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THE SECRET CHAMBER...............................................................................................................................1

Mrs. Margaret Oliphant...........................................................................................................................1

CASTLE GOWRIE is one of the most famous and interesting in all Scotland. It is a beautiful old house, to

start with, perfect in old feudal grandeur, with its clustered turrets and walls that could withstand an army,

its labyrinths, its hidden stairs, its long mysterious passages passages that seem in many cases to lead

to nothing, but of which no one can be too sure what they lead to. The front, with its fine gateway and

flanking towers, is approached now by velvet lawns, and a peaceful, beautiful old avenue, with double rows

of trees, like a cathedral; and the woods out of which these grey towers rise, look as soft and rich in foliage, if

not so lofty in growth, as the groves of the South. But this softness of aspect is all new to the place, that is,

new within the century or two which count for but little in the history of a dwellingplace, some part of

which, at least, has been standing since the days when the Saxon Athelings brought such share of the arts as

belonged to them to solidify and regulate the original Celtic art which reared incised stones upon rude

burialplaces, and twined mystic knots on its crosses, before historic days. Even of this primitive decoration

there are relics at Gowrie, where the twistings and twinings of Runic cords appear still on some bits of

ancient wall, solid as rocks, and almost as everlasting. From these to the graceful French turrets, which recall

many a grey chateau, what a long interval of years! But these are filled with stirring chronicles enough,

besides the dim, not always decipherable records, which different developments of architecture have left on

the old house. The Earls of Gowrie had been in the heat of every commotion that took place on or about the

Highland line for more generations than any but a Celtic pen could record. Rebellions, revenges,

insurrections, conspiracies, nothing in which blood was shed and lands lost, took place in Scotland, in which

they had not had a share; and the annals of the house are very full, and not without many a stain. They had

been a bold and vigorous race with much evil in them, and some good; never insignificant, whatever else

they might be. It could not be said, however, that they are remarkable nowadays. Since the first Stuart rising,

known in Scotland as "the Fifteen," they have not done much that has been worth recording; but yet their

family history has always been of an unusual kind. The Randolphs could not be called eccentric in

themselves: on the contrary, when you knew them, they were at bottom a respectable race, full of all the

countrygentleman virtues; and yet their public career, such as it was, had been marked by the strange leaps

and jerks of vicissitude. You would have said an impulsive, fanciful family now making a grasp at some

visionary advantage, now rushing into some wild speculation, now making a sudden sally into public life

but soon falling back into mediocrity, not able apparently, even when the impulse was purely selfish and

mercenary, to keep it up. But this would not have been at all a true conception of the family character; their

actual virtues were not of the imaginative order, and their freaks were a mystery to their friends. Nevertheless

these freaks were what the general world was most aware of in the Randolph race. The late Earl had been a

representative peer of Scotland (they had no English title), and had made quite a wonderful start, and for a

year or two had seemed about to attain a very eminent place in Scotch affairs; but his ambition was found to

have made use of some very equivocal modes of gaining influence, and he dropped accordingly at once and

for ever from the political firmament. This was quite a common circumstance in the family. An apparently

brilliant beginning, a discovery of evil means adopted for ambitious ends, a sudden subsidence, and the

curious conclusion at the end of everything that this schemer, this unscrupulous speculator or politician, was

a dull, good man after all unambitious, contented, full of domestic kindness and benevolence. This family

peculiarity made the history of the Randolphs a very strange one, broken by the oddest interruptions, and with

no consistency in it. There was another circumstance, however, which attracted still more the wonder and

observation of the public. For one who can appreciate such a recondite matter as family character, there are

hundreds who are interested in a family secret, and this the house of Randolph possessed in perfection. It was

a mystery which piqued the imagination and excited the interest of the entire country. The story went, that

somewhere hid amid the massive walls and tortuous passages there was a secret chamber in Gowrie Castle.

Everybody knew of its existence; but save the earl, his heir, and one other person, not of the family, but

filling a confidential post in their service, no mortal knew where this mysterious hidingplace was. There had

been countless guesses made at it, and expedients of all kinds invented to find it out. Every visitor who ever

entered the old gateway, nay, even passing travellers who saw the turrets from the road, searched keenly for

some trace of this mysterious chamber. But all guesses and researches were equally in vain.

I was about to say that no ghoststory I ever heard of has been so steadily and long believed. But this would

be a mistake, for nobody knew even with any certainty that there was a ghost connected with it. A secret

chamber was nothing wonderful in so old a house. No doubt they exist in many such old houses, and are

always curious and interesting strange relics, more moving than any history, of the time when a man was

not safe in his own house, and when it might be necessary to secure a refuge beyond the reach of spies or

traitors at a moment's notice. Such a refuge was a necessity of life to a great medieval noble. The peculiarity

about this secret chamber, however, was that some secret connected with the very existence of the family was

always understood to be involved in it. It was not only the secret hidingplace for an emergency, a kind of

historical possession presupposing the importance of his race, of which a man might be honestly proud; but

there was something hidden in it of which assuredly the race could not be proud. It is wonderful how easily a

family learns to pique itself upon any distinctive possession. A ghost is a sign of importance not to be

despised; a haunted room is worth as much as a small farm to the complacency of the family that owns it.

And no doubt the younger branches of the Gowrie family the lightminded portion of the race felt this,

and were proud of their unfathomable secret, and felt a thrill of agreeable awe and piquant suggestion go

through them, when they remembered the mysterious something which they did not know in their familiar

home. That thrill ran through the entire circle of visitors, and children, and servants, when the Earl

peremptorily forbade a projected improvement, or stopped a reckless exploration. They looked at each other

with a pleasurable shiver. "Didyou hear?" they said. "He will not let Lady Gowrie have that closet she wants

so much in that bit of wall. He sent the workmen about their business before they could touch it, though the

wall is twenty feet thick if it is an inch; ah!" said the visitors, looking at each other; and this lively suggestion

sent tinglings of excitement to their very fingerpoints; but even to his wife, mourning the commodious

closet she had intended, the Earl made no explanations. For anything she knew, it might be there, next to her

room, this mysterious lurkingplace; and it may be supposed that this suggestion conveyed to Lady Gowrie's

veins a thrill more keen and strange, perhaps too vivid to be pleasant. But she was not in the favoured or

I need not say what the different theories on the subject were. Some thought there had been a treacherous

massacre there, and that the secret chamber was blocked by the skeletons of murdered guests, a treachery

no doubt covering the family with shame in its day, but so condoned by long softening of years as to have all

the shame taken out of it. The Randolphs could not have felt their character affected by any such interesting

historical record. They were not so morbidly sensitive. Some said, on the other hand, that Earl Robert, the

wicked Earl, was shut up there in everlasting penance, playing cards with the devil for his soul. But it would

have been too great a feather in the family cap to have thus got the devil, or even one of his angels, bottled

up, as it were, and safely in hand, to make it possible that any lasting stigma could be connected with such a

fact as this. What a thing it would be to know where to lay one's hand upon the Prince of Darkness, and prove

him once for all, cloven foot and everything else, to the confusion of gainsayers!

