“We are dreadfully sorry, Maurice, but you can keep watch and give the alarm if any one comes,” said Belle.

Rosalind’s oak leaf, as she stood before him, recalled him, and suggested that here was a hard thing to be bravely borne.

“Go on,” he said; “I’ll wait for you here.  I don’t mind.”  His tone was almost cheerful.  His ill temper came near getting the better of him however, when Katherine insisted upon staying too.  Katherine couldn’t understand that people sometimes did not want to be pitied; and she was not very anxious, if the truth were known, to join the exploring party.

There was no way of escape for her.  The others were too urgent, and Maurice did not want her.

“There is an imprisoned maiden in the tower, and we are going to rescue her.”  As she spoke Rosalind pointed to the garret window.

“What fun!  Come on,” cried Belle.

Jack had already wriggled in.

“It is rather dusty, isn’t it?” Rosalind peeped in at the cobwebs doubtfully, but the thought of the imprisoned maiden overcame her dislike to dust.  “Her name is Patricia,” she paused on the sill to say.

“And we are going to release her and restore her ring, which a wicked magician has turned into lead,” added Belle, with sudden inspiration.

“Why, Belle, I never thought of that.  Perhaps it is the reason nobody can find it,” laughed Rosalind, taking one step on the ledge and giving a little shriek of dismay.

“You won’t fall.  Give me your hand,” commanded Jack, with masculine confidence.

The damp gloom of the cellar was rather frightful after the bright sunshine outside.  No wonder Katherine crowded close to Belle and their voices sank to awed whispers.  It was a relief to step out into the hall above, where the fanlight over the door made it seem less grewsome.  The dust lay thick on the Chippendale table and chairs, and from its corner the tall clock looked down on them solemn and voiceless.  There was no denying that it was scary, as Belle expressed it.  What light there was seemed unreal, and the closed rooms when they peeped in were cheerless and ghostly.

They stole about on tiptoe, keeping close together and talking in low tones.  The library, where old Mr. Gilpin had been found unconscious and where the ring had last been seen, was the most ghostly of all.  Belle paused on the threshold.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she suggested.  As she spoke she saw on the floor at her feet a ring of some dull metal, such as is used on light curtain-rods, but under the circumstances there was something a little startling in its being there.

Jack seized it, “Here is Patricia’s ring!” he cried.

“Oh, Jack, hush!” whispered Belle, as his voice woke a hundred lonely echoes.

“I’ll tell you; let’s take it to the magician—­our magician—­and ask him to break the spell,” said Rosalind.

“Oh, I wish you wouldn’t talk so,” entreated Katherine.  “It makes me feel as if it were true.”