of any description, and on
the boards the dark stains of blood are distinctly visible.

"Dynecourt, tell them a story or two," calls out Ringwood to Sir Adrian.
"They won't believe it is veritably haunted unless you call up a ghost
to frighten them."

But they all protest in a body that they do not wish to hear any ghost
stories, so Sir Adrian laughingly refuses to comply with Ringwood's
request.

"Are we far from the other parts of the house?" asks Florence at length,
who has been examining some writing on the walls.

"So far that, if you were immured here, no cry, however loud, could
penetrate the distance," replies Sir Adrian. "You are as thoroughly
removed from the habitable parts of the castle as if you were in the
next county."

"How interesting!" observes Dora, with a little simper.

"The servants are so afraid of this room that they would not venture
here even by daylight," Sir Adrian goes on. "You can see how the dust of
years is on it. One might be slowly starved to death here without one's
friends being a bit the wiser."

He laughs as he says this, but, long afterward, his words come back to
his listeners' memories, filling their breasts with terror and despair.

"I wonder you don't have this dangerous lock removed," says Captain
Ringwood. "It is a regular trap. Some day you'll be sorry for it."

Prophetic words!

"Yes; I wish it were removed," responds Florence, with a strange quick
shiver.

Sir Adrian laughs.

"Why, that is one of the old tower's greatest charms," he says. "It
belongs to the dark ages, and suggests all sorts of horrible
possibilities. This room would be nothing without its mysterious lock."

At this moment Dora's eyes turn slowly toward Arthur Dynecourt. She
herself hardly knows why, at this particular time, she should look at
him, yet she feels that some unaccountable fascination is compelling her
gaze to encounter his. Their eyes meet. As they do so, Dora shudders and
turns deadly pale. There is that in Arthur Dynecourt's dark and sullen
eyes that strikes her cold with terror and vague forebodings of evil. It
is a wicked look that overspreads the man's face--a cruel, implacable
look that seems to freeze her as she gazes at him spell-bound. Slowly,
even while she watches him, she sees him turn his glance from her to Sir
Adrian in a meaning manner, as though to let her know that the vile
thought that is working in his brain and is betraying itself on his face
is intended f