“Well, now: this same cottage is a half-timbered structure, very ancient, and as full of odd little compartments as a bureau. Where we lie is its secret drawers, Diana, a nest of ’em—two below and two over. And how to reach here, miss? Ay, there’s the master stroke you’d never guess. No, ’tis no way by the door yonder.”
“If you please, sir,” says I, “if ’twas left to my innocence to decide, I should e’en choose the way the tray went.”
“Well, come and look,” says he, and made me go and stoop to the hole. To my surprise, it was closed, and black.
“’Twas not so I saw it last night,” I said, rising.
“What!” cried he, “you were prowling, were you? Thank you kindly for the hint”—and he gave a great laugh, but sobered in a moment.
“Did you listen, then?” said he.
“I was going to,” I answered; “but the moment I bent, your chairs moved, and I was frightened, and ran away.”
“That sounds frank,” said he. He sat musing a little. “You’re a child, ’tis true, mutable and thoughtless; but where could be the harm? If the secret were mine only— Well, study for my confidence, and some day, perhaps”—
He broke off with a smile, which I had a difficulty to return. So there was a mystery in reality. There and then I vowed a Delilah oath to myself to get the better of it.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I said; “I had no thought to surprise any secrets. Is that the way through, indeed?”