falls upon the distressed household, and
still there is no news of Sir Adrian.

Arthur Dynecourt, who is already beginning to be treated with due
respect as the next heir to the baronetcy, has quietly hinted to old
Lady FitzAlmont that perhaps it will be as well, in the extraordinary
circumstances, if they all take their departure. This the old lady,
though strongly disinclined to quit the castle, is debating in her own
mind, and, being swayed by Lady Gertrude, who is secretly rather bored
by the dullness that has ensued on the strange absence of their host,
decides to leave on the morrow, to the great distress of both Dora and
Florence Delmaine, who shrink from deserting the castle while its
master's fate is undecided. But they are also sensible that, to remain
the only female guests, would be to outrage the conventionalities.

Henry Villiers, Ethel's father, is also of opinion that they should all
quit the castle without delay. He is a hunting man, an M.F.H. in his own
county, and is naturally anxious to get back to his own quarters some
time before the hunting-season commences. Some others have already gone,
and altogether it seems to Florence that there is no other course open
to her but to pack up and desert him, whom she loves, in the hour of his
direst need. For there are moments even now when she tells herself that
he is still living, and only waiting for a saving hand to drag him into
smooth waters once again!

A silence has fallen upon the house more melancholy than the loudest
expression of grief. The servants are conversing over their supper in
frightened whispers, and conjecturing moodily as to the fate of their
late master. To them Sir Adrian is indeed dead, if not buried.

In the servants' corridor a strange dull light is being flung upon the
polished boards by a hanging-lamp that is burning dimly, as though
oppressed by the dire evil that has fallen upon the old castle. No sound
is to be heard here in this spot, remote from the rest of the house,
where the servants seldom come except to go to bed, and never indeed
without an inward shudder as they pass the door that leads to the
haunted chamber.

Just now, being at their supper, there is no fear that any of them will
be about, and so the dimly lighted corridor is wrapped in an unbroken
silence. Not quite unbroken, however. What is this that strikes upon the
ear? What sound comes to break the unearthly stillness? A creeping
footstep, a cautious trea