“Did you ever suppose I didn’t? I give it now to yonder wardrobe. ’Tis there, I’ll wager, the jewel is.”
“We’ll look—we’ll look; though I’ve used it for months unwitting.”
He rose, with a laugh and a stretch, as he spoke. A cloud had blurred the sun, and the room had fallen to melancholy shadow.
Perhaps it was on this account that, as he flung open one of the heavy doors of the cupboard, something within—an apparition—a momentary trick of the fancy—brought a startled oath from his lips.
A hanging wardrobe was revealed, with an empty shelf set above it; and back in the gloom of this shelf, a foul and withered face seemed to grin upon him from the darkness.
He thought it was Darda’s hideous relic, and for an instant his heart jumped before the shocking revelation. Then the illusion passed, and he saw that what had discomfited him was nothing more terrifying than a cuff or bracelet of mouldered fur.
“What’s the matter?” said Sir David, rising.
Tuke passed his hand across his forehead, and was surprised to find a little dampness thereon.
“Nothing,” he said, with a rather uncertain laugh. “What a thing, Blythewood, if the highwayman’s ghost should be whipping us on to the chase?”
“Ah! if only he’ll put us on the right scent, then.”