I say, to myself, reasoning, this is not _fright_: this is not _cowardice_: it's simply nervousness. You wouldn't (this addressed to myself) be afraid of meeting a ... a ... for instance ... say ... a ghost ... no. Why should you? You've never injured a ghost that you know of, and why should a ghost hurt you? Besides ... nonsense ... there are no ghosts ... and as to burglars ... the house doesn't belong to us yet, and so if I meet one, there'd be no necessity to struggle ... on the contrary, I might be jocosely polite; I might say, "Make yourself at home; you've as much right here as I have." .... But, on second thoughts, no one would, or could, come here to rob this place. It's empty...... Odd. I cannot find the door I came in at. I thought that when I entered by it, I stepped on to a landing, but I suppose that it is only a door in the wall, and opens simply on to a step of the stairs. Perhaps this is an unfrequented staircase. One might be locked up here, and remain here, for anything that the old woman, or her husband, would know about it. If one was locked away here, or anywhere, for how long would it remain a secret? When one has been absent from town for instance, for months, and then returns, nobody knows whether you've been in your own room all the time, or in Kamschatka. They say, "Hallo! how d'ye do? How are you? Where have you been this age?" They've never inquired. They've got on very well without you. Important matters, too, which "absolutely demand your presence," as the letter says, which you find on your table six months afterwards, settle themselves without your interference. The story of the Mistletoe Bough, where a young lady hides herself in an oak chest, and is never heard of for years (in fact never at all until her bones were found with her dress and wreath,) is not so very improbable. Suppose the old woman forgot this staircase, suppose my party went off thinking that I was playing them some trick; supposing they stick to that belief for four days, what should _I_ do?... I don't know. I could howl, and shout. That's all. What chance of being discovered have I, except by a tradesman wanting his quarter's account settled very badly and being determined upon hunting me up wherever I was. A door at last! And light and fresh air through the chinks. It opens easily, and I am on the leads of the roof. With a [Illustration: BIRD'S-EYE VIEW] of the surrounding country. I breathe freely once more. Now the question is how to get down again. [Illustration: "SICH A GITTIN' UP STAIRS MASSA."] CHAPTER V. ON THE ROOF--DOWN AGAIN--FURTHER INSPECTION--VARIETY--ELIZABETHAN-- NORMAN--COLOUR--RAYS--FILTERED--CUI BONO?--SUGGESTION--PLAY IN STORE --THE STABLES--PREVIOUS TENANTS--GOOD INTENTIONS--NAME.