d the vast fireplace could hold on its iron
dogs an entire waggon-load of faggots. Indeed, that amount was
regularly consumed every day when the marshal deigned to abide at
Machecoul for his health and in pursuance of his wonderful studies
into the deep things of the universe.

"Bide here a moment," said Clerk Henriet, bending his body in a
writhing contortion to listen to what might be going on inside the
chamber; "I dare not take you in till I see whether my lord be in good
case to receive you."

So at the stair-head, by a window lattice which looked towards the
chapel, Laurence stood and waited. At first he kept quite still and
listened with pleasure to the distant singing of the boys. He could
even hear Precentor Renouf occasionally stop and rebuke them for
inattention or singing out of tune.

"_My soul is like a watered garden,
And I shall not sorrow any more at all!_"

So he hummed as he listened, and beat the time on the ledge with his
fingers. He felt singularly content. Now he was on the eve of
penetrating the mystery. At last he would discover where the missing
maidens were concealed.

But soon he began to look about him, growing, like the boy he was,
quickly weary of inaction. His eye fell upon a strange door with
curious marks burnt upon its panels apparently by hot irons. There
were circles complete and circles that stopped half-way, together with
letters of some unknown language arranged mostly in triangles.

This door fixed the lad's attention with a certain curious
fascination. He longed to touch it and see whether it opened, but for
the moment he was too much afraid of his guide's return to summon him
into the presence of the marshal.

He listened intently. Surely he heard a low sound, like the wind in a
distant keyhole--or, as it might be (and it seemed more like it), the
moaning of a child in pain, it knows not why.

The heart of the youth gave a sudden leap. It came to him that he had
hit upon the hiding-place of Margaret Douglas, the heiress of the
great province of Galloway. His fortune was made.

With a trembling hand he moved a step towards the door of white wood
with the curious burned marks upon it. He stood a moment listening,
half for the returning footsteps of Clerk Henriet, and half to the
low, persistent whimper behind the panels. Suddenly he felt his right
foot wet, for, as was the fashion, he wore only a velvet shoe pointed
at the toe. He looked down, and lo! from u