So this was not to be received as a satisfactory solution, nor could any other be suggested which was more to

the purpose. The popular mind gave it up, and yet never gave it up; and still everybody who visits Gowrie, be

it as a guest, be it as a tourist, be it only as a gazer from a passing carriage, or from the flying railway train

which just glimpses its turrets in the distance, daily and yearly spends a certain amount of curiosity,

wonderment, and conjecture about the Secret Chamber the most piquant and undiscoverable wonder

This was how the matter stood when young John Randolph, Lord Lindores, came of age. He was a young

man of great character and energy, not like the usual Randolph strain for, as we have said, the type of

character common in this romanticallysituated family, notwithstanding the erratic incidents common to

them, was that of dullness and honesty, especially in their early days. But young Lindores was not so. He was

honest and honourable, but not dull. He had gone through almost a remarkable course at school and at the

university not perhaps in quite the ordinary way of scholarship, but enough to attract men's eyes to him.

He had made more than one great speech at the Union. He was full of ambition, and force, and life, intending

all sorts of great things, and meaning to make his position a steppingstone to all that was excellent in public

life. Not for him the countrygentleman existence which was congenial to his father. The idea of succeeding to

the family honours and becoming a Scotch peer, either represented or representative, filled him with horror;

and filial piety in his case was made warm by all the energy of personal hopes when he prayed that his father

might live, if not for ever, yet longer than any Lord Gowrie had lived for the last century or two. He was as

sure of his election for the county the next time there was a chance, as anybody can be certain of anything;

and in the meantime he meant to travel, to go to America, to go no one could tell where, seeking for

instruction and experience, as is the manner of highspirited young men with parliamentary tendencies in the

present day. In former times he would have gone "to the wars in the Hie Germanie," or on a crusade to the

Holy Land; but the days of the crusaders and of the soldiers of fortune being over, Lindores followed the

fashion of his time. He had made all his arrangements for his tour, which his father did not oppose. On the

contrary, Lord Gowrie encouraged all those plans, though with an air of melancholy indulgence which his

son could not understand. "It will do you good," he said, with a sigh. "Yes, yes, my boy; the best thing for

you." This, no doubt, was true enough; but there was an implied feeling that the young man would require

something to do him good that he would want the soothing of change and the gratification of his wishes,

as one might speak of a convalescent or the victim of some calamity. This tone puzzled Lindores, who,

though he thought it a fine thing to travel and acquire information, was as scornful of the idea of being done

good to as is natural to any fine young fellow fresh from Oxford and the triumphs of the Union. But he

reflected that the old school had its own way of treating things, and was satisfied. All was settled accordingly

for this journey, before he came home to go through the ceremonial performances of the coming of age, the

dinner of the tenantry, the speeches, the congratulations, his father's banquet, his mother's ball. It was in

summer, and the country was as gay as all the entertainments that were to be given in his honour. His friend

who was going to accompany him on his tour, as he had accompanied him through a considerable portion of

his life Almeric Ffarrington, a young man of the same aspirations came up to Scotland with him for

these festivities. And as they rushed through the night on the Great Northern Railway, in the intervals of two

naps, they had a scrap of conversation as to these birthday glories. "It will be a bore, but it will not last long,"

said Lindores. They were both of the opinion that anything that did not produce information or promote

"But is there not a revelation to be made to you, among all the other things you have to go through?" said

Ffarrington. "Have not you to be introduced to the secret chamber, and all that sort of thing? I should like to

"Ah," said the heir, "I had forgotten that part of it," which, however, was not the case. "Indeed I don't know if

"Oh, I should insist on that," said Ffarrington, lightly. "It is not many who have the chance of paying such a

"I have no reason to suppose that it has any connection with Home or the mediums," said Lindores, slightly

nettled. He was himself an esprit fort; but a mystery in one's own family is not like vulgar mysteries. He liked

"Oh, no offence," said his companion. "I have always thought that a railway train would be a great chance for

the spirits. If one was to show suddenly in that vacant seat beside you, what a triumphant proof of their

Lindores could not tell what it was that made him think at that moment of a portrait he had seen in a back

room at the castle of old Earl Robert, the wicked Earl. It was a bad portrait a daub a copy made by an

amateur of the genuine portrait, which, out of horror of Earl Robert and his wicked ways, had been removed

by some intermediate lord from its place in the gallery. Lindores had never seen the original nothing but

this daub of a copy. Yet somehow this face occurred to him by some strange link of association seemed to

come into his eyes as his friend spoke. A slight shiver ran over him. It was strange. He made no reply to

Ffarrington, but he set himself to think how it could be that the latent presence in his mind of some

anticipation of this approaching disclosure, touched into life by his friend's suggestion, should have called out

of his memory a momentary realisation of the acknowledged magician of the family. This sentence is full of

long words; but unfortunately long words are required in such a case. And the process was very simple when

you traced it out. It was the clearest case of unconscious cerebration. He shut his eyes by way of securing

privacy while he thought it out; and being tired, and not at all alarmed by his unconscious cerebration, before

And his birthday, which was the day following his arrival at Glenlyon, was a very busy day. He had not time

to think of anything but the immediate occupations of the moment. Public and private greetings,

congratulations, offerings, poured upon him. The Gowries were popular in this generation, which was far

from being usual in the family. Lady Gowrie was kind and generous, with that kindness which comes from

the heart, and which is the only kindness likely to impress the keensighted popular judgment; and Lord

Gowrie had but little of the equivocal reputation of his predecessors. They could be splendid now and then on

great occasions, though in general they were homely enough; all which the public likes. It was a bore,

