hearty grasp, and placed her
in a chair at the side, and then took his own seat at the foot of the
table.

Mrs. Condiment sat at the head and poured out the tea.

"Uncle," said Capitola, suddenly, "what is under the trap-door in my
room?"

"What! Have they put you in that room?" exclaimed the old man, hastily
looking up.

"There was no other one prepared, sir," said the housekeeper.

"Besides, I like it very well, uncle," said Capitola.

"Humph! humph! humph!" grunted the old man, only half satisfied.

"But, uncle, what is under the trap-door?" persisted Capitola; "what's
under it?"

"Oh, I don't know--an old cave that was once used as a dry cellar until
an underground stream broke through and made it too damp, so it is said.
I never explored it."

"But, uncle, what about the----"

Here Mrs. Condiment stretched out her foot and trod upon the toes of
Capitola so sharply that it made her stop short, while she dexterously
changed the conversation by asking the major if he would not send Wool
to Tip-Top in the morning for another bag of coffee.

Soon after supper was over Capitola, saying that she was tired, bade her
uncle good night, and, attended by her little black maid Pitapat, whom
Mrs. Condiment had called up for the purpose, retired to her distant
chamber. There were already collected here three trunks, which the
liberality of her uncle had filled.

As soon as she had got in and locked the door she detached one of the
strongest straps from her largest trunk and then turned up the rug and
secured the end of the strap to the ring in the trap-door. Then she
withdrew the bolt, and, holding on to one end of the strap, gently
lowered the trap, and, kneeling, gazed down into an awful black
void--without boundaries, without sight, without sounds, except a deep,
faint, subterranean roaring as of water.

"Bring the light, Pitapat, and hold it over this place, and take care
you don't fall in," said Capitola. "Come, as I've got a 'pit' in my name
and you've got a 'pit' in yours, we'll see if we can't make something of
this third 'pit.'"

"Deed, I'se 'fraid, Miss," said the poor little darkey.

"Afraid! What of?"

"Ghoses."

"Nonsense. I'll agree to lay every ghost you see!"

The little maid approached, candle in hand, but in such a gingerly sort
of way, that Capitola seized the light from her hand, and, stooping,
held it down as far as she could reach and gazed once more into the
abyss. But this only mad