Up the ladder, once more on the pavement of the chapel, our hero looked around. Everything was as he had left it. And now to move the altar back to its original place. With his hands on the upper edge, as before, he put forth his strength, this time at once and quickly. He heard the sharp click, as before, and immediately the ponderous mass swung back against the wall, with not a sign left to tell that a strange hand had been tampering with the mystery of the old chapel. One mystery had been solved; but, in some respects, a greater yet remained in the dark. He had discovered how the seeming monk had made his exit from the chapel, but he had not discovered the meaning of the face that monk had worn. He knew not how many times he had recalled the scene, how many moments he had spent in thinking of it; he only knew that the more he reflected the more sure he became that his eyes had not played him false. Beneath that gray cowl he had as surely seen a face like his father’s as he was sure that he had seen the figure at all. But he had seen it in profile. Perhaps could he see that same face in full front view it might appear different to him. Yet, it was marvelous; and he could not think of it without wonder. He could only hope that the time might come when he could look upon the gray friar under other circumstances. If he was one of the smugglers, or was engaged in their business on shore, he might yet be trapped. Who should say? Upon leaving the chapel our adventurer took his way at once towards the castle, being resolved that the earl should be made acquainted with his discovery in the outset. He had no fear of Lord Oakleigh. It would not be over and above pleasant to meet him; yet he would not go out of his way, or, at least, he would not discommode himself to avoid him. How his lordship would account for his lame hand he could not guess; but he doubted very much the telling of the truth. He thought he might at some time relate the incident to Cordelia; but under no circumstances would he tell the story to the earl, unless he should be asked; and he did not think that likely, as he had no idea that the grandson would let out the secret of his ruffianism. Arrived at the castle, the first person whom he met was the very one whom he was most eager to see--the old steward, Michael Dillon. “Michael, I have had nothing to eat since early morning, and I have had a long hard walk.” “Bless my soul! And bless you, too, Master Percy! You couldn’t have come at a more fortunate time. When the old lord is alone with no company, he likes his dinner early; and we’re just after carrying it in. So come along to my room and eat with me--unless you prefer to try the upper table.” “What! with the earl?” “To be sure.” “Mercy, no! What should put such an idea into your head?” “Why, it wouldn’t be the first time, not by a number; and, besides, I have a fancy that the old lord rather likes it.” “But never when Lord Oakleigh is at the castle.”