igure that out?" questioned Cynthia.

"Well, in several ways. For one thing, because it was all closed up and
papered over. That could have been done before she came here, and you
know she only lived in this house eighteen years. But mainly because
there wouldn't have been much sense in her locking up the room (if she
_did_ lock it) had she known there was another easy way of getting into
it. No, I somehow don't think she knew!"

They did their dusting in the locked-up room, and tried to make it look
as ship-shape as possible, carefully avoiding, however, the vicinity of
the desk. Cynthia arranged six candles in holders, ready to light, and
they went down stairs again to arrange the others,--a task that was
accomplished with some difficulty, as the candelabrum was rather high,
and they were obliged to stand on chairs. At last all was ready and they
hurried home to luncheon, agreeing to meet at two for the "great
illumination"!

When they returned that afternoon, Cynthia had smuggled over the
gas-lighter, which they found a boon indeed in lighting so many candles
at such a height. When every tongue of flame was sparkling softly, the
girls stepped back to admire the result.

"Isn't it the prettiest thing you ever saw?" cried Joyce in an ecstasy
of admiration. "It beats a Christmas-tree all hollow! I've always heard
that candle-light was the loveliest of all artificial illumination, and
now I believe it. Just see how this room is positively transformed! We
never _saw_ those pictures properly before."

"Now it looks as it did fifty years ago," said Cynthia, softly. "Of
course, houses _were_ lighted by gas then, but only city ones or those
near the city. I know, because I've been asking about it. Other people
had to use horrid oil-lamps. But there were _some_ who kept on having
candles because they preferred that kind of light--especially in
country-houses. And evidently this was one of them."

Joyce eyed her curiously.

"You've certainly been interested in the question of illumination, half
a century ago,--but _why_, Cynthia? I never knew you to go so deeply
into anything of this kind before!" Cynthia started, and blushed again.

"Do you think so," she stammered. "Oh, well!--it's only because
this--this house has taken hold of me--somehow. I can't get it out of my
mind, day or night!"

"Yes," cried Joyce, "and I remember the day when I could hardly induce
you to enter it! I just had to _pull_ you in, and you dispu