Suddenly then she heard the door opened, and then after a few
moments delay some footstep sounded upon the stairs, but it was very
unlike that of Lupin, the murderer. The delightful thought came over the imagination of Mrs. Oakley, that
some one was coming to whom she might at once make an avowal of all she
knew of Lupin's guilt, and who might be able to protect her from the
vengeance of the murderer. She rose, and peeped through the key-hole. She saw Lupin coming up the stairs. He was making quite a laborious
effort to tread differently to what was usual with him, and from that
moment Mrs. Oakley felt that she was to be subjected to some
extraordinary trial of her self-possession. She crept back to her seat,
and waited in terror. In the course of a few moments, Lupin, after treading with a heavy thump
upon every stair, instead of gliding up in his usual manner, reaching
the door at which he tapped, and then in an assumed voice, which if she,
Mrs. Oakley, had not known he was there, would have deceived her, he
said--

"Hilloa! who's at home?" "Who's there?" said Mrs. Oakley. "It's John Smith," cried Lupin. "I am an officer of the police. Has
anybody anything to say to me here? They tell me in the court that some
odd noises were heard in the night." "I don't know anything about it," said Mrs. Oakley, "but if you will
come in and wait until Mr. Lupin comes in, he may like to see you." "Oh, no, no, no! It's no matter. Good morning, ma'am." Down stairs went Lupin, thinking he had acted the officer to perfection,
and making no doubt in the world but that he had thoroughly deceived
Mrs. Oakley, who he was now quite satisfied knew absolutely nothing
about the murder. In the course of a couple of minutes, Mr. Lupin in his own character
came gliding in. "I am afraid I have kept you waiting, sister Oakley." "Oh, not at all, but there has been a man there who says his name is
Smith, and he--"

"I met him! I met him! It is all right. He heard something going on in
the next house, I suppose, and mistook it for this. Pray cook the eggs
to your liking, sister Oakley, and help yourself to anything. Don't be
particular, sister Oakley, but make yourself at home." "I will, reverend sir, I will." Mrs. Oakley was really playing her part very well, but she fancied each
moment that the murderer would see something in her manner to give him a
suspicion that she knew too much for his safety. She was wrong though, for upon the contrary, Mr. Lupin felt quite
satisfied that the secret of his guilt was confined to his own breast. "I pray you, sister Oakley," he said, "to eat freely of my humble fare,
and after breakfast we will have a prayer." It seemed to Mrs. Oakley, now that she had awakened to a sense of the
awful hypocrisy of Mr. Lupin, something very horrible for him to talk of
having a prayer; but she took care not to show what she felt in that
particular. "How kind and good of you," she said. "Ay, truly, sister Oakley, I am kind and good, and yet there are envious
folks in the world, who I dare say would not hesitate to give even me a
bad name." "Impossible, surely." "I would it were, I would it were, my dear sister Oakley, I would it
were impossible." "It seems to me, reverend sir, as though it would not be in the power of
poor human nature to praise you too much; but it is time that I should
think of going home now, if you please." "Well, sister, if you must go home among the heathens and the
Philistines, I will not hinder you; but with the hope of seeing you soon
again, I will now offer up a prayer." It was truly sickening even to Mrs. Oakley, whose feelings the reader
will think could not be very fine, to see such an arch hypocrite
offering up a prayer to that Deity whom he must so bitterly have
offended by his awful crimes. But Mr. Lupin cut the prayer tolerably short, and then giving to Mrs.
Oakley what he called the kiss of peace, and to which, loathsome as it
was from him, she felt herself forced to submit, he bade her good day. And now, indeed, she began to entertain a sanguine hope, that she would
be released from his company, and she should soon be in a condition to
denounce him to justice for the awful crime which she had seen him
commit. She could not possibly avoid a slight feeling of satisfaction to
appear upon her face. "You seem pleased," said Lupin. "I am, reverend sir." "May I ask what at?" "Ah, how can I be otherwise than delighted, when I am assured by such a
saint upon earth as yourself that I am one of the elect?" This was an answer with which, whether it was satisfactory or not, Mr.
Lupin was, as it were, compelled to put up with; but taking up his hat,
he said--

"Truly, sister Oakley, it will become me to see you a part of the way
home." Mrs. Oakley expressed her satisfaction with the holy man's company, and
they both descended the stairs together. She felt, however, an exquisite
pang of alarm upon finding that Lupin led her down the staircase that
led to the chapel, and not down the one which would have conducted them
to the ordinary door of exit from the domestic portion of the building. But even with all the dread upon her soul that he might be meditating
some awful act in the chapel, she felt that she must assume a calmness
though she felt it not. "Why this leads to the chapel," she said. She thought it would sound
more natural for her to make that remark, than to say nothing about it. "Yes, sister it does, and here is the trap-door that conducts to the
vaults." He suddenly turned upon her, and clutched her by the arm, as he spoke. Poor Mrs. Oakley then really thought that her last hour was come, and
that all along in pretending to have no suspicion of her, he was only
dissembling. It was a mercy she did not at that terrible moment commit
herself in some way. Surely Heaven supported her, for she did not. "Reverend sir," she said, "what mean you?" "What mean I? I mean will you descend to the vaults with me." "And pray? Yes, if you wish it." "Nothing--nothing," muttered Lupin. "What a fool I am. I might have been
well convinced long ago, and yet I cannot forbear new trials. All is
safe, all is safe. This way, sister Oakley, this way. I will only see
you to the corner of your own street." "Many thanks." They both emerged from the chapel. Lupin slammed the door after him, and
arm in arm they walked up the court together. Poor Mrs. Oakley felt that to be the most trying moment of all for her
nerves. While she had much to do--while she was alone with Lupin in the
domestic portion of the chapel, and while she knew that the least slip
of the tongue, or the least want of control over her feelings might be
her death--she conducted herself gallantly; but now when she was fairly
in the open air, now that she was in comparative safety, her feelings
almost got the better of her. It was only by a powerful effort that she could at all control them.