But that morning there was something else to take off our
thoughts; for before the service was well begun, we became aware of a
strange noise under the church. The first time it came was just as Mr.
Glennie was finishing 'Dearly Beloved', and we heard it again before the
second lesson. It was not a loud noise, but rather like that which a boat
makes jostling against another at sea, only there was something deeper
and more hollow about it. We boys looked at each other, for we knew what
was under the church, and that the sound could only come from the Mohune
Vault. No one at Moonfleet had ever seen the inside of that vault; but
Ratsey was told by his father, who was clerk before him, that it underlay
half the chancel, and that there were more than a score of Mohunes lying
there. It had not been opened for over forty years, since Gerald Mohune,
who burst a blood-vessel drinking at Weymouth races, was buried there;
but there was a tale that one Sunday afternoon, many years back, there
had come from the vault so horrible and unearthly a cry, that parson and
people got up and fled from the church, and would not worship there for
weeks afterwards.
We thought of these stories, and huddled up closer to the brazier, being
frightened at the noise, and uncertain whether we should not turn tail
and run from the church.
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