"Oh, I don't know--an old cave that was once used as a dry cellar until an underground stream broke through and made it too damp, so it is said. I never explored it." "But, uncle, what about the----" Here Mrs. Condiment stretched out her foot and trod upon the toes of Capitola so sharply that it made her stop short, while she dexterously changed the conversation by asking the major if he would not send Wool to Tip-Top in the morning for another bag of coffee. Soon after supper was over Capitola, saying that she was tired, bade her uncle good night, and, attended by her little black maid Pitapat, whom Mrs. Condiment had called up for the purpose, retired to her distant chamber. There were already collected here three trunks, which the liberality of her uncle had filled. As soon as she had got in and locked the door she detached one of the strongest straps from her largest trunk and then turned up the rug and secured the end of the strap to the ring in the trap-door. Then she withdrew the bolt, and, holding on to one end of the strap, gently lowered the trap, and, kneeling, gazed down into an awful black void--without boundaries, without sight, without sounds, except a deep, faint, subterranean roaring as of water. "Bring the light, Pitapat, and hold it over this place, and take care you don't fall in," said Capitola. "Come, as I've got a 'pit' in my name and you've got a 'pit' in yours, we'll see if we can't make something of this third 'pit.'" "Deed, I'se 'fraid, Miss," said the poor little darkey. "Afraid! What of?" "Ghoses." "Nonsense. I'll agree to lay every ghost you see!" The little maid approached, candle in hand, but in such a gingerly sort of way, that Capitola seized the light from her hand, and, stooping, held it down as far as she could reach and gazed once more into the abyss. But this only made the horrible darkness "visible;" no object caught or reflected a single ray of light; all was black, hollow, void and silent except the faint, deep, distant, roaring as of subterraneous water! Capitola pushed the light as far down as she could possibly reach, and then, yielding to a strange fascination, dropped it into the abyss! It went down, down, down, down into the darkness, until far below it glimmered out of sight. Then with an awful shudder Capitola pulled up and fastened the trap-door, laid down the rug and said her prayers and went to bed by the firelight, with little Pitapat sleeping on a pallet. The last thought of Cap, before falling to sleep, was: "It is awful to go to bed over such a horrible mystery; but I will be a hero!" CHAPTER XI. A MYSTERY AND A STORM AT HURRICANE HALL. Bid her address her prayers to Heaven! Learn if she there may be forgiven; Its mercy may absolve her yet! But here upon this earth beneath There is no spot where she and I Together for an hour could breathe! --Byron.