ghost had driven the last occupant out of it nearly a hundred years ago; but most of the furniture was much older than that, having probably belonged to Lady Euphrasia herself.  The room remained just as the said last occupant had left it.  Even the bed-clothes remained, folded down, as if expecting their occupant for the last hundred years.  The fine linen had grown yellow; and the rich counterpane lay like a churchyard after the resurrection, full of the open graves of the liberated moths.  On the wall hung the portrait of a nun in convent-attire.

“Some have taken that for a second portrait of Lady Euphrasia,” said Mr. Arnold, “but it cannot be. —­ Euphra, we will go back through the picture gallery. —­ I suspect it of originating the tradition that Lady Euphrasia became a nun at last.  I do not believe it myself.  The picture is certainly old enough to stand for her, but it does not seem to me in the least like the other.”

It was a great room, with large recesses, and therefore irregular in form.  Old chairs, with remnants of enamel and gilding, and seats of faded damask, stood all about.  But the beauty of the chamber was its tapestry.  The walls were entirely covered with it, and the rich colours had not yet receded into the dull grey of the past, though their gorgeousness had become sombre with age.  The subject was the story of Samson.

“Come and see this strange piece of furniture,” said Euphra to Hugh, who had kept by her side since they entered this room.

She led him into one of the recesses, almost concealed by the bed-hangings.  In it stood a cabinet of ebony, reaching nearly to the ceiling, curiously carved in high relief.

“I wish I could show you the inside of it,” she went on, “but I cannot now.”

This was said almost in a whisper.  Hugh replied with only a look of thanks.  He gazed at the carving, on whose black surface his candle made little light, and threw no shadows.

“You have looked at this before, Euphra,” said he.  “Explain it to me.”

“I have often tried to find out what it is,” she answered; “but I never could quite satisfy myself about it.”

She proceeded, however, to tell him what she fancied it might mean, speaking still in the low tone which seemed suitable to the awe of the place.  She got interested in showing him the relations of the different figures; and he made several suggestions as to the possible intention of the artist.  More than one well-known subject was proposed and rejected.

Suddenly becoming aware of the sensation of silence, they looked up, and saw that theirs was the only light in the room.  They were left alone in the haunted chamber. —­ They looked at each other for one moment; then said, with half-stifled voices: 

“Euphra!”

“Hugh!”

Euphra seemed half amused and half perplexed.  Hugh looked half perplexed and wholly pleased.

“Come, come,” said Euphra, recovering herself, and leading the way to the door.