She raised the candle high and looked about the vault. With a sudden cry, she staggered into his arms gasping:
“Why,—we’re—in—the—vault!”
The candle dropped from her hand and she threw her arm around John’s neck clinging to him frantically. Her hold relaxed and her head drooped against his breast. He clasped her tenderly for a moment and his lips instinctively touched the curling mass of her hair, as he cried in agony:
“God help me—I’m lost!”
She revived as quickly as she had collapsed and murmured:
“I was about to faint—quick, let’s get out!”
He led her through the iron grilled door into the moonlit shadows of the lawn.
“Oh!” she cried with a gasp of relief. “What a wild experience! I hope I didn’t do anything very silly—did I?” she asked dreamily.
“You did just what any little girl of your age might do under such conditions,” he replied, gazing at her with deep seriousness. “Come, let us find a seat on the lawn and I’ll tell you the story of the vault and the secret way.”
He led her to the seat on which he had sunk in despair the night he came half-mad with pain to watch the masqueraders whirl past her lighted windows.