oom, his
face a changing picture of various emotions, wonder, doubt, suspicion,
and amusement. Gradually, as his mind grew clearer, suspicion took the
upper hand, and was succeeded by certainty of the worst. He raised his
head, and, as he did so, violently started. High upon the wall there was
the figure of a savage hunter woven in the tapestry. With one hand he
held a horn to his mouth; in the other he brandished a stout spear. His
face was dark, for he was meant to represent an African.

Now, here was what had startled Richard Shelton. The sun had moved away
from the hall windows, and at the same time the fire had blazed up high
on the wide hearth, and shed a changeful glow upon the roof and
hangings. In this light the figure of the black hunter had winked at him
with a white eyelid.

He continued staring at the eye. The light shone upon it like a gem; it
was liquid, it was alive. Again the white eyelid closed upon it for a
fraction of a second, and the next moment it was gone.

There could be no mistake. The live eye that had been watching him
through a hole in the tapestry was gone. The firelight no longer shone
on a reflecting surface.

And instantly Dick awoke to the terrors of his position. Hatch's
warning, the mute signals of the priest, this eye that had observed him
from the wall, ran together in his mind. He saw he had been put upon his
trial, that he had once more betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of
some miracle, he was lost.

"If I cannot get me forth out of this house," he thought, "I am dead
man! And this poor Matcham, too--to what a cockatrice's nest have I not
led him!"

He was still so thinking, when there came one in haste, to bid him help
in changing his arms, his clothing, and his two or three books, to a new
chamber.

"A new chamber?" he repeated. "Wherefore so? What chamber?"

"'Tis one above the chapel," answered the messenger.

"It hath stood long empty," said Dick, musing. "What manner of room is
it?"

"Nay, a brave room," returned the man. "But yet"--lowering his
voice--"they call it haunted."

"Haunted?" repeated Dick, with a chill. "I have not heard of it. Nay,
then, and by whom?"

The messenger looked about him; and then, in a low whisper, "By the
sacrist of St. John's," he said. "They had him there to sleep one night,
and in the morning--whew!--he was gone. The devil had taken him, they
said; the more betoken, he had drunk late the night before."

Dick followed th