ong the edge of the wood.

"It's where he lives!" Mlle de Nurrez whispered.

"What! do you mean to say that it is to this house you have brought me?"
Paul shrieked. "To this awful, deserted ghostly mansion! Why have you
lied to me?"

"I was afraid you wouldn't care to come if I described the place too
accurately," Mlle de Nurrez said. "Forgive me--and pity me, too, for it
is here that Prince Dajarah would have me spend my life."

Paul trembled.

"For God's sake, don't desert me!" Mlle de Nurrez exclaimed, laying her
hand softly on his shoulder. "Think of the terrible fate that will
befall me! Think of your promises, your vows!"

But Paul Nicholas did not respond all at once. His brain was in a
whirl. He had been deceived, cruelly deceived! And with what motive? Was
Mlle de Nurrez's explanation genuine? Could there be anything genuine
about a girl who told an untruth? Once a liar always a liar! Did not
that maxim hold good? Was it not one he had heard repeatedly from
childhood? What should he do? What could he do? He was here, alone with
this woman and her coachman, in one of the wildest and most outlandish
regions of Spain. God alone knew where! To attempt to return would be
hopeless--sheer imbecility; he would most certainly get lost on the
mountains, and perish from hunger and thirst, or fall over some
precipice, or into the jaws of a bear; or, at all events, come to some
kind of an untimely end. No! there was no alternative, he must remain
and trust in Mlle de Nurrez. But the house was appalling; he did not
like looking at it, and the bare thought of its interior froze his
blood. Then he awoke to the fact that she was still addressing him, that
her soft hands were lying on his, that her beautiful eyes were gazing
entreatingly at him, that her full ripe lips were within a few inches of
his own. The moon lent her its glamour, and his old love reasserting
itself with quick, tempestuous force, he drew her into his arms and
kissed her repeatedly. Some minutes later and they had crossed the
threshold of the mansion. All was as he had pictured it--grim and
hushed, and bathed in moonbeams.

The coachman led the way, and with muffled, stealthy footstep conducted
them across dark halls and along intricate passages, up long and winding
staircases--all bare and cold; through vast gloomy rooms, the walls and
floors of which were of black oak, the former richly carved, and in
places hung with ancient tapestry, displaying t