"Perhaps it will," said Hugh, becoming resigned, as he saw Peggy link her arm in Grace's. "Come on, then, girls and boys! Suppose we begin with the garret; Margaret has been promising to show me its wonders ever since I came."

On the second landing they paused to salute the old portraits, and Hugh must point out this or that one that had a familiar look.

"This might be Margaret's self, I always think, Miss Wolfe; this sweet-faced lady in the silvery green gown. See! she has the same clear, quiet, true eyes, and her hair is the same shade of soft brown. A lovely face."

"Are you looking at the Sea-green Me?" asked Margaret over his shoulder.

"Our dear Rita liked it, and used to call it her Sea-green Margaret. But come now and look at the glorious Regina, who actually has a look of Rita herself. And I want Grace to see Hugo, too."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "ON THE SECOND LANDING THEY PAUSED TO SALUTE THE OLD PORTRAITS."]

She pa.s.sed on, and Grace was about to follow, but Hugh detained her.

"Just one moment," he said, speaking low. "This is a fine collection, Miss Wolfe, but I see no portrait of the Wood-nymph."

"The Wood-nymph?"

"Yes. Do you not know that a dryad haunts this garden of Fernley?

Sometimes she is not seen, only heard in the dusk, singing magical songs, that fill whoever hears them with a strange feeling akin to madness. But sometimes--sometimes she leaves her tree, and comes out in the moonlight, and--dances--"

He paused. Grace had started, and now looked up at him with a curious expression, in which anger, mirth, and fear seemed struggling for the upper hand. Before she could reply, a terrific scream rang through the gallery, startling the whole party. Turning, they saw Jean, who had run on before the rest in her eagerness to explore, standing at the farther end of the corridor, with open mouth and staring eyes, the very image of terror.

"My dear child," cried Margaret, running toward her, "what is it? Are you hurt?"

"What is it, Jeanie?" said Peggy, who was the first to reach her sister, and already had her in her arms. "Jean, don't gasp so! You have seen something; is that it? Margaret, what did I always tell you?"

Jean nodded, still gasping, and clung to Peggy with eager, trembling hands. "Oh!" she moaned. "Peggy, save me! take me away! the closet; oh, the closet!"

"What closet, dear? This one? Why, this is the broom closet. There is nothing here to frighten you, Jean."

"The woman!" murmured Jean. "The dreadful dead woman! Peggy, I saw her eyes, and her long hair. Oh, I shall die, I know I shall!"

"Oh, you poor lamb!" cried Margaret, laughing in spite of her compa.s.sion. She hurried to the closet and flung the door wide open. "It is only Mrs. Body!" she said. "Come and look again, Jean; it is the lay-figure, dear, nothing else in the world."

"Lay figure?" faltered Jean, still trembling and hanging back.

"Yes, the model. Grandmother Montfort used to paint a great deal, and she had this creature made to stand for the figure. Come and look at it, dear child."

Gently and persuasively she drew the trembling girl forward; the others all pressed behind her.

There on the floor of the closet lay a figure which might at the first glance have alarmed a stouter heart than fifteen-year-old Jean's,--the figure of a woman, scantily draped in white. The arms were stretched out stiffly, the face, with its staring eyeb.a.l.l.s, over which fell some lank wisps of hair, was turned toward the door. No wonder Jean was terrified.

"I am so sorry!" said Margaret. "The children, Basil and Susan D., found her in the garret last winter. They begged to be allowed to have her for a plaything, so they kept her in here, and had great fun with her. Her name is Mrs. Body, but she can take any part, from Ophelia to Simple Susan. She took tea with us once, when Uncle John was away, and she behaved beautifully; so you see you really must not mind her, Jean, dear."

"It's no wonder she was frightened, though," said Gerald. "My right arm cleaves to the roof of my mouth, even now that I know who she is. Mrs.

Body, my respects to you, ma'am, and I desire you of less acquaintance."

While they were all laughing over Mrs. Body, and commenting upon her various points, Gerald slipped round to Margaret's side.

"Miss Montfort," he said, speaking in a low tone, "do you remember the roarer?"

"Indeed I do, Mr. Merryweather. Do you know, you never showed me the place. You had to go away the next day, you remember."

"That is just what I was thinking," said Gerald. "I have never forgotten that burning moment when Mrs. Cook and I foregathered in the dark. I was thinking, what if the Lost Casket should happen to be somewhere about that place in the wall? and anyhow, it would be fun to explore it, and I promised to show it to you, and I like to keep my promises, because virtue is my only joy. Won't you come with me now, and let the rest go on? Awfully nice in the garret, I am sure, but--won't you come, please?"

