f we can, and put two and two together, and see if we can't
make out the whole story. Oh, it's gorgeous! Did two girls ever have
such an adventure before!" She clasped her hands ecstatically, first
having presented the candle to Cynthia, because she was too excited to
hold it. Even the placid and hitherto objecting Cynthia was fired by the
scheme.

"Yes, let's!" she assented. "I'll ask Mother if she knows anything about
this old place."

"No you won't!" cried Joyce, coming suddenly to earth. "This has got to
be kept a strict secret. Never _dare_ to breathe it! Never speak of this
house at all! Never show the slightest interest in it! And we must come
here often. Do you want folks to suspect what we are doing and put a
stop to it all? It's all right, _really_, of course. We're not doing any
actual wrong or harming anything. But they wouldn't understand."

"Very well, then," agreed Cynthia, meekly, cowed but bewildered. "I
don't see, though, how you're going to find out things if you don't
ask."

"You must get at it in other ways," declared Joyce, but did not explain
the process just then.

"This candle will soon be done for!" suddenly announced the practical
Cynthia. "Why didn't you bring a bigger one?"

"Couldn't find any other," said Joyce. "Let's finish looking around here
and leave the rest for another day." They began accordingly to walk
slowly about the room, peering up at the pictures on the walls and
picking their way with care around the furniture without moving or
touching anything. Presently they came abreast of the great open
fireplace. A heavy chair was standing directly in front of it, but
curiously enough, with its back to what must have been once a cheery
blaze. They moved around it carefully and bent to examine the pretty
Delft tiles that framed the yawning chimney-place, below the mantel.
Then Joyce stepped back to look at the plates and vases on the mantel.
Suddenly she gave a little cry:

"Hello! That's _queer_! Look, Cynthia!" Cynthia, still studying the
tiles, straightened up to look where her companion had pointed. But in
that instant the dying candle-flame sputtered, flickered, and _went
out_, leaving only a small mass of warm tallow in Cynthia's hand For a
moment, there was horrified silence. The heavy darkness seemed to cast a
spell over even the irrepressible Joyce. But not for long.

"Too bad!" she began. "Where are the matches, Cynthia? I handed them to
you. We can light our way out