Hugh followed her down a short stair into a narrow passage, nowhere lighted from the outside. The door went to behind them, as if some one had banged it in anger at their intrusion. The passage smelt very musty, and was as quiet as death.
“Not a word of this, Hugh, as you love me. It may be useful yet.”
“Not a word.”
They came through a sliding panel into an empty room. Euphra closed it behind them.
“Now shade your light.”
He did so. She took him by the hand. A few more turns brought them in sight of the lights of the rest of the party. As Euphra had conjectured, they were looking at the picture of Lady Euphrasia, Mr. Arnold prosing away to them, in proof that the nun could not be she. They entered the gallery without being heard; and parting a little way, one pretending to look at one picture, the other at another, crept gradually round till they joined the group. It was a piece of most successful generalship. Euphra was, doubtless, quite prepared with her story in case it should fail.
“Dear Lady Emily,” said she, “how tired you look! Do let us go, uncle.”
“By all means. Take my arm, Lady Emily. Euphra, will you take the keys again, and lock the doors?”
Mrs. Elton had already taken Hugh’s arm, and was leading him away after Mr. Arnold and Lady Emily.
“I will not leave you behind with the spectres, Miss Cameron,” said Funkelstein.