Euphra instantly lifted her hand again, as if she would just like to try that result. But Hugh, who was in no haste for any result, held her back. She struggled for a moment or two, but not very strenuously, and, desisting all at once, let her arms drop by her sides. “I fear it is too late. This is a double door, and Mr. Arnold will have locked all the doors between this and the picture-gallery. They are there now. What shall we do?” She said this with an expression of comical despair, which would have made Hugh burst into laughter, had he not been too much pleased to laugh. “Never mind,” he said, “we will go on with our study of the cabinet. They will soon find out that we are left behind, and come back to look for us.” “Yes, but only fancy being found here!” She laughed; but the laugh did not succeed. It could not hide a real embarrassment. She pondered, and seemed irresolute. Then with the words—“They will say we stayed behind on purpose,” she moved her hand to the door, but again withdrew it, and stood irresolute. “Let us put out the light.” said Hugh laughing, “and make no answer.” “Can you starve well?” “With you.” She murmured something to herself; then said aloud and hastily, as if she had made up her mind by the compulsion of circumstances: “But this won’t do. They are still looking at the portrait, I daresay. Come.” So saying, she went into another recess, and, lifting a curtain of tapestry, opened a door. “Come quick,” she said. Hugh followed her down a short stair into a narrow passage, nowhere lighted from the outside. The door went to behind them, as if some one had banged it in anger at their intrusion. The passage smelt very musty, and was as quiet as death. “Not a word of this, Hugh, as you love me. It may be useful yet.” “Not a word.” They came through a sliding panel into an empty room. Euphra closed it behind them. “Now shade your light.” He did so. She took him by the hand. A few more turns brought them in sight of the lights of the rest of the party. As Euphra had conjectured, they were looking at the picture of Lady Euphrasia, Mr. Arnold prosing away to them, in proof that the nun could not be she. They entered the gallery without being heard; and parting a little way, one pretending to look at one picture, the other at another, crept gradually round till they joined the group. It was a piece of most successful generalship. Euphra was, doubtless, quite prepared with her story in case it should fail. “Dear Lady Emily,” said she, “how tired you look! Do let us go, uncle.”