Greatly comforted, Katherine dried her eyes and decided to go with Mr. Whittredge.  Jack might not be so hard on her when he saw her under such protection.

By this time Jack had found Morgan and brought him to the Gilpin house, where Celia and Maurice were waiting; and at Celia’s suggestion he went in and opened the side door, thus making entrance easy for the others.

“How silly not to have thought of letting Maurice in this way before,” he exclaimed.

The old house, a moment before so ghostly, now rang with the sound of voices as Rosalind, leaning over the stair rail, joyfully welcomed the rescuers.

The magician had some tools with him, but be seemed puzzled at first as to what the trouble could be, when Celia said, “I know what the matter is.  Belle, isn’t there a little catch at the side of the lock that moves up and down?  Try.”

“Yes,” answered Belle, after a moment’s investigation.

“Then push it up,” said Celia, but before the words were out of her mouth Belle had the door open and was being as warmly welcomed by Rosalind as if they had been separated for years instead of minutes.

Belle was really pale from the trying experience, and had to wink rapidly to keep the tears of relief out of her eyes, while Celia explained the accident.

“You see, when Jack banged the door the catch fell and kept the knob from turning.  We have one that has given us a good deal of trouble.”  Then she put her arm around Belle and reminded her that the way of transgressors is hard.

“But I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” replied Belle.

“Everything came true, Maurice,” Rosalind said merrily.  “First Belle found a ring, and then the imprisoned maiden was rescued; but her name wasn’t Patricia, after all.”

“I don’t believe she wants to play the part again,” said Celia.

“Indeed, I don’t,” answered Belle.  “Here is the enchanted ring, Rosalind.  Ask the magician to break the spell.”

“What children you are!” Celia laughed, and her face was full of brightness as she descended the stairs with Belle beside her, the others following.  Three steps from the bottom she came face to face with Allan Whittredge and Katherine.

Celia hated herself for her burning cheeks as she bowed gravely.  One hand held her work big, the other was on Belle’s shoulder; and if, us for a fleeting instant she thought, Allan was about to hold out his hand, he changed his mind.  His manner was calmly, unconcernedly polite as he spoke her name.

“Uncle Allan, what are you doing here?” called Rosalind.

Under the chorus of greetings and explanations Celia slipped away.  Her thoughts were in a tumult as she hurried across the grounds to her own home.

Her mother was on the porch with a caller, and Celia took her seat there and went on with her sewing.  The visitor remarked on her improved color, and Mrs. Fair looked at her daughter in some perplexity, Celia had been so pale of late.