It was plain that nobody wished to be last on the way upstairs, nor was the post of leader very ardently desired, so they settled it by crowding up four abreast.  In the rooms above they breathed more freely, and grew bolder as they wandered about, recognizing things Celia had described.

“Do come here,” called Belle, from a small room, hardly more than a closet, which opened from one of the bed chambers, “and see this funny picture.”

There was one window in this room, and the outside shutters had round openings near the top through which the light came.  The others looked at the print, and then Rosalind returned to a work-table that pleased her fancy, Katherine following her.  As Belle lingered, Jack, in a spirit of mischief, suddenly pulled the door to.

“Jack!  Jack! please let me out,” she cried.

“Why don’t you come out, goosie?”

“You have locked the door.  Please, Jack!”

“It isn’t locked,” Jack insisted, but when he tried to open it he found the knob immovable.

“Maybe it is a dead latch,” suggested Rosalind.  “He is trying, Belle, really.”

“Are you sure you can’t open it from the inside?” Jack asked anxiously.

“Yes.  I can turn the key both ways, but something holds the knob.”  Belle’s voice was tremulous.

“I am dreadfully sorry.  What shall we do?” asked Jack, meekly, turning to Rosalind, after their efforts had proved fruitless.

“Couldn’t we open a window and call to Maurice?  He would go for some one.”

Jack acted upon this and opened a shutter of the hall window, but when he looked out no Maurice was to be seen, nor was there any response to his whistle.

“I’ll have to go myself,” he said, “unless you’d rather go.”

“No, Katherine and I will stay with Belle while you go,” Rosalind answered, adding, “Jack, I think Morgan is working at the Fairs’.  He could get the door open, I am sure.”

“All right,” said Jack, but as he turned to go Katherine began to cry.  “I am afraid to stay here,” she sobbed, quite beside herself with terror.

“Oh! what are you going to do?” came in a wail from the other side of the door.

Rosalind and Jack looked at each other.  “Take her with you; I don’t mind—­much,” she said.

Jack was disposed to argue with Katherine.  “There is nothing to be afraid of.  You ought to stay with Rosalind,” he urged, but Katherine was beyond reasoning with her fears.

“Never mind, if you hurry it won’t be long, Belle and I can talk through the keyhole.”

Very reluctantly Jack left her, accompanied by the tearful Katherine.

“Belle, you aren’t afraid?” asked Rosalind, softly, as the sound of retreating steps grew faint.

“Not v-ery,” whispered Belle.  “But you don’t know how queer those holes in the shutters look—­like big round eyes staring at me.  I have tried to open them but I can’t.”