"Oh," said Margaret, "that would be delightful! But--it is quite dark, isn't it? and they have all the candles."

"All except this," said Gerald, drawing a slender cylinder from his pocket. "Electric candle; you have seen them, of course. I brought it with me, intending some such exploration, if permitted. I ran up and got it, at Mr. Montfort's first word of this search. Come! the down-stairs hall. This way; oh, please, this way."

Margaret hesitated, looking doubtfully at him. "I--don't know if I ought," she said. "I should like it of all things, if I thought--"

"Don't think!" said Gerald, hastily. "Great mistake to think; wastes the tissues awfully. Action first, thought afterward! aphorism! Or if you must indulge in the baneful pursuit, think how much poor Jerry wants you. Poor Jerry! child of misfortune!"

"Is that the way you get everything you want?" said Margaret, laughing, as she followed him half-reluctantly down-stairs.

"One way; there are others. This is the best, since it procures me your company. See, now! in this niche here, behind the big picture!"

He pa.s.sed his hand along a panel; it swung back, revealing blackness.

Margaret stared. "I never knew that was a door!" she said. "Mr.

Merryweather, do you know, I think the person who built this house must have been a smuggler, a magician, and a detective, all in one."

"Fine combination!" said Gerald. "I should like to have known the old codg--I mean gentleman. No deep mystery here, though, beyond the secret door. He did love secret doors, that ancestor of yours. He may have been an architect, and have thought door-handles unsightly, as they are. But see!"

They were now standing in a deep recess, and he waved his candle to and fro. "This would appear to have been originally used as a kind of store-room, or drying-room. See those hooks; probably for hams--if not for hanging," he added. "If you prefer tragedy, Miss Montfort, you shall have it. There is room for ten persons to hang here, without touching.

Their ghastly upturned faces, their blood-stained robes, glimmering spectral white in the--"

"Oh, don't!" said Margaret. "You really frighten me. Yes, they must be for hams; now I think of it, I have heard Frances speak of the drying-closet. This wall is warm; it must be close against the kitchen chimney."

"Jerusalem!" exclaimed Gerald. "Here are steps, Miss Montfort. Stone steps, leading down to a trap-door. Shall I help you down, or--no, I will go alone. When I open the door, a hollow groan will be heard, and the clank of iron fetters. Would you rather have me descend to Hades with a loud squeak, or shall a headless spectre arise, grinning and--beg pardon! anatomy at fault; grinning requires a head. That's the way! my genius is always checked in its soaring flight, and pulled back to earth by idiot facts."

Running on thus, Gerald descended the stone steps, Margaret following to their top, timidly. Sure enough, there was a trap-door at the bottom, with a ring in it; a perfectly orthodox trap-door, suitable for the Arabian Nights or anything else. Gerald took hold of the ring, prepared for a vigorous pull; then paused, and looked at his companion. "I hear voices!" he said. "Hark!"

They listened. A low murmur came up from below; the voices were m.u.f.fled, by distance or intervening substances, and could not be distinguished.

"Oh, do you think we'd better open it?" said Margaret, who had such a wholesome awe of the Mysteries of Fernley that she was prepared for anything in the way of the marvellous.

"That is what I think!" said Gerald, cheerfully. "That's what it was made for, you see. A door that does not fulfil its destiny might just as well be something else, skittles, or a pump, or--other things. Now this--"

As he spoke, he gave a vigorous pull; the door lifted, but at the same instant the candle slipped from his hand, and fell rattling into some unseen depth below, leaving them in blank darkness. Margaret uttered a cry of alarm. "Don't fall! Oh, pray be careful, Mr. Merryweather!"

"All right!" said Gerald. "Stay just where you are, for a moment, while I explore this--aperture. Ha! the steps continue. You don't mind if I leave you in the dark for just a minute, Miss Montfort?"

Margaret did not mind, once a.s.sured that her companion was not engaged in the congenial pursuit of breaking his neck. She began feeling about her in the darkness, darkness so thick it was like black velvet, she said to herself. She found the wall; it was warm, as she said; she began pa.s.sing her hand mechanically along the bricks, counting them.

A cheerful voice came up from below: "I have found the doughnuts--good ones!--and the--seem to be--yes! sweet pickles. Corking! And--now you've done it, my son! Jam, by all that's adhesive! Put my whole hand in.

Jerusalem and Mad--"

At this instant there was a sound as of a door thrown violently open; a flood of light filled the place; light, and an angry voice.

"Who's this here in my pantry? Come out of that, ye rascal, before I set the dogs on ye!"