es? or would you
have preferred seeing them applied to villa purposes?" If it were
the abbot, Edwin felt he would like to have that familiar kind of
intercourse with him which in our country is known as twa-handed
crack; and if it were not the abbot, he had a wonderful curiosity to
know what it was--to have it accounted for. There it stood, apparently
as firm and sure as the first moment he had seen it; and a cause it
must have.

Accordingly, he dressed himself with the intention of proceeding to
the spot to interview the abbot and see what kind of stuff he was made
of. Mr. Forrester took the lamp in his hand and opened the room-door
softly: not that he thought any one would hear him, but soft sounds
best become the stillness of the night. As he went down the stairs he
became conscious of a cold air playing about, as if from an open door
or window. He set his lamp on the stone sill of the passage-window,
and had his hand on the key of the outer door to unlock it, when he
heard a quick, sudden scream, apparently from the oldest part of
the building. He listened intently for a second, but there was no
repetition of it, and everything was perfectly quiet.

"That was human," he said to himself; and seizing his lamp he ran
along till he came to the door of the ancient keep, which was standing
open: he took the way he and the rest of the party had gone the
previous afternoon, and found the doors that were usually kept locked
all open. Going on very hurriedly, he came to the room where the bare
rafters were the only flooring, and at the other end of it he saw
something like a white heap gleaming. He strode across instantly, and
stooping with the light in hand discovered Bessie Ormiston lying in a
dead faint just at the edge of one of the rafters: the least movement
would have sent her down on the hard pavement below. He did not stop
to think how she came to be there: setting his lamp where it would
light him across the dangerous flooring, he lifted her up and threaded
the passages and stairs in the darkness till he laid her safe on the
dining-room sofa, still unconscious.

Kneeling beside her in the darkness, he felt that her face and hands
were very cold. He did not know what to do. If she had been any other
person, he would have had his senses about him, but, being who she
was, they had scattered themselves, and he felt dazed. The fire was
not quite out, and he thought of smashing up a chair to make it burn,
but searchin