the stone-paved floor spread away unevenly. She turned her eyes from the
arms of La Tour over the mantel to trace seamed and footworn flags, and
noticed in the distant corner, at the bottom of the stairs, that they
gave way to a trapdoor of timbers. This was fastened down with iron
bars, and had a huge ring for its handle. Her eyes rested on it in fear,
betwixt the separated settles.

But it was easily lost sight of in the fire's warmth. She had been so
chilled by salt air and spray as to crowd close to the flame and court
scorching. Her white face kindled with heat. She threw back her
mufflers, and the comfort of the child occurring to her, she looked at
its small face through a tunnel of clothing. Its exceeding stillness
awoke but one wish, which she dared not let escape in words.

These stone walls readily echoed any sound. So scantily furnished was
the great hall that it could not refrain from echoing. There were some
chairs and tables not of colonial pattern, and a buffet holding silver
tankards and china; but these seemed lost in space. Opposite the
fireplace hung two portraits,--one of Charles La Tour's father, the
other of a former maid of honor at the English court. The ceiling of
wooden panels had been brought from La Tour's castle at Cape Sable; it
answered the flicker of the fire with lines of faded gilding.

The girl dropped her wrappings on the bench, and began to unroll the
baby, as if curious about its state.

"I believe it _is_ dead!" she whispered.

But the clank of a long iron latch which fastened the outer door was
enough to deflect her interest from the matter. She cast her cloak over