that dismal
apartment when a child; and during the many long years which had slowly
intervened, I never recollected having seen it unclosed. My attention
for the first time was drawn to its existence by hearing my uncle say
to some one in the passage in a hurried under tone.

"Set your mind at rest, the paper is in the iron chest in that room. If
you will not rely upon my promise to destroy it, I will burn it before
your eyes."

"That alone will satisfy my doubts," returned his companion. "Be
cautious how you open the door, or the lad will awake."

"Nonsense, young folks like him sleep well."

"Ay, Robert Moncton, they are not troubled with an evil conscience."

This last observation was accompanied with a low sarcastic laugh; and
with an involuntary shiver, I recognized in the mysterious speaker the
old woman who had haunted my dreams.

"Conscience never troubles me, Dinah," returned Moncton, gloomily. "You
first taught me to drown its warning voice."

"You were an apt pupil," said the woman. "All your natural tendencies
were evil. I only fostered and called them out. But what is the use of
recalling unpleasant truths. Why don't you silence memory, when you
have ceased to feel remorse. But I tell you what it is, Moncton. The
presence of the one proves the existence of the other. The serpent is
sleeping in his coil, and one of these days you will feel the strength
of his fangs. Is this the door that leads to his chamber? You have
chosen a sorry dormitory for the heir of the proud house of Moncton."

"Hush! I wish he slept with his fathers. But even if he should awake,
how could he guess, that our visit to his chamber could in any way
concern him?"

"He has a shrewd face, an intelligent eye--an eye to detect treachery,
and defy danger."

"On the contrary, a babe might deceive him."

"He has been educated in too hard a school to revel in such ignorance,
Moncton."

"Hold your tongue, Dinah, and give me the light. Remember how you were
deceived in his cousin Philip."

Mr. Moncton's hand was on the lock of the door: an almost irresistible
impulse urged me to spring from the bed and draw the bolt. On second
thoughts, however, I determined to feign sleep, and watch all that
passed.

Resistance on my part would have been utterly useless, and I was
anxious to find out if possible what connexion existed between my
uncle, George Harrison, and this strange woman.

All this darted through my mind on the instant;