"Your Majesty!" and repeated loudly the two words over and over again, for he either would not or could not hear her. And what was very curious, there was an echo which called back "Rosella! Rosella!" in the same anxious tone. Talking was clearly of no use; she must do something. So she tried to squeeze her muff through the aperture in order to drop it on his head and attract his attention--but it would not go through. It stuck there and closed out her view. Try as she would she could not release it; and with a gulp in her throat she realised she would have to leave it. Her hands grew terribly cold without it, and it was too draughty to remain there. From the landing on which she stood steps led up higher, so she proceeded to explore, and found herself in an octagonal turret chamber. "I suppose it serves me right, and I _am_ lost, _and_ there's no one to help me!" sighed Rosella. "Oh yes there is!" "Whose voice is that?" she asked. She could see no one--but at the same moment a sunbeam pierced through an aperture, pointed straight at what appeared to be a lift behind a slender column, and then faded away. It _was_ a lift, made of ice and snow, as was everything else in the Castle. Rosella entered it and took a seat. The lift at once began gently and slowly to go down, down, first into the foundations of the Castle, and then into the interior of the hill right down under the snow, till it stopped in a Grotto lined with cobwebs and suffused with a mysterious green light. There was a soft, singing sound, as though made by the wind. In front was a frozen lake, and the ice of it was green from the same strange light. "I must try and find my way to Grandfather," said Rosella vaguely as she wandered about the Grotto, looking about her for a way out. * * * * * Mrs. Silverton kept glancing anxiously at the clock and at the snowstorm. Davis entered. "Madam," said he, with an usually solemn face, "Mr. Silverton has telephoned again from the Moat House that Miss Rosella hasn't arrived." "Then she must have lost her way!" exclaimed her mother, now thoroughly alarmed. "Though I don't see how she could, keeping straight across the moor to the Moat House gate at the end of the path. We must set out, Davis, and find her." "Difficult this weather, Madam, if our young lady is lost on the moor." "Is it still so bad?" "The storm's not so thick as it was. I'll go immediately. There's no time to be lost, to my thinking, Madam." "Yes, we'll go at once, Davis." Mrs. Silverton, pale with anxiety, sent other messengers in various directions, and then started off herself. On the moor she met another search party headed by old Mr. Silverton and his faithful collie dog. And the moor rang with anxious cries of "Rosella! Rosella!" uttered by whitened shadowy figures that looked like phantoms in the falling snow. * * * * *