Wynnette gazed and wondered—wondered and gazed, until, drawn by an irresistible fascination, she arose slowly and turned from the window, went past her sister’s bed, stooped over, saw that Odalite was fast asleep, and then she softly opened the chamber door, passed out and closed it behind her.
In the upper hall lights were always left burning low through the night.
By these Wynnette found her way down the grand staircase to the armorial hall below.
Here, also, lights were burning low.
By these she found her way to the great west door in front, took down the bars, unhooked the chain, drew back the bolts, and turned the heavy key in the huge lock—all so noiselessly as to make her wonder, until she remembered how well-oiled every lock, key, bolt and hinge was, to save the nerves of the invalid earl.
She drew open the heavy doors and went out into the night.
The courtyard was bathed in moonlight, except where the old ruin some yards in front cast its black shadow, for the moon was now behind it.
Everything was as still as death except the sea that thundered at the foot of the cliff.
Wynnette felt no fear of material dangers. She knew that she was as safe from harm as though she were in a fortress.
She went straight across the courtyard, drawing nearer and nearer to the haunted castle; and as she approached it she gazed more intently at those luridly lighted loopholes. And then, oh strange! the lights seemed not to come from torch or candle, but from spectral eyes glaring forth into the night, and drawing her on with an irresistible power. Wynnette could not turn and fly; she was under a mighty spell, she must move on—on—on—until she reached the pile of fallen stones around the castle walls; and over these, climbing with difficulty and danger, still moving on and on, until she reached the portals.