Lindores said; but yet the young man did not dislike the honours, and the adulation, and all the hearty

speeches and good wishes. It is sweet to a young man to feel himself the centre of all hopes. It seemed very

reasonable to him very natural that he should be so, and that the farmers should feel a pride of

anticipation in thinking of his future speeches in Parliament. He promised to them with the sincerest good

faith that he would not disappoint their expectations that he would feel their interest in him an additional

spur. What so natural as that interest and these expectations? He was almost solemnised by his own position

so young, looked up to by so many people so many hopes depending on him; and yet it was quite

natural. His father, however, was still more solemnised than Lindores and this was strange, to say the

least. His face grew graver and graver as the day went on, till it almost seemed as if he were dissatisfied with

his son's popularity, or had some painful thought weighing on his mind. He was restless and eager for the

termination of the dinner, and to get rid of his guests; and as soon as they were gone, showed an equal anxiety

that his son should retire too. "Go to bed at once, as a favour to me," Lord Gowrie said. "You will have a

great deal of fatigue tomorrow." "You need not be afraid for me, sir," said Lindores, half affronted; but

he obeyed, being tired. He had not once thought of the secret to be disclosed to him, through all that long day.

But when he woke suddenly with a start in the middle of the night, to find the candles all lighted in his room,

and his father standing by his bedside, Lindores instantly thought of it, and in a moment felt that the leading

LORD GOWRIE was very grave, and very pale. He was standing with his hand on his son's shoulder to wake

him; his dress was unchanged from the moment they had parted. And the sight of this formal costume was

very bewildering to the young man as he started up in his bed. But next moment he seemed to know exactly

how it was, and, more than that, to have known it all his life. Explanation seemed unnecessary. At any other

moment, in any other place, a man would be startled to be suddenly woke up in the middle of the night. But

Lindores had no such feeling; he did not even ask a question, but sprang up, and fixed his eyes, taking in all

"Get up, my boy," said Lord Gowrie, "and dress as quickly as you can; it is full time. I have lighted your

Even now he did not ask, What is it? as under any other circumstances he would have done. He got up

without a word, with an impulse of nervous speed and rapidity of movement such as only excitement can

give, and dressed himself, his father helping him silently. It was a curious scene: the room gleaming with

lights, the silence, the hurried toilet, the stillness of deep night all around. The house, though so full, and with

the echoes of festivity but just over, was quiet as if there was not a creature within it more quiet, indeed,

for the stillness of vacancy is not half so impressive as the stillness of hushed and slumbering life.

Lord Gowrie went to the table when this first step was over, and poured out a glass of wine from a bottle

which stood there, a rich, goldencoloured, perfumy wine, which sent its scent through the room. "You

will want all your strength," he said; "take this before you go. It is the famous Imperial Tokay; there is only a

Lindores took the wine; he had never drunk any like it before, and the peculiar fragrance remained in his

mind, as perfumes so often do, with a whole world of association in them. His father's eyes dwelt upon him

with a melancholy sympathy. "You are going to encounter the greatest trial of your life," he said; and taking

the young man's hand into his, felt his pulse. "It is quick, but it is quite firm, and you have had a good long

sleep." Then he did what it needs a great deal of pressure to induce an Englishman to do, he kissed his son

on the cheek. "God bless you!" he said, faltering. "Come, now, everything is ready, Lindores."

He took up in his hand a small lamp, which he had apparently brought with him, and led the way. By this

time Lindores began to feel himself again, and to wake to the consciousness of all his own superiorities and

enlightenments. The simple sense that he was one of the members of a family with a mystery, and that the

moment of his personal encounter with this special power of darkness had come, had been the first thrilling,

overwhelming thought. But now as he followed his father, Lindores began to remember that he himself was

not altogether like other men; that there was that in him which would make it natural that he should throw

some light, hitherto unthought of, upon this carefullypreserved darkness. What secret even there might be in

it secret of hereditary tendency, of psychic force, of mental conformation, or of some curious combination

of circumstances at once more and less potent than these it was for him to find out. He gathered all his

forces about him, reminded himself of modern enlightenment, and bade his nerves be steel to all vulgar

horrors. He, too, felt his own pulse as he followed his father. To spend the night perhaps amongst the

skeletons of that oldworld massacre, and to repent the sins of his ancestors to be brought within the

range of some optical illusion believed in hitherto by all the generations, and which, no doubt, was of a

startling kind, or his father would not look so serious, any of these he felt himself quite strong to

encounter. His heart and spirit rose. A young man has but seldom the opportunity of distinguishing himself so

early in his career; and his was such a chance as occurs to very few. No doubt it was something that would be

extremely trying to the nerves and imagination. He called up all his powers to vanquish both. And along with

this call upon himself to exertion, there was the less serious impulse of curiosity: he would see at last what

the Secret Chamber was, where it was, how it fitted into the labyrinths of the old house. This he tried to put in

its due place as a most interesting object. He said to himself that he would willingly have gone a long journey

at any time to be present at such an exploration; and there is no doubt that in other circumstances a secret

chamber, with probably some unthoughtof historical interest in it, would have been a very fascinating

discovery. He tried very hard to excite himself about this; but it was curious how fictitious he felt the interest,

and how conscious he was that it was an effort to feel any curiosity at all on the subject. The fact was, that the

Secret Chamber was entirely secondary thrown back, as all accessories are, by a more pressing interest.

The overpowering thought of what was in it drove aside all healthy, natural curiosity about itself.

It must not be supposed, however, that the father and son had a long way to go to have time for all these

thoughts. Thoughts travel at lightning speed, and there was abundant leisure for this between the time they

had left the door of Lindores' room and gone down the corridor, no further off than to Lord Gowrie's own

chamber, naturally one of the chief rooms of the house. Nearly opposite this, a few steps further on, was a

little neglected room devoted to lumber, with which Lindores had been familiar all his life. Why this nest of

old rubbish, dust, and cobwebs should be so near the bedroom of the head of the house had been a matter of

surprise to many people to the guests who saw it while exploring, and to each new servant in succession

who planned an attack upon its ancient stores, scandalised by finding it to have been neglected by their

predecessors. All their attempts to clear it out had, however, been resisted, nobody could tell how, or indeed

thought it worth while to inquire. As for Lindores, he had been used to the place from his childhood, and

therefore accepted it as the most natural thing in the world. He had been in and out a hundred times in his

play. And it was here, he remembered suddenly, that he had seen the bad picture of Earl Robert which had so

curiously come into his eyes on his journeying here, by a mental movement which he had identified at once

as unconscious cerebration. The first feeling in his mind, as his father went to the open door of this

