So, it could not be his father in the flesh he had seen roaming in that old chapel, with a dark lantern in his hand. As to its being his father’s ghost or spirit, that was to him simply monstrous. Even admitting that the return of a spirit could be possible, the spirit of his father would have been engaged in no such nocturnal escapade. Could there be another man--a man amongst the living--with his father’s face? A wonderful likeness, like that, offered the most satisfactory solution of the marvel. But who could it be? If such a man lived, and was familiar with that part of the country, why had he never seen him before? But--where was the use? Puzzle and conjecture as he would, he could come no nearer to the truth. The only thing to do was to take time; keep his eyes and ears open, and search. And one thing which he meant to search was this very chapel. Almost before they were aware of it the rain had ceased to fall, and a low murmur of thankfulness fell from Cordelia’s lips as she saw a stream of silvery moonlight on the chapel floor. Aye, the clouds were rolling away and the bright moon, near its full, looked forth right cheerily from the eastern sky, casting light enough through the three tall windows on that side to illumine the chapel very clearly. At all events, the stone altar was plainly visible, and all the adjacent wall. “Cordelia, the man whom we saw--the gray friar--must have found a way out somewhere near the altar. Shall we look?” “You do not think he can be lurking near?” she asked. “No, no; there can be no danger of that. Be sure, he was seeking a place of hiding when he entered here. Darling!” he added, after a considerable pause, during which he had appeared to be thinking deeply, “I think I can tell you something new. It has come to me since we saw the moonbeam on the pavement. “Listen; I remember--but I had forgotten it completely--I remember, when I was but a small boy--certainly not more than eight or ten years old--of hearing my father, in conversation with his chief mate, old Donald Rodney, mention the Monk’s Chapel; and I am very sure that at that time he was trying to persuade Donald to go with him and explore. Of course, I can’t remember their words, nor anywhere near thereto; yet I am confident that I am not mistaken about the object my father had in view. “Cordelia, he believed there were secret crypts beneath the old pile, fashioned when it was built, and he wished very much to find them; but I am very sure he never did it. He probably searched, and had to give it up. If he had found them I should have known it. Aye, as sure as you live, there is a hidden way beneath where we stand, and, I tell you, I will find it if the finding is possible.” “Oh, you will be careful, Percy! What would become of me if harm should come to you?” “Have no fear. Ah, Mary is awake. I think we had better not tell her of what we have seen.” “No, we will tell nobody, until we have gained further knowledge. Shall it be so?”