"In this--holocaust--she needs protection.

I can protect her." "It is a holocaust," the Vicar said, "-- a holocaust." And singularly the words seemed an answer.
* * * * * On a morning of one of London's dark days when the rain was again splashing and streaming in rivulets among the mounds and leaning and tumbling stones of the forgotten churchyard, there came to the church three persons who if they had appeared in more frequented edifices would have attracted some attention without doubt, unnoticeably as they were dressed and inconspicuous as was their manner and bearing.
They did not all three present themselves at the same time.

First there appeared the tall elderly man who had visited and conferred with the Vicar.

He went at once to the vestry where he spent some time with the incumbent who awaited him.
Somewhat later there stepped through the little arched doorway a respectable looking elderly woman and a childlike white-faced girl in a close black frock.

That the church looked to them so dark as to be almost black with shadows was manifest when they found themselves inside peering into the dimness.