lumberroom, was a mixture of amusement and surprise. What was he going to pick up there? some old

pentacle, some amulet or scrap of antiquated magic to act as armour against the evil one? But Lord Gowrie,

going on and setting down the lamp on the table, turned round upon his son with a face of agitation and pain

which barred all further amusement: he grasped him by the hand, crushing it between his own. "Now my boy,

my dear son," he said, in tones that were scarcely audible. His countenance was full of the dreary pain of a

lookeron one who has no share in the excitement of personal danger, but has the more terrible part of

watching those who are in deadliest peril. He was a powerful man, and his large form shook with emotion;

great beads of moisture stood upon his forehead. An old sword with a cross handle lay upon a dusty chair

among other dusty and battered relics. "Take this with you," he said, in the same inaudible, breathless way

whether as a weapon, whether as a religious symbol, Lindores could not guess. The young man took it

mechanically. His father pushed open a door which it seemed to him he had never seen before, and led him

into another vaulted chamber. Here even the limited powers of speech Lord Gowrie had retained seemed to

forsake him, and his voice became a mere hoarse murmur in his throat. For want of speech he pointed to

another door in the further corner of this small vacant room, gave him to understand by a gesture that he was

to knock there, and then went back into the lumberroom. The door into this was left open, and a faint

glimmer of the lamp shed light into this little intermediate place this debatable land between the seen and

the unseen. In spite of himself, Lindores' heart began to beat. He made a breathless pause, feeling his head go

round. He held the old sword in his hand, not knowing what it was. Then, summoning all his courage, he

went forward and knocked at the closed door. His knock was not loud, but it seemed to echo all over the

silent house. Would everybody hear and wake, and rush to see what had happened? This caprice of

imagination seized upon him, ousting all the firmer thoughts, the steadfast calm of mind with which he ought

to have encountered the mystery. Would they all rush in, in wild d�shabille, in terror and dismay, before the

door opened? How long it was of opening! He touched the panel with his hand again. This time there was

no delay. In a moment, as if thrown suddenly open by some one within, the door moved. It opened just wide

enough to let him enter, stopping halfway as if some one invisible held it, wide enough for welcome, but no

more. Lindores stepped across the threshold with a beating heart. What was he about to see? the skeletons of

the murdered victims? a ghostly charnelhouse full of bloody traces of crime? He seemed to be hurried and

pushed in as he made that step. What was this world of mystery into which he was plunged what was it he

He saw nothing except what was agreeable enough to behold, an antiquated room hung with

tapestry, very old tapestry of rude design, its colours faded into softness and harmony; between its folds here

and there a panel of carved wood, rude too in design, with traces of halfworn gilding; a table covered with

strange instruments, parchments, chemical tubes, and curious machinery, all with a quaintness of form and

dimness of material that spoke of age. A heavy old velvet cover, thick with embroidery faded almost out of

all colour, was on the table; on the wall above it, something that looked like a very old Venetian mirror, the

glass so dim and crusted that it scarcely reflected at all, on the floor an old soft Persian carpet, worn into a

vague blending of all colours. This was all that he thought he saw. His heart, which had been thumping so

loud as almost to choke him, stopped that tremendous upward and downward motion like a steam piston; and

he grew calm. Perfectly still, dim, unoccupied: yet not so dim either; there was no apparent source of light, no

windows, curtains of tapestry drawn everywhere no lamp visible, no fire and yet a kind of strange light

which made everything quite clear. He looked round, trying to smile at his terrors, trying to say to himself

that it was the most curious place he had ever seen that he must show Ffarrington some of that tapestry

that he must really bring away a panel of that carving, when he suddenly saw that the door was shut by

which he had entered nay, more than shut, undiscernible, covered like all the rest of the walls by that

strange tapestry. At this his heart began to beat again in spite of him. He looked round once more, and woke

up to more vivid being with a sudden start. Had his eyes been incapable of vision on his first entrance?

It seemed to Lindores that he had seen neither the chair nor the man when he came in. There they were,

however, solid and unmistakable; the chair carved like the panels, the man seated in front of the table. He

looked at Lindores with a calm and open gaze, inspecting him. The young man's heart seemed in his throat

fluttering like a bird, but he was brave, and his mind made one final effort to break this spell. He tried to

speak, labouring with a voice that would not sound, and with lips too parched to form a word. "I see how it

is," was what he wanted to say. It was Earl Robert's face that was looking at him; and startled as he was, he

dragged forth his philosophy to support him. What could it be but optical delusions, unconscious cerebration,

occult seizure by the impressed and struggling mind of this one countenance? But he could not hear himself

speak any word as he stood convulsed, struggling with dry lips and choking voice.

The Appearance smiled, as if knowing his thoughts not unkindly, not malignly with a certain

amusement mingled with scorn. Then he spoke, and the sound seemed to breathe through the room not like

any voice that Lindores had ever heard, a kind of utterance of the place, like the rustle of the air or the ripple

of the sea. "You will learn better tonight: this is no phantom of your brain; it is I."

"In God's name," cried the young man in his soul; he did not know whether the words ever got into the air or

The figure rose as if coming to him to reply; and Lindores, overcome by the apparent approach, struggled

into utterance. A cry came from him he heard it this time and even in his extremity felt a pang the

more to hear the terror in his own voice. But he did not flinch, he stood desperate, all his strength

concentrated in the act; he neither turned nor recoiled. Vaguely gleaming through his mind came the thought

that to be thus brought in contact with the unseen was the experiment to be most desired on earth, the final

settlement of a hundred questions; but his faculties were not sufficiently under command to entertain it. He

And the figure did not approach him; after a moment it subsided back again into the chair subsided, for no

sound, not the faintest, accompanied its movements. It was the form of a man of middle age, the hair white,

but the beard only crisped with grey, the features those of the picture a familiar face, more or less like all

the Randolphs, but with an air of domination and power altogether unlike that of the race. He was dressed in

a long robe of dark colour, embroidered with strange lines and angles. There was nothing repellent or terrible

in his air nothing except the noiselessness, the calm, the absolute stillness, which was as much in the place

as in him, to keep up the involuntary trembling of the beholder. His expression was full of dignity and

thoughtfulness, and not malignant or unkind. He might have been the kindly patriarch of the house, watching

over its fortunes in a seclusion that he had chosen. The pulses that had been beating in Lindores were stilled.

