Hoffman looked much concerned.

"Pardon, mademoiselle, the door should have been bolted on this
side. It usually is, but that room being unused, it was forgotten. I
remembered it, and having risen early, crept up to make sure that you
did not come upon this ugly thing unexpectedly. But I was too late, it
seems; you have suffered, to my sorrow."

"Dear Nell, and that was why I found you so pale and cold and quiet,
sitting by me when I woke, guarding me faithfully as you promised you
would. How brave and kind you were!"

"Villain! I should much like to fire your own pistols at you for this
prank of yours."

And Casimer laughingly filliped the image on its absurdly aquiline
nose.

"What in the name of common sense is this goblin here for?" demanded
the major, testily.

"There is a legend that once the owner of the chateau amused himself
by decoying travellers here, putting them to sleep in that room, and
by various devices alluring them thither. Here, one step beyond the
threshold of the door, was a trap, down which the unfortunates were
precipitated to the dungeon at the bottom of the tower, there to die
and be cast into the lake through a water-gate, still to be seen.
Severin keeps this flattering likeness of the rascal, as he does
the monk above, to amuse visitors by daylight, not at night,
mademoiselle."

And Hoffman looked wrathfully at the image, as if he would much enjoy
sending it down the trap.

"How ridiculous! I shall not go about this place alone, for fear of
lighting upon some horror of this sort. I've had enough; come away
into the garden; it's full of roses, and we may have as many as we
like."

As she spoke Amy involuntarily put out her hand for Casimer to lead
her down the steep stone steps, and he pressed the little hand with a
tender look which caused it to be hastily withdrawn.

"Here are your roses. Pretty flower; I know its meaning in English,
for it is the same with us. To give a bud to a lady is to confess
the beginning of love, a half open one tells of its growth, and a
full-blown one is to declare one's passion. Do you have that custom in
your land, mademoiselle?"

He had gathered the three as he spoke, and held the bud separately
while looking at his companion wistfully.

"No, we are not poetical, like your people, but it is a pretty fancy,"
and Amy settled her bouquet with an absorbed expression, though
inwardly wondering what he would do with his flowers.

He stood silent a