Reaching the bottom of the stairs, I stood for a minute, and listened.  All was silent, save for a faint drip, drip of water, falling, drop-by-drop, somewhere to my left.  As I stood, I noticed how quietly the candle burnt; never a flicker nor flare, so utterly windless was the place.

Quietly, I moved from cellar to cellar.  I had but a very dim memory of their arrangement.  The impressions left by my first search were blurred.  I had recollections of a succession of great cellars, and of one, greater than the rest, the roof of which was upheld by pillars; beyond that my mind was hazy, and predominated by a sense of cold and darkness and shadows.  Now, however, it was different; for, although nervous, I was sufficiently collected to be able to look about me, and note the structure and size of the different vaults I entered.

Of course, with the amount of light given by my candle, it was not possible to examine each place, minutely, but I was enabled to notice, as I went along, that the walls appeared to be built with wonderful precision and finish; while here and there, an occasional, massive pillar shot up to support the vaulted roof.

Thus, I came, at last, to the great cellar that I remembered.  It is reached, through a huge, arched entrance, on which I observed strange, fantastic carvings, which threw queer shadows under the light of my candle.  As I stood, and examined these, thoughtfully, it occurred to me how strange it was, that I should be so little acquainted with my own house.  Yet, this may be easily understood, when one realizes the size of this ancient pile, and the fact that only my old sister and I live in it, occupying a few of the rooms, such as our wants decide.

Holding the light high, I passed on into the cellar, and, keeping to the right, paced slowly up, until I reached the further end.  I walked quietly, and looked cautiously about, as I went.  But, so far as the light showed, I saw nothing unusual.

At the top, I turned to the left, still keeping to the wall, and so continued, until I had traversed the whole of the vast chamber.  As I moved along, I noticed that the floor was composed of solid rock, in places covered with a damp mould, in others bare, or almost so, save for a thin coating of light-grey dust.

I had halted at the doorway.  Now, however, I turned, and made my way up the center of the place; passing among the pillars, and glancing to right and left, as I moved.  About halfway up the cellar, I stubbed my foot against something that gave out a metallic sound.  Stooping quickly, I held the candle, and saw that the object I had kicked, was a large, metal ring.  Bending lower, I cleared the dust from around it, and, presently, discovered that it was attached to a ponderous trap door, black with age.

Feeling excited, and wondering to where it could lead, I laid my gun on the floor, and, sticking the candle in the trigger guard, took the ring in both hands, and pulled.  The trap creaked loudly—­the sound echoing, vaguely, through the huge place—­and opened, heavily.