What was his panic for? A gleam even of selfridicule took possession of him, to be standing there like an

absurd hero of antiquated romance with the rusty, dusty sword good for nothing, surely not adapted for

"You are right," said the voice, once more answering his thoughts; "what could you do with that sword

against me, young Lindores? Put it by. Why should my children meet me like an enemy? You are my flesh

A shiver ran through the young man's frame. The hand that was held out to him was large and shapely and

white, with a straight line across the palm a family token upon which the Randolphs prided themselves

a friendly hand; and the face smiled upon him, fixing him with those calm, profound, blue eyes. "Come," said

the voice. The word seemed to fill the place, melting upon him from every corner, whispering round him with

softest persuasion. He was lulled and calmed in spite of himself. Spirit or no spirit, why should not he accept

this proferred courtesy? What harm could come of it? The chief thing that retained him was the dragging of

the old sword, heavy and useless, which he held mechanically, but which some internal feeling he could

"Yes, that is superstition," said his ancestor, serenely; "put it down and come."

"Your mind spoke, and spoke justly. Put down that emblem of brute force and superstition together. Here it is

Lindores stood doubtful. He was calm; the power of thought was restored to him. If this benevolent venerable

patriarch was all he seemed, why his father's terror? why the secrecy in which his being was involved? His

own mind, though calm, did not seem to act in the usual way. Thoughts seemed to be driven across it as by a

"How there looked him in the face, An angel beautiful and bright, And how he knew it was a fiend."

The words were not ended, when Earl Robert replied suddenly with impatience in his voice, "Fiends are of

the fancy of men; like angels and other follies. I am your father. You know me; and you are mine, Lindores. I

have power beyond what you can understand; but I want flesh and blood to reign and to enjoy. Come,

He put out his other hand. The action, the look, were those of kindness, almost of longing, and the face was

familiar, the voice was that of the race. Supernatural! was it supernatural that this man should live here shut

up for ages? and why? and how? Was there any explanation of it? The young man's brain began to reel. He

could not tell which was real the life he had left half an hour ago, or this. He tried to look round him, but

could not; his eyes were caught by those other kindred eyes, which seemed to dilate and deepen as he looked

at them, and drew him with a strange compulsion. He felt himself yielding, swaying towards the strange

being who thus invited him. What might happen if he yielded? And he could not turn away, he could not tear

himself from the fascination of those eyes. With a sudden strange impulse which was half despair and half a

bewildering halfconscious desire to try one potency against another, he thrust forward the cross of the old

Lindores never could tell whether it was that he himself grew faint, and that the dimness of swooning came

into his eyes after this violence and strain of emotion, or if it was his spell that worked. But there was an

instantaneous change. Everything swam around him for the moment, a giddiness and blindness seized him,

and he saw nothing but the vague outlines of the room, empty as when he entered it. But gradually his

consciousness came back, and he found himself standing on the same spot as before, clutching the old sword,

and gradually, as though a dream, recognised the same figure emerging out of the mist which was it solely

in his own eyes? had enveloped everything. But it was no longer in the same attitude. The hands which

had been stretched out to him were busy now with some of the strange instruments on the table, moving

about, now in the action of writing, now as if managing the keys of a telegraph. Lindores felt that his brain

was all atwist and set wrong; but he was still a human being of his century. He thought of the telegraph with a

keen thrill of curiosity in the midst of his reviving sensations. What communication was this which was going

on before his eyes? The magician worked on. He had his face turned towards his victim, but his hands moved

with unceasing activity. And Lindores, as he grew accustomed to the position, began to weary to feel like

a neglected suitor waiting for an audience. To be wound up to such a strain of feeling, then left to wait, was

intolerable; impatience seized upon him. What circumstances can exist, however horrible, in which a human

being will not feel impatience? He made a great many efforts to speak before he could succeed. It seemed to

him that his body felt more fear than he did that his muscles were contracted, his throat parched, his

tongue refusing its office, although his mind was unaffected and undismayed. At last he found an utterance in

The vision raised its eyes full upon him, with again that strange shadow of a smile, mocking yet not unkind.

"More like that you are a delusion. You have lasted but oneandtwenty years, and I for centuries."

"How? For centuries and why? Answer me are you man or demon?" cried Lindores, tearing the words

The magician looked at him with the same intense gaze as before. "Be on my side, and you shall know

everything, Lindores. I want one of my own race. Others I could have in plenty; but I want you. A Randolph,

a Randolph! and you. Dead! do I seem dead? You shall have everything more than dreams can give if

Can he give what he has not? was the thought that ran through the mind of Lindores. But he could not speak

"Can I give what I have not? I have everything power, the one thing worth having; and you shall have

To argue was natural, and gave the young man strength. "Is this life," he said, "here? What is all your power

A momentary convulsion came across the still face. "You scorn me", he cried, with an appearance of

emotion, "because you do not understand how I move the world. Power! 'Tis more than fancy can grasp. And

you shall have it!" said the wizard, with what looked like a show of enthusiasm. He seemed to come nearer,

to grow larger. He put forth his hand again, this time so close that it seemed impossible to escape. And a

crowd of wishes seemed to rush upon the mind of Lindores. What harm to try if this might be true? To try

what it meant perhaps nothing, delusions, vain show, and then there could be no harm; or perhaps there

was knowledge to be had, which was power. Try, try, try! the air buzzed about him. The room seemed full of

voices urging him. His bodily frame rose into a tremendous whirl of excitement, his veins seemed to swell to

bursting, his lips seemed to force a yes, in spite of him, quivering as they came apart. The hiss of the s

seemed in his ears. He changed it into the name which was a spell too, and cried, "Help me, God!" not

Then there came another pause he felt as if he had been dropped from something that had held him, and

had fallen, and was faint. The excitement had been more than he could bear. Once more everything swam

around him, and he did not know where he was. Had he escaped altogether? was the first waking wonder of

consciousness in his mind. But when he could think and see again, he was still in the same spot, surrounded

by the old curtains and the carved panels but alone. He felt, too, that he was able to move, but the

strangest dual consciousness was in him throughout all the rest of his trial. His body felt to him as a

frightened horse feels to a traveller at night a thing separate from him, more frightened than he was

starting aside at every step, seeing more than its master. His limbs shook with fear and weakness, almost

refusing to obey the action of his will, trembling under him with jerks aside when he compelled himself to

move. The hair stood upright on his head every finger trembled as with palsy his lips, his eyelids,

quivered with nervous agitation. But his mind was strong, stimulated to a desperate calm. He dragged himself

round the room, he crossed the very spot where the magician had been all was vacant, silent, clear. Had he

vanquished the enemy? This thought came into his mind with an involuntary triumph. The old strain of

feeling came back. Such efforts might be produced, perhaps, only by imagination, by excitement, by delusion

Lindores looked up, by a sudden attraction he could not tell what: and the blood suddenly froze in his veins

that had been so boiling and fermenting. Some one was looking at him from the old mirror on the wall. A

face not human and lifelike, like that of the inhabitant of this place, but ghostly and terrible, like one of the

dead; and while he looked, a crowd of other faces came behind, all looking at him, some mournfully, some

with a menace in their terrible eyes. The mirror did not change, but within its small dim space seemed to

contain an innumerable company, crowded above and below, all with one gaze at him. His lips dropped apart

with a gasp of horror. More and more and more! He was standing close by the table when this crowd came.

