_Benedictus_" he made a sudden halt.
"What is that creeping behind the bushes there?" inquired he, in a sort
of half-whisper to his companion. De Poininges looked in the direction
pointed out, and thought he saw something, dark and mysterious, moving
between the boughs on his left. He stopped, but the object, whatever its
nature, had disappeared.
Sore alarmed was the timid chorister; but though his melodies had
ceased, a plentiful supply of credos and paternosters were at hand to
supply their place. Crossing himself with a great show of sanctity, he
moved on with much caution, his deep hoarse voice having subsided into a
husky and abrupt whisper, often interrupted when objects the most
trivial arrested his glance and aroused his suspicions.
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