“I think,” he answered promptly, “that I will search the church.”
“There is not a hiding-place for anything bigger than a rat or a bird,” said his wife, glancing around upon the bare walls, floor, and ceiling.
Nevertheless Lyon Berners walked up to the side of the altar where he had seen the shadow disappear. Sybil followed close behind him. He examined the altar all around. It was built of stonework like the church; that was the reason it had stood so long. But he experienced a great surprise when he looked at the side where the shadow had vanished; for there he found a small iron-grated door, through which he dimly discerned the head of a flight of stone steps, the continuation of which was lost in the darkness below. Glancing over the top of the door, he read, in iron letters, the inscription:
“DUBARRY. 1650.”
“What is it, dear Lyon?” inquired Sybil, anxiously looking over his shoulder.
“Good Heaven! It is the family vault of the wicked old Dubarrys, who once owned all the land hereabouts, except the Black Valley Manor, and who built this chapel for their sins; for of them it might not be said with truth, that ‘all their sons were true, and all their daughters pure,’ but just exactly the reverse. However, they are well forgotten now!”
“And this is their family vault?”
“Yes; but I had almost forgotten its existence here.”
“Lyon, can my mysterious visitor have hidden herself in that vault?”
“I can search it, at any rate,” answered Mr. Berners, wrenching away at the grated door.