"Do not trouble her with questions now," said her father; "she is in a weak and nervous state,--but this will set her right," he added, as he proffered to Emmie's lips the glass of sal-volatile and water which had been quickly brought by Susan. The cordial revived the poor girl; her eyes lost their wild excited expression, and the lips regained a more natural hue, though the cheeks remained very pale. But when Emmie was again questioned as to what had caused her alarm, she but gasped forth, "Don't ask, don't ask!" and burst into a fit of hysterical weeping, which lasted for several minutes. "She had better go to rest at once," said Mr. Trevor, when the fit had somewhat subsided; "quiet sleep is what she most wants. We will take her to her own room; and, Susan, do not quit the side of my daughter to-night." Supporting the trembling Emmie, who did not even turn to bid her brothers good-night, Mr. Trevor then left the study, followed by Susan. "Something strange must have happened," said Vibert, when the three had left the apartment. "I see no reason to think so," said Bruce, who had resumed his seat by the table, and had taken up again the paper which he had dropped. "Emmie's timidity is like a disease, a kind of waking nightmare, and it would be as idle to look for external cause for her terrors as it would be for those experienced in a bad dream. What could have been more unreasonable than her dread of occupying a bright pleasant room, because a gentleman had died of hydrophobia in the one next to it, and that fifty years ago!" "And with such a good thick wall between the two apartments," observed Vibert, who was standing with his back to the fire, "so that there is not so much as a key-hole through which ghost or goblin might creep." "I cannot say so much," remarked Bruce; "there is a door of communication between the two rooms, though, by the way, the key-hole does _not_ go right through it, for it can be opened but on one side." "A door of communication!" exclaimed Vibert. "I never knew that before." "Nor did I," observed Bruce, "until the workmen from S---- had to move in my presence the large heavy press which had stood in that room for I know not how many years. As they were dragging it off to place it in the apartment prepared for poor dear Emmie, I noticed a key-hole in one of the panels which had hitherto been covered by the oak press. When the workmen had departed, I tried whether the key of the door which opens on the corridor would fit into this newly-discovered key-hole." "And did it fit it?" inquired Vibert eagerly. "Exactly," was his brother's reply. "Does any one but yourself know the secret of the door in the panel?" asked Vibert.