In this second interview, brief though it was, Janet could not avoid being struck by Lady Chillington’s stately dignity of manner.  Her tone and style were those of a high-bred gentlewoman.  It seemed scarcely possible that she and the querulous, shrivelled-up old woman in the cashmere dressing-robe could be one and the same individual.

Unhappily, as Janet to her cost was not long in finding out, her ladyship’s querulous moods were much more frequent than her moods of quiet dignity.  At such times she was very difficult to please; sometimes, indeed, it was utterly impossible to please her:  not even an angel could have done it.  Then, indeed, Janet felt her duty weigh very hardly upon her.  By nature her temper was quick and passionate—­her impulses high and generous; but when Lady Chillington was in her worse moods, she had to curb the former as with an iron chain; while the latter were outraged continually by Lady Chillington’s mean and miserly mode of life, and by a certain low and sordid tone of thought which at such times pervaded all she said and did.  And yet, strange to say, she had rare fits of generosity and goodwill—­times when her soul seemed to sit in sackcloth and ashes, as if in repentance for those other occasions when the “dark fit” was on her, and the things of this world claimed her too entirely as their own.

After her second interview with Lady Chillington, Janet at once hurried off to Sister Agnes to tell her the news.  “On one point only, so far as I see at present, shall I require any special information,” she said.  “I shall need to know exactly the mode of procedure necessary to be observed when I pay my midnight visits to Sir John Chillington.”

“It is not my intention that you should visit Sir John,” said Sister Agnes.  “That portion of my old duties will continue to be performed by me.”

“Not until you are stronger—­not until your health is better than it is now,” said Janet earnestly.  “I am young and strong; it is merely a part of what I have undertaken to do, and you must please let me do it.  I have outgrown my childish fears, and could visit the Black Room now without the quiver of a nerve.”

“You think so by daylight, but wait until the house is dark and silent, and then say the same conscientiously, if you can do so.”

But Janet was determined not to yield the point, nor could Sister Agnes move her from her decision.  Ultimately a compromise was entered into by which it was agreed that for one evening at least they should visit the Black Room together, and that the settlement of the question should be left until the following day.

Precisely as midnight struck they set out together up the wide, old-fashioned staircase, past the door of Janet’s old room, up the narrower staircase beyond, until the streak of light came into view and the grim, nail-studded door itself was reached.  Janet was secretly glad that she was not there alone; so much she acknowledged to herself as they halted for a moment while Sister Agnes unlocked the door.  But when the latter asked her if she were not afraid, if she would not much rather be snug in bed, Janet only said:  “Give me the key; tell me what I have to do inside the room, and then leave me.”