The passengers were landed at a projecting rock at the water’s edge, and Craven Black, ordering the seamen to remain where they were until he should send a servant to them, conducted his wife, Neva and the maid, by a narrow, steep and tortuous path, up the precipitous face of the cliff. The dreary night fell before they had gained the ledge, but the soft moonlight flecked their path with gleams of brightness, and at last they stood upon the ledge, high up among the mountains, with the loch lying like a tarnished jewel far below at their feet. “We are buried alive here, _mon Dieu_!” gasped the little French woman, staring around her. “We are in a tomb!” Neva’s heart echoed the words. The wide plateau, with its thickly growing trees on every side, looked very grim in the moonlight, obscured as that light was by the towering, frowning mountains. In the midst of the plateau stood an old stone house, long and low, and hideously ugly in its proportions, having a frowning and grim appearance well in keeping with its surroundings. The front door of this house was opened, and lights gleamed from the windows, and forms were seen hovering near the dwelling in watchful expectation. “It looks as if we were expected!” said Neva, in surprise. “The house is not closed, as you said, Mr. Black!” Octavia Black laughed with a strange, mocking cadence that struck a chill to Neva’s heart. “Give Neva your arm, my dear,” she said gayly. “What an idea of yours that we are expected, Neva! Why, we only decided to come while we were on the sea. I am nearly famished, and hope some one will prepare supper for us and give us something better than oatmeal.” As the new-comers drew near the house, the forms Neva had seen disappeared. The travelers ascended the single step to the low broad porch, and entered the wide hall of the dwelling. This hall was lighted by a lantern suspended from the ceiling, and had a stone floor, a stone staircase, and doors upon each side opening into the living rooms of the house. The travelers halted in the midst of the hall, and at the same moment the parlor door opened, and a woman came out with smiles of welcome--a woman clad in bright-colored garments, but with ash-colored hair and complexion. This woman was Mrs. Artress! Neva recognized her with a sudden horror. She knew in that instant that her visit to the Wilderness had been pre-arranged by her enemies--that her wildest suspicions of the falseness and perfidy of Octavia Black had fallen short of the truth--that she had been snared in a trap--that she was a prisoner! CHAPTER VII. HOW LALLY TOOK HER DEPARTURE.