m the box. The same strange uncertainty which
had already possessed his feet, appeared now to possess his hands. He
struck the match too heavily against the sandpaper, and broke it. He
tried another, and struck it too lightly to kindle the flame. Hester
took the box out of his hands. Having lit the candle, she hel d it low,
and pointed to the skirting-board.

Two little hooks were fixed into the floor, near the part of the wall
from which the paper had been removed. Two lengths of fine and strong
string were twisted once or twice round the hooks. The loose ends of the
string extending to some length beyond the twisted parts, were neatly
coiled away against the skirting-board. The other ends, drawn tight,
disappeared in two small holes drilled through the wall, at a height of
a foot from the floor.

After first untwisting the strings from the hooks, Hester rose, and held
the candle so as to light the cavity in the wall. Two more pieces of the
fine string were seen here, resting loose upon the uneven surface which
marked the lower boundary of the hollowed space. Lifting these higher
strings, Hester lifted the loosened paper in the next room--the lower
strings, which had previously held the strip firm and flat against the
sound portion of the wall, working in their holes, and allowing the
paper to move up freely. As it rose higher and higher, Geoffrey saw thin
strips of cotton wool lightly attached, at intervals, to the back of
the paper, so as effectually to prevent it from making a grating sound
against the wall. Up and up it came slowly, till it could be pulled
through the hollow space, and pinned up out of the way, as the strip
previously lifted had been pinned before it. Hester drew back, and made
way for Geoffrey to look through. There was Anne's room, visible through
the wall! He softly parted the light curtains that hang over the bed.
There was the pillow, on which her head would rest at night, within
reach of his hands!

The deadly dexterity of it struck him cold. His nerves gave way. He drew
back with a start of guilty fear, and looked round the room. A pocket
flask of brandy lay on the table at his bedside. He snatched it up, and
emptied it at a draught--and felt like himself again.

He beckoned to Hester to approach him.

"Before we go any further," he said, "there's one thing I want to know.
How is it all to be put right again? Suppose this room is examined?
Those strings will show."

Hester opened a cu