ere the circumstances under which she had laid down, or
what was that vague feeling of horror and alarm that possessed her.
Then the yawning trapdoor, the remnants of the supper, and Black
Donald's coat, hat and boots upon the floor, drove in upon her reeling
brain the memory of the night of terror!

The knocking continued more loudly and impatiently, accompanied by the
voice of Mrs. Condiment, crying:

"Miss Capitola--Miss Capitola--why, what can be the matter with her?
Miss Capitola!"

"Eh? What? Yes!" answered Capitola, pressing her hands to her feverish
forehead, and putting back her dishevelled hair.

"Why, how soundly you sleep, my dear! I've been calling and rapping
here for a quarter of an hour! Good gracious, child what made you
oversleep yourself so?"

"I--did not get to bed till very late," said Capitola, confusedly.

"Well, well, my dear, make haste now, your uncle is none of the
patientest, and he has been waiting breakfast for some time! Come, open
the door and I will help you to dress, so that you may be ready sooner."

Capitola rose from the side of the bed, where she had been sitting, and
went cautiously around that gaping trap door to her chamber door, when
she missed the key, and suddenly remembered that it had been in Black
Donald's pocket when he fell. A shudder thrilled her frame at the
thought of that horrible fall.

"Well--well--Miss Capitola, why don't you open the door?" cried the old
lady, impatiently.

"Mrs. Condiment, I have lost the key--dropped it down the trap-door.
Please ask uncle to send for some one to take the lock off--and don't
wait breakfast for me."

"Well, I do think that was very careless, my dear; but I'll go at
once," said the old lady, moving away.

She had not been gone more than ten minutes, when Old Hurricane was
heard, coming blustering along the hall and calling:

"What now, you imp of Satan? What mischief have you been at now?
Opening the trap-door, you mischievous monkey! I wish from the bottom
of my soul you had fallen into it, and I should have got rid of one
trial! Losing your key, you careless baggage! I've a great mind to
leave you locked up there forever."

Thus scolding, Old Hurricane reached the spot and began to ply
screw-drivers and chisels until at length the strong lock yielded, and
he opened the door.

There a vision met his eyes that arrested his steps upon the very
threshold; the remains of a bacchanalian supper; a man's coat and hat