ittle could a man imprisoned there see of
the great busy world without!

"Yes, I'll remember," he says jestingly. "When the ghosts of my
ancestors claim me as their victim, and incarcerate me in some fiendish
dungeon, I shall remember your words and your advice."

"You don't mean to go there, of course?" asks Arthur carelessly, whilst
watching the other with eager scrutiny. "It is quite a journey to that
dismal hole, and it will be useless."

"Well, if it distresses you, consider I haven't gone," says Sir Adrian
lightly.

"That is right," rejoins Arthur, still with his keen eyes fixed upon his
cousin. "I knew you would abandon that foolish intention. I certainly
shall consider you haven't gone."

They are at the hall door as these words pass Arthur's lips, and there
they separate, Sir Adrian leaving him with a smile, and going away up
the large hall whistling gayly.

When he has turned one corner, Arthur goes quickly after him, not with
the intention of overtaking him, but of keeping him in view. Stealthily
he follows, as though fearful of being seen.

There is no servant within sight. No friend comes across Sir Adrian's
path. All is silent. The old house seems wrapped in slumber. Above, the
pretty guests in their dainty tea-gowns are sipping Bohea and prattling
scandal; below, the domestics are occupied in their household affairs.

Arthur, watching carefully, sees Sir Adrian go quickly up the broad
front staircase, after which he turns aside, and, as though filled with
guilty fear, rushes through one passage and another, until he arrives in
the corridor that belongs to the servants' quarters.

Coming to a certain door, he opens it, not without some difficulty, and,
moving into the dark landing that lies beyond it, looks around. To any
casual observer it might seem strange that some of the cobwebs in this
apparently long-forgotten place have lately been brushed away, as by a
figure ascending or descending the gloomy staircase. To Arthur these
signs bring no surprise, which proves that he, perhaps, has the best
right to know whose figure brushed them aside.

Hurrying up the stairs, after closing the door carefully and
noiselessly behind him, he reaches, after considerable mountings of
what seem to be interminable steps, the upper door he had opened on
the day they had visited the haunted chamber, when Ringwood and he
had had a passage-at-arms about his curiosity.

Now he stands breathing heavily outside this