“I!” gasped the shrinking woman.  “Ah, no.  I—­I couldn’t.  I dare not face him.  You know too well I dare not!”

CHAPTER XXXV

DISCLOSES A SECRET

The grey mists were still hanging upon the hills of Glencardine, although it was already midday, for it had rained all night, and everywhere was damp and chilly.

Gabrielle, in her short tweed skirt, golf-cape, and motor-cap, had strolled, with Walter Murie at her side, from the house along the winding path to the old castle.  From the contented expression upon her pale, refined countenance, it was plain that happiness, to a great extent, had been restored to her.

When he had gone to Woodnewton it was to fetch her back to Glencardine.  He had asked for an explanation, it was true; but when she had refused one he had not pressed it.  That he was puzzled, sorely puzzled, was apparent.

At first, Sir Henry had point-blank refused to receive his daughter.  But on hearing her appealing voice he had to some extent relented; and, though strained relations still existed between them, yet happiness had come to her in the knowledge that Walter’s affection was still as strong as ever.

Young Murie had, of course, heard from his mother the story told by Lady Heyburn concerning the offence of her stepdaughter.  But he would not believe a single word against her.

They had been strolling slowly, and she had been speaking expressing her heartfelt thanks for his action in taking her from that life of awful monotony at Woodnewton.  Then he, on his part, had pressed her soft hand and repeated his promise of lifelong love.

They had entered the old grass-grown courtyard of the castle, when suddenly she exclaimed, “How I wish, Walter, that we might elucidate the secret of the Whispers!”

“It certainly would be intensely interesting if we could,” he said, “The most curious thing is that my old friend Edgar Hamilton, who is secretary to the well-known Baron Conrad de Hetzendorf, tells me that a similar legend is current in connection with the old chateau in Hungary.  He had heard the Whispers himself.”

“Most remarkable!” she exclaimed, gazing blankly around at the ponderous walls about her.

“My idea always has been that beneath where we are standing there must be a chamber, for most mediaeval castles had a subterranean dungeon beneath the courtyard.”

“Ah, if we could only find entrance to it!” cried the girl enthusiastically.  “Shall we try?”

“Have you not often tried, and failed?” he asked laughingly.

“Yes, but let’s search again,” she urged.  “My strong belief is that entrance is not to be obtained from this side, but from the glen down below.”

“Yes, no doubt in the ages long ago the hill was much steeper than it now is, and there were no trees or undergrowth.  On that side it was impregnable.  The river, however, in receding, silted up much earth and boulders at the bend, and has made the ascent possible.”