onfess; so you're punishing yourself by staying."

Once more the key turned in the lock, and Diana was a prisoner. At eight
o'clock Miss Beverley, in strict silence, brought in a tray with supper,
placed it on the table, departed, and secured the defences. After that
nobody else even came up the stairs.

"They might some of them have managed to push a note under the door,"
sighed Diana. "I guess I'd have got a message in somehow if it had been
Wendy shut up here. What a set of thick-heads they are! There isn't one
of them ever has a decent brain-wave. Wonder how long I'll have to stick
in this attic? I've not lost my bounce yet. But I guess, all the same,
I'll go to bed now."

Miss Beverley, with the supper tray, had also brought Diana's night-gear
in a small bundle. As there was no candle in the attic, it seemed wise
to disrobe while there was still light enough to see by. The little bed
was rather hard, the pillow was a lumpy one, and the spring mattress
squeaked when she moved. Diana watched the room grow gradually darker
and darker till stars appeared through the skylight. It was a very long
time before she slept. The early sunshine, however, woke her in the
small hours of the morning. There was no blind to the window, and the
room faced east. Diana sat up in bed. Her eyes fell on the pictureless
walls. Perhaps the very fact of their bareness made her look at them
more particularly. She did not admire the pattern of the paper. In
places it had been badly fitted together, especially in that corner.
Why, the magenta roses actually overlapped! They did it in a sort of
curve, almost as if they were outlining the top of a door. _Was_ it by
any chance a door?

At this stage of her inspection she sprang out of bed, went over to the
corner, and ran her hand along the portion in question. It certainly
felt as if the edge of a door were beneath. She rapped, and there was a
hollow sound, very different from that given forth from the wall when
she tried it a few yards farther on.

"I'm going to solve the problem for myself," she decided.

There was a knife left on the supper-tray. She thrust it through the
paper, and began to cut round the seeming door. And most undoubtedly it
was a door, though only a small one, with a curved top that came to the
height of her shoulder.

"It must lead somewhere!" she thought excitedly. "Suppose I could get
out on to the leads, climb down the ivy, and go off to Petteridge.
Cousin Corali