“And she was right,” I said, dully.  “Oh, if only your father had left it there!”

“I suppose,” he answered, speaking more quietly, “that he was impatient of traditions which, as I told you, he at that time more than half despised.  Indeed he altered the shape of the doorway, raising it, and making it flat and square, so that the old inscription could not have been replaced, even had it been wished.  I remember it was fitted round the low Tudor arch which was previously there.”

My mind, too worn with many emotions for deliberate thought, wandered on languidly, and as it were mechanically, upon these last trivial words.  The doorway presented itself to my view as it had originally stood, with the discarded warning above it; and then, by a spontaneous comparison of mental vision, I recalled the painted board which I had noticed three days before in Dame Alice’s tower.  I suggested to Alan that it might have been the identical one—­its shape was as he described.  “Very likely,” he answered, absently.  “Do you remember what the words were?”

“Yes, I think so,” I replied.  “Let me see.”  And I repeated them slowly, dragging them out as it were one by one from my memory: 

     “Where the woman sinned the maid shall win;
      But God help the maid that sleeps within.”

“You see,” I said, turning towards him slowly, “the last line is a warning such as you spoke of.”

But to my surprise Alan had sprung to his feet, and was looking down at me, his whole body quivering with excitement.  “Yes, Evie,” he cried, “and the first line is a prophecy;—­where the woman sinned the maid has won.”  He seized the hand which I instinctively reached out to him.  “We have not seen the end of this yet,” he went on, speaking rapidly, and as if articulation had become difficult to him.  “Come, Evie, we must go back to the house and look at the cabinet—­now, at once.”

I had risen to my feet by this time, but I shrank away at those words.  “To that room?  Oh, Alan—­no, I cannot.”

He had hold of my hand still, and he tightened his grasp upon it.  “I shall be with you; you will not be afraid with me,” he said.  “Come.”  His eyes were burning, his face flushed and paled in rapid alternation, and his hand held mine like a vice of iron.

I turned with him, and we walked back to the Grange, Alan quickening his pace as he went, till I almost had to run by his side.  As we approached the dreaded room my sense of repulsion became almost unbearable; but I was now infected by his excitement, though I but dimly comprehended its cause.  We met no one on our way, and in a moment he had hurried me into the house, up the stairs, and along the narrow passage, and I was once more in the east room, and in the presence of all the memories of that accursed night.  For an instant I stood strengthless, helpless, on the threshold, my gaze fixed panic-stricken on the spot