She led the way, and I followed. Passing down the stone stair and through several rooms, mostly plain bedrooms, we arrived at a wooden staircase, of which there were few in the place. We ascended a little way, crossed one or two rooms more, came out on a small gallery open to the air, a sort of covered bridge across a gulf in the building, re-entered, and after crossing other rooms, tapestried, and to my eyes richly furnished, arrived at the first of those occupied by the library.
‘Now did you know the way, Wilfrid?’
‘Not in the least,’ I answered. ‘I cannot think how I could have forgotten it so entirely. I am ashamed of myself.’
‘You have no occasion,’ she returned. ‘You never went that way at all.’
‘Oh, dear me!’ I said; ‘what a place it is! I might lose myself in it for a week.’
‘You would come out somewhere, if you went on long enough, I dare say. But you must not leave the library till I come and fetch you. You will want some dinner before long.’
‘What time do you dine?’ I asked, putting my hand to my watch-pocket.
‘Ah! you’ve got a watch—have you? But indeed, on a day like this, I dine when I can. You needn’t fear. I will take care of you.’
‘Mayn’t I go into the armoury?’
‘If you don’t mind the risk of meeting Mr Close. But he’s not likely to be there to-day.’