Then all at once there was laid upon him a cold hand. He turned; close to his side, brushing him with his

robe, holding him fast by the arm, sat Earl Robert in his great chair. A shriek came from the young man's lips.

He seemed to hear it echoing away into unfathomable distance. The cold touch penetrated to his very soul.

"Do you try spells upon me, Lindores? That is a tool of the past. You shall have something better to work

with. And are you so sure of whom you call upon? If there is such a one, why should He help you who never

Lindores could not tell if these words were spoken; it was a communication rapid as the thoughts in the mind.

And he felt as if something answered that was not all himself. He seemed to stand passive and hear the

argument. "Does God reckon with a man in trouble, whether he has ever called to Him before? I call now"

(now he felt it was himself that said): "go, evil spirit! go, dead and cursed! go, in the name of God!"

He felt himself flung violently against the wall. A faint laugh, stifled in the throat, and followed by a groan,

rolled round the room; the old curtains seemed to open here and there, and flutter, as if with comings and

goings. Lindores leaned with his back against the wall, and all his senses restored to him. He felt blood trickle

down his neck; and in this contact once more with the physical, his body, in its madness of fright, grew

manageable. For the first time he felt wholly master of himself. Though the magician was standing in his

place, a great, majestic, appalling figure, he did not shrink. "Liar!" he cried, in a voice that rang and echoed

as in natural air "clinging to miserable life like a worm like a reptile; promising all things, having

nothing, but this den, unvisited by the light of day. Is this your power your superiority to men who die? is

it for this that you oppress a race, and make a house unhappy? I vow, in God's name, your reign is over! You

There was no reply. But Lindores felt his terrible ancestor's eyes getting once more that mesmeric mastery

over him which had already almost overcome his powers. He must withdraw his own, or perish. He had a

human horror of turning his back upon that watchful adversary: to face him seemed the only safety; but to

face him was to be conquered. Slowly, with a pang indescribable, he tore himself from that gaze: it seemed to

drag his eyes out of their sockets, his heart out of his bosom. Resolutely, with the daring of desperation, he

turned round to the spot where he entered the spot where no door was, hearing already in anticipation

the step after him feeling the grip that would crush and smother his exhausted life but too desperate to

HOW wonderful is the blue dawning of the new day before the sun! not rosyfingered, like that Aurora of the

Greeks who comes later with all her wealth; but still, dreamy, wonderful, stealing out of the unseen, abashed

by the solemnity of the new birth. When anxious watchers see that first brightness come stealing upon the

waiting skies, what mingled relief and renewal of misery is in it! another long day to toil through yet

another sad night over! Lord Gowrie sat among the dust and cobwebs, his lamp flaring idly into the blue

morning. He had heard his son's human voice, though nothing more; and he expected to have him brought out

by invisible hands, as had happened to himself, and left lying in long deathly swoon outside that mystic door.

This was how it had happened to heir after heir, as told from father to son, one after another, as the secret

came down. One or two bearers of the name Lindores had never recovered; most of them had been saddened

and subdued for life. He remembered sadly the freshness of existence which had never come back to himself;

the hopes that had never blossomed again; the assurance with which never more he had been able to go about

the world. And now his son would be as himself the glory gone out of his living his ambitions, his

aspirations wrecked. He had not been endowed as his boy was he had been a plain, honest man, and

nothing more; but experience and life had given him wisdom enough to smile by times at the coquetries of

mind in which Lindores indulged. Were they all over now, those freaks of young intelligence, those

enthusiasms of the soul? The curse of the house had come upon him the magnetism of that strange

presence, ever living, ever watchful, present in all the family history. His heart was sore for his son; and yet

along with this there was a certain consolation to him in having henceforward a partner in the secret some

one to whom he could talk of it as he had not been able to talk since his own father died. Almost all the

mental struggles which Gowrie had known had been connected with this mystery; and he had been obliged to

hide them in his bosom to conceal them even when they rent him in two. Now he had a partner in his

trouble. This was what he was thinking as he sat through the night. How slowly the moments passed! He was

not aware of the daylight coming in. After a while even thought got suspended in listening. Was not the time

nearly over? He rose and began to pace about the encumbered space, which was but a step or two in extent.

There was an old cupboard in the wall, in which there were restoratives pungent essences and cordials,

and fresh water which he had himself brought everything was ready; presently the ghastly body of his

But this was not how it happened. While he waited, so intent that his whole frame seemed to be capable of

hearing, he heard the closing of the door, boldly shut with a sound that rose in muffled echoes through the

house, and Lindores himself appeared, ghastly indeed as a dead man, but walking upright and firmly, the

lines of his face drawn, and his eyes staring. Lord Gowrie uttered a cry. He was more alarmed by this

unexpected return than by the helpless prostration of the swoon which he had expected. He recoiled from his

son as if he too had been a spirit. "Lindores!" he cried; was it Lindores, or some one else in his place? The

boy seemed as if he did not see him. He went straight forward to where the water stood on the dusty table,

and took a great draught, then turned to the door. "Lindores!" said his father, in miserable anxiety; "don't you

know me?" Even then the young man only half looked at him, and put out a hand almost as cold as the hand

that had clutched himself in the Secret Chamber; a faint smile came upon his face. "Don't stay here," he

Lord Gowrie drew his son's arm within his own, and felt the thrill through and through him of nerves strained

beyond mortal strength. He could scarcely keep up with him as he stalked along the corridor to his room,

stumbling as if he could not see, yet swift as an arrow. When they reached his room he turned and closed and

locked the door, then laughed as he staggered to the bed. "That will not keep him out, will it?" he said.

