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Page 27
"But why?" he asks, impressed in spite of himself, by her manner.
"I hardly know myself; it is a fancy--an unaccountable one, perhaps--but
still a powerful one. Do be guided by me, and have it removed."
"What--the fancy?" he asks, laughing.
"No--the lock. Humor me in this," she pleads earnestly, far more
earnestly than the occasion seems to warrant. "Call it a silly
presentiment, if you like, but I honestly think that lock will work you
evil some day. Therefore it is that I ask you to do away with it."
"You ask me?" he queries.
"Yes, if only to please me--for my sake."
She has evidently forgotten her late distrust of him, for she speaks now
in the old sweet tone, and with tears in her eyes. Sir Adrian flushes
warmly.
"For your sake," he whispers. "What is there I would not do, if thus
requested?"
A bitter sneer contracts Arthur Dynecourt's lips as he listens to the
first part of this conversation and guesses at the latter half. He notes
correctly the kindling of their eyes, the quick breath that comes and
goes like happy sighs from the breast of Florence. He hears the whisper,
sees the warm blush, and glances expressively at Dora. Meeting her eyes
he says his finger on his lips to caution her to silence, and then, when
passing by her, whispers:
"Meet me in half an hour in the lower gallery."
Bowing her acquiescence in this arrangement, fearing indeed to refuse,
Dora follows the others from the haunted chamber.
At the foot of the small stone staircase--before they go through the
first iron-bound door that leads to the corridor without--they find
Ethel Villiers awaiting them. She had been looking round her in the
dimly lighted stone passage, and has discovered another door fixed
mysteriously in a corner, that had excited her curiosity.
"Where does this lead to, Sir Adrian?" she asks now, pointing to it.
"Oh, that is an old door connected with another passage that leads by
a dark and wearying staircase to the servants' corridor beneath! I am
afraid you won't be able to open it, as it is rusty with age and disuse.
The servants would as soon think of coming up here as they would of
making an appointment with the Evil One; so it has not been opened for
years."
"Perhaps I can manage it," says Arthur Dynecourt, trying with all his
might to force the ancient lock to yield to him. At length his efforts
are crowned with success; the door flies creakingly open, and a cloud of
dust uprising covers them like a mist.
"Ah!" exclaims Ethel, recoiling; but Arthur, stooping forward, carefully
examines the dark staircase that lies before him wrapped in impenetrable
gloom. Spider-nets have been drawn from wall to wall and hang in dusky
clouds from the low ceiling; a faint, stale, stifling smell greets his
nostrils, yet he lingers there and looks carefully around him.
"You'll fall into it, if you don't mind," remarks Captain Ringwood. "One
would think uncanny spots had an unwholesome attraction for you."
Ringwood, ever since the memorable night in the smoking-room, when Sir
Adrian was so near being killed, has looked askance at Arthur Dynecourt,
and, when taking the trouble to address him at all, has been either
sharp or pointed in his remarks. Arthur, contenting himself with a
scowl at him, closes the little door again, and turns away from it.
"At night," says Sir Adrian, in an amused tone, "the servants, passing
by the door below that leads up to this one, run by it as though they
fear some ghostly ancestors of mine, descending from the haunted
chamber, will pounce out upon them with their heads under their arms,
or in some equally unpleasant position. You know the door, don't you,
Arthur--the second from the turning?"
"No," replies Arthur, with his false smile, "I do not; nor, indeed,
do I care to know it. I firmly believe I should run past it too after
nightfall, unless well protected."
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