We returned home slowly, after my father had given me the most minute directions for finding the secret passage, and I had repeated them after him so as to imprint them on my memory, for I dared not write down even the least hint of them lest the paper should fall into the hands of our enemies. I told my father that I would look into the chapel, and be sure that I understood what he had said. "No one will think anything of it," I added. "I am always wandering about the place, and I often go to the chapel and sit in the old stalls." "Very well, child. I trust thy discretion. Only come in before it is dark, lest the poor mother should be needlessly alarmed. And one thing more, my Vevette: let not a hint escape thee to the Sablots; not that I would not trust the father and mother with any secret, but I confess I mistrust Lucille after what you have told us about her." "You don't think she would betray us?" I asked, startled. "I cannot tell. If she has indeed been tampered with, she may not be able to help herself. At all events, the fewer people are in a secret the better." When we returned to the tower I slipped away and entered the old chapel. It was of considerable extent—quite a church, in fact, though I suppose no service had been said there for perhaps a hundred years. The altar of wonderfully carved oak was still in its place, though all its ornaments and images had been removed or destroyed. The altarpiece which was painted on the wall still remained, and though faded and stained was still beautiful. My father once told me that it had been painted by some great Spanish artist. The Virgin and her Babe were the central figures. She had a sad, grieved expression in her dark eyes, and I had a fancy that she was mourning over the use that had been made of her name. Certainly I think that gentle, lowly woman could hardly be happy in heaven itself if she knew how she was treated here on earth. The chancel was surrounded by a row of carved niches or stalls with seats in them. I counted them from the left hand side of the altar, and putting my hand under the seat of the fourth I found and slightly pressed the button my father had told me of. It moved in my fingers, but I dared not open it. "I suppose it was by this secret way that they brought the wife of the white chevalier when they buried her alive in the vault below," I thought. And then, as a sound behind me made me turn with a thrill, I almost expected to see the poor murdered lady's ghost arise before me. But it was only one of our numerous family of cats which had chosen this place for her young progeny.