"Lindores," said his father, "I expected to find you unconscious. I am almost more frightened to find you like

"Oh, I have seen him. The old liar! Father, promise to expose him, to turn him out promise to clear out

that accursed old nest! It is our own fault. Why have we left such a place shut out from the eye of day? Isn't

"Take it away; give me no more of that devil's drink. Talk to me that's better. Did you go through it all the

same, poor papa? and hold me fast. You are warm you are honest!" he cried. He put forth his hands

over his father's, warming them with the contact. He put his cheek like a child against his father's arm. He

gave a faint laugh, with the tears in his eyes. "Warm and honest," he repeated. "Kind flesh and blood! and did

"My boy!" cried the father, feeling his heart glow and swell over the son who had been parted from him for

years by that development of young manhood and ripening intellect which so often severs and loosens the ties

of home. Lord Gowrie had felt that Lindores half despised his simple mind and duller imagination; but this

childlike clinging overcame him, and tears stood in his eyes. "I fainted, I suppose. I never knew how it ended.

They made what they liked of me. But you, my brave boy, you came out of your own will."

Lindores shivered. "I fled!" he said. "No honour in that. I had not courage to face him longer. I will tell you

What an ease it was to the father to speak! For years and years this had been shut up in his breast. It had made

"Thank God," he said, "that I can speak to you, Lindores. Often and often I have been tempted to tell your

mother. But why should I make her miserable? She knows there is something; she knows when I see him, but

"When you see him?" Lindores raised himself, with a return of his first ghastly look, in his bed. Then he

raised his clenched fist wildly, and shook it in the air. "Vile devil, coward, deceiver!"

"And God help me, whatever troubles I bring," said the young man. "I defy him, father. An accursed being

like that must be less, not more powerful, than we are with God to back us. Only stand by me: stand by

"Hush, Lindores! You don't feel it yet never to get out of hearing of him all your life! He will make you

pay for it if not now, after; when you remember he is there; whatever happens, knowing everything! But I

hope it will not be so bad with you as with me, my poor boy. God help you indeed if it is, for you have more

imagination and more mind. I am able to forget him sometimes when I am occupied when in the

huntingfield, going across country. But you are not a hunting man, my poor boy," said Lord Gowrie, with a

curious mixture of a regret, which was less serious than the other. Then he lowered his voice. "Lindores, this

"You did not give him your hand? God bless you, my boy! You stood out?" he cried, with tears again rushing

to his eyes; "and they say they say but I don't know if there is any truth in it." Lord Gowrie got up

from his son's side, and walked up and down with excited steps. "If there should be truth in it! Many people

"They say, if he is once resisted his power is broken once refused. You could stand against him you!

Forgive me, my boy, as I hope God will forgive me, to have thought so little of His best gifts," cried Lord

Gowrie, coming back with wet eyes; and stooping, he kissed his son's hand. "I thought you would be more

shaken by being more mind than body," he said, humbly. "I thought if I could but have saved you from the

"Am I the conqueror? I think all my bones are broken, father out of their sockets," said the young man, in

"Yes, rest, my boy. It is the best thing for you," said the father, though with a pang of momentary

Lindores fell back upon the pillow. He was so pale that there were moments when the anxious watcher

thought him not sleeping but dead. He put his hand out feebly, and grasped his father's hand. "Warm

The daylight was full in the room, breaking through shutters and curtains and mocking at the lamp that still

flared on the table. It seemed an emblem of the disorders, mental and material, of this strange night; and, as

such, it affected the plain imagination of Lord Gowrie, who would have fain got up to extinguish it, and

whose mind returned again and again, in spite of him, to this symptom of disturbance. Byandby, when

Lindores' grasp relaxed, and he got his hand free, he got up from his son's bedside, and put out the lamp,

putting it carefully out of the way. With equal care he put away the wine from the table, and gave the room its

ordinary aspect, softly opening a window to let in the fresh air of the morning. The park lay fresh in the early

sunshine, still, except for the twittering of the birds, refreshed with dews, and shining in that soft radiance of

the morning which is over before mortal cares are stirring. Never, perhaps, had Gowrie looked out upon the

beautiful world around his house without a thought of the weird existence which was going on so near to him,

which had gone on for centuries, shut up out of sight of the sunshine. The Secret Chamber had been present

with him since ever he saw it. He had never been able to get free of the spell of it. He had felt himself

watched, surrounded, spied upon, day after day, since he was of the age of Lindores, and that was thirty years

ago. He turned it all over in his mind, as he stood there and his son slept. It had been on his lips to tell it all to

his boy, who had now come to inherit the enlightenment of his race. And it was a disappointment to him to

have it all forced back again, and silence imposed upon him once more. Would he care to hear it when he

woke? would he not rather, as Lord Gowrie remembered to have done himself, thrust the thought as far as he

could away from him, and endeavour to forget for the moment until the time came when he would not be

permitted to forget? He had been like that himself, he recollected now. He had not wished to hear his own

father's tale. "I remember," he said to himself; "I remember" turning over everything in his mind if

Lindores might only be willing to hear the story when he woke! But then he himself had not been willing

when he was Lindores, and he could understand his son, and could not blame him; but it would be a

disappointment. He was thinking this when he heard Lindores' voice calling him. He went back hastily to his

bedside. It was strange to see him in his evening dress with his worn face, in the fresh light of the morning,

which poured in at every crevice. "Does my mother know?" said Lindores; "what will she think?"

"She knows something; she knows you have some trial to go through. Most likely she will be praying for us

both; that's the way of women," said Lord Gowrie, with the tremulous tenderness which comes into a man's

voice sometimes when he speaks of a good wife. "I'll go and ease her mind, and tell her all is well over

"Not yet. Tell me first," said the young man, putting his hand upon his father's arm.

What an ease it was! "I was not so good to my father," he thought to himself, with sudden penitence for the

longpast, longforgotten fault, which, indeed, he had never realised as a fault before. And then he told his

son what had been the story of his life how he had scarcely ever sat alone without feeling, from some

corner of the room, from behind some curtain, those eyes upon him; and how, in the difficulties of his life,

that secret inhabitant of the house had been present, sitting by him and advising him. "Whenever there has

been anything to do: when there has been a question between two ways, all in a moment I have seen him by

me: I feel when he is coming. It does not matter where I am here or anywhere as soon as ever there is a

question of family business; and always he persuades me to the wrong way, Lindores. Sometimes I yield to

him, how can I help it? He makes everything so clear; he makes wrong seem right. If I have done unjust

"I have: there were these Highland people I turned out. I did not mean to do it, Lindores; but he showed me

that it would be better for the family. And my poor sister that married Tweedside and was wretched all her

life. It was his doing, that marriage; he said she would be rich, and so she was, poor thing, poor thing! and

died of it. And old Macalister's lease Lindores, Lindores! when there is any business it makes my heart

sick. I know he will come, and advise wrong, and tell me something I will repent after."

