“Cordelia, the man whom we saw—the gray friar—must have found a way out somewhere near the altar. Shall we look?”
“You do not think he can be lurking near?” she asked.
“No, no; there can be no danger of that. Be sure, he was seeking a place of hiding when he entered here. Darling!” he added, after a considerable pause, during which he had appeared to be thinking deeply, “I think I can tell you something new. It has come to me since we saw the moonbeam on the pavement.
“Listen; I remember—but I had forgotten it completely—I remember, when I was but a small boy—certainly not more than eight or ten years old—of hearing my father, in conversation with his chief mate, old Donald Rodney, mention the Monk’s Chapel; and I am very sure that at that time he was trying to persuade Donald to go with him and explore. Of course, I can’t remember their words, nor anywhere near thereto; yet I am confident that I am not mistaken about the object my father had in view.
“Cordelia, he believed there were secret crypts beneath the old pile, fashioned when it was built, and he wished very much to find them; but I am very sure he never did it. He probably searched, and had to give it up. If he had found them I should have known it. Aye, as sure as you live, there is a hidden way beneath where we stand, and, I tell you, I will find it if the finding is possible.”
“Oh, you will be careful, Percy! What would become of me if harm should come to you?”
“Have no fear. Ah, Mary is awake. I think we had better not tell her of what we have seen.”
“No, we will tell nobody, until we have gained further knowledge. Shall it be so?”
“Yes. We will leave it at that. And now for home. The way will be damp, but I think we shall survive.”
The maid, when she had collected her scattered senses, and had called to mind the situation, was agreeably surprised upon finding the storm at an end, and the moon brightly shining. She picked up her basket, and was soon ready, with the others, to set forth upon the homeward way.