Lady Ursula’s volatile spirits had a depressing effect on me. I was determined, however, not to yield to her whims. We had no right to spoil Cousin Geoffrey’s Chamber of Myths by dining in it.
I took my friends down to the great drawing-room, and there we spread our repast; truth to tell, we had a merry time. Afterwards we all returned to the Chamber of Myths.
“You alone have the right to continue the search, Miss Lindley,” said my cousin Tom Valentine.
“I think I had better go on with it,” I said, steadily. “I have a certain plan marked out in my own mind, and if any one interfered with me now I should only feel puzzled.”
“You must certainly continue the search,” said Captain Valentine.
“And we will look at these loves of windows,” said Lady Ursula.
My three visitors—for in one sense I considered them my visitors—went to the far end of the room and left me in comparative peace. With all my heart I wished them away, but I had not the courage to desire them to go. I felt also that I had not the right.
The search, however, was now becoming irksome. The Eastern treasures no longer exercised a spell over me. I was anxious for the daylight to wane—for the time to arrive when I might re-lock the drawers, and return the keys to Mr Gray.
I had now completely examined five of the cabinets. I approached the sixth, which stood exactly under the window which contained the representation of Christ blessing the children. I opened the top drawer of this cabinet with a renewed sense of great weariness, of fatigue of both mind and body. The first thing I saw lying by itself in the little shallow drawer was a thick envelope with my name on the cover—“Miss Rosamund Lindley.” I seized it with trembling fingers. I felt suddenly cold and faint—my heart seemed to stop—my brain to reel. I knew that my search was ended.
“What is the matter?” said Lady Ursula, coming up to me quickly.