The light disappeared, fading slowly out. “Indeed, the servants are all too much alarmed, after what took place last year, to go near that wing—much less that room,” said Euphra. “Besides, Mrs. Horton has all the keys in her own charge.” “Go yourself and get me them, Euphra. I will see at once what this means. Don’t say why you want them.” “Certainly not, uncle.” Hugh had recovered almost instantaneously. Though full of amazement, he had yet his perceptive faculties sufficiently unimpaired to recognise the real source of the light in the window. It seemed to him more like moonlight than anything else; and he thought the others would have seen it to be such, but for the effect of Lady Emily’s sudden exclamation. Perhaps she was under the influence of the Bohemian at the moment. Certainly they were all in a tolerable condition for seeing whatever might be required of them. True, there was no moon to be seen; and if it was the moon, why did the light go out? But he found afterwards that he had been right. The house stood upon a rising ground; and, every recurring cycle, the moon would shine, through a certain vista of trees and branches, upon Lady Euphrasia’s window; provided there had been no growth of twigs to stop up the channel of the light, which was so narrow that in a few moments the moon had crossed it. A gap in a hedge made by a bull that morning, had removed the last screen.—Lady Euphrasia’s window was so neglected and dusty, that it could reflect nothing more than a dim bluish shimmer. “Will you all accompany me, ladies and gentlemen, that you may see with your own eyes that there is nothing dangerous in the house?” said Mr. Arnold.