How the Light was Extinguished.
There was something very strange and weird about that sound—one which sent a chill of horror through both the hearers, but they laughed the next moment at their fears, for the noise was only such as could be given out by a pair of rusty hinges from which an unused door had hung for a hundred years, the sound being rendered more startling from the hollow space beyond.
Fred felt more startled than ever, in spite of his forced laugh; but he held the candle before him, and gazed through the narrow opening into a little low-ceiled room, panelled throughout with oak, and festooned with cobwebs, while on one side there was quite a cluster of long, thin, white-looking strands and leaves hanging over and resting upon a heap of crumbling, fungus-covered sticks.
“Why, it’s quite a little chamber,” Scarlett exclaimed; “and look at the ivy. It has come in through that loop-hole.”
“And look at that old jackdaw’s nest. I say, Scar, can your father know of this place?”
“No, nor any one else. But it is queer. A regular secret chamber.”
“Yes, but what’s it for?”
“I don’t know. Must have been made when the house was built to keep the plate in for fear of robbers.”
“Look at the spiders! There’s a big one!”
“Yes, but I’m trying to puzzle out where it is. I know. It must be somewhere at the west corner, because that’s where there is most ivy.”