"The thing to do is to decide beforehand, that, good or bad, you will not take his advice."

Lord Gowrie shivered. "I am not strong like you, or clever; I cannot resist. Sometimes I repent in time and

don't do it; and then! But for your mother and you children, there is many a day I would not have given a

"Father," said Lindores, springing from his bed. "two of us together can do many things. Give me your word

"I will not, for the sake of heaven! Throw it open let everybody who likes see it make an end of the

secret pull down everything, curtains, walls. What do you say? sprinkle holy water? Are you laughing

"I did not speak," said Earl Gowrie, growing very pale, and grasping his son's arm with both his hands.

And then there was a low laugh close to them so close that both shrank; a laugh no louder than a breath.

"No, Lindores." Lord Gowrie had his eyes fixed. He was as pale as the dead. He held his son tight for a

moment; then his gaze and his grasp relaxed, and he fell back feebly in a chair.

"You see!" he said; "whatever we do it will be the same; we are under his power."

And then there ensued the blank pause with which baffled men confront a hopeless situation. But at that

moment the first faint stirrings of the house a window being opened, a bar undone, a movement of feet,

and subdued voices became audible in the stillness of the morning. Lord Gowrie roused himself at once.

"We must not be found like this," he said; "we must not show how we have spent the night. It is over, thank

God! and oh, my boy, forgive me! I am thankful there are two of us to bear it; it makes the burden lighter

though I ask your pardon humbly for saying so. I would have saved you if I could, Lindores."

"I don't wish to have been saved; but I will not bear it. I will end it," the young man said, with an oath out of

which his emotion took all profanity. His father said, "Hush, hush." With a look of terror and pain, he left

him; and yet there was a thrill of tender pride in his mind. How brave the boy was! even after he had been

there. Could it be that this would all come to nothing, as every other attempt to resist had done before?

"I suppose you know all about it now, Lindores," said his friend Ffarrington, after breakfast; "luckily for us

"I don't think that Lindores enjoys the glorious old place today," said another of the guests under his breath.

"I will take you over every nook where I have ever been," said Lindores. He looked at his father with almost

command in his eyes. "Come with me, all of you. We shall have no more secrets here."

"Never mind," cried the young man. "0h, trust me; I will do it with judgment. Is everybody ready?" There

was an excitement about him that half frightened, half roused the party. They all rose, eager, yet doubtful. His

"Lindores! you will do nothing to vex your father; don't make him unhappy. I don't know your secrets, you

"Why, indeed?" she said, with tears in her eyes. "But, Lindores, my dearest boy, don't make it worse for

"I give you my word, I will be wary," he said; and she left him to go to his father, who followed the party,

And thus the guests set out on their round the son in advance, excited and tremulous, the father anxious

and watchful behind. They began in the usual way, with the old staterooms and picturegallery; and in a

short time the party had half forgotten that there was anything unusual in the inspection. When, however,

they were halfway down the gallery, Lindores stopped short with an air of wonder. "You have had it put

back then?" he said. He was standing in front of the vacant space where Earl Robert's portrait ought to have

been. "What is it?" they all cried, crowding upon him, ready for any marvel. But as there was nothing to be

seen, the strangers smiled among themselves. "Yes, to be sure, there is nothing so suggestive as a vacant

place," said a lady who was of the party. "Whose portrait ought to be there, Lord Lindores?"

He looked at his father, who made a slight assenting gesture, then shook his head drearily.

Then the strangers perceived that something had moved the father and the son, and, notwithstanding their

eager curiosity, obeyed the dictates of politeness, and dispersed into groups looking at the other pictures.

Lindores set his teeth and clenched his hands. Fury was growing upon him not the awe that filled his

father's mind. "We will leave the rest of this to another time," he cried, turning to the others, almost fiercely.

"Come, I will show you something more striking now." He made no further pretence of going systematically

over the house. He turned and went straight upstairs, and along the corridor. "Are we going over the

bedrooms?" some one said. Lindores led the way straight to the old lumberroom, a strange place for such a

gay party. The ladies drew their dresses about them. There was not room for half of them. Those who could

get in began to handle the strange things that lay about, touching them with dainty fingers, exclaiming how

dusty they were. The window was half blocked up by old armour and rusty weapons; but this did not hinder

the full summer daylight from penetrating in a flood of light. Lindores went in with fiery determination on his

face. He went straight to the wall, as if he would go through, then paused with a blank gaze. "Where is the

"You are forgetting yourself," said Lord Gowrie, speaking over the heads of the others. "Lindores! you know

very well there never was any door there; the wall is very thick; you can see by the depth of the window.

The young man felt it over with his hand. The wall was smooth, and covered with the dust of ages. With a

groan he turned away. At this moment a suppressed laugh, low, yet distinct, sounded close by him. "You

laughed?" he said, fiercely, to Ffarrington, striking his hand upon his shoulder.

"I laughed! Nothing was farther from my thoughts," said his friend, who was curiously examining

something that lay upon an old carved chair. "Look here! what a wonderful sword, crosshilted! Is it an

Lindores had seized it from his hands; he dashed it against the wall with a suppressed oath. The two or three

"Lindores!" his father said, in a tone of warning. The young man dropped the useless weapon with a groan.

"There is a very interesting room close by," said Lord Gowrie, hastily "this way! Lindores has been put

out by some changes that have been made without his knowledge," he said, calmly. "You must not mind

him. He is disappointed. He is perhaps too much accustomed to have his own way."

But Lord Gowrie knew that no one believed him. He took them to the adjoining room, and told them some

easy story of an apparition that was supposed to haunt it. "Have you ever seen it?" the guests said, pretending

interest. "Not I; but we don't mind ghosts in this house," he answered, with a smile. And then they resumed

I cannot tell the reader what young Lindores has done to carry out his pledged word and redeem his family. It

may not be known, perhaps, for another generation, and it will not be for me to write that concluding chapter:

but when, in the ripeness of time, it can be narrated, no one will say that the mystery of Gowrie Castle has