her hidden treasure, though many have sought.

Seventy or eighty years ago, there came to the inn of a neighbouring
village a lady, who confided to the hostess of the inn that in a dream
she had seen herself find, under a certain stone, deep in the dungeon of
a ruined castle, a chest of gold; and Blenkinsopp, she said, answered in
every detail to the castle of her dream. Assuredly, she thought, to her
now was to be revealed the long-sought burial-place of the White Lady's
treasure. But patiently though the dreamer waited on and importuned the
castle's owner, permission to make a systematic search among the ruins
was too hard to obtain, and the disheartened seer of visions departed,
and returned no more. And so the hidden treasure to this day remains
hidden; no prospector has yet lit on that rich "claim," no "dowser" has
poised his magic hazel twig above its bed, nor has clairvoyant revealed
its whereabouts.

But rumour had it once that the long-sought hiding-place was found.
Orders had been given that the vaults of the castle should be cleared of
rubbish, and fitted up as winter quarters for cattle, and as the workmen
proceeded with their task they came on a low doorway, hitherto unknown,
on a level with the bottom of the keep. This doorway gave on a narrow
passage, leading no man knew whither. The report flew abroad that here
at last was the Lady's vault, and people flocked to see what might be
seen. None dared venture far along this passage, till one, bolder than
the rest, taking his courage in both hands, went gingerly down the way
so long untrod by human foot. The passage was narrow and low, too low
for a man to walk in erect; after a few yards it descended a short
flight of steps, and then again went straight forward to a door so
decayed that only a rusted bolt, and one rust-eaten hinge, held it in
place. Beyond this door, an abrupt turn in the passage, and then a