Ye may guess I did na sleep that night; and wi’ the first light, down wi’ me to my aunt, as fast as my two legs cud carry me.
Well my aunt did na frump or flite me, as I thought she would, but she held me by the hand, and looked hard in my face all the time. And she telt me not to be feared; and says she:
“Hed the appearance a key in its hand?”
“Yes,” says I, bringin’ it to mind, “a big key in a queer brass handle.”
“Stop a bit,” says she, lettin’ go ma hand, and openin’ the cupboard-door. “Was it like this?” says she, takin’ one out in her fingers, and showing it to me, with a dark look in my face.
“That was it,” says I, quick enough.
“Are ye sure?” she says, turnin’ it round.
“Sart,” says I, and I felt like I was gain’ to faint when I sid it.
“Well, that will do, child,” says she, saftly thinkin’, and she locked it up again.
“The squire himself will be here today, before twelve o’clock, and ye must tell him all about it,” says she, thinkin’, “and I suppose I’ll be leavin’ soon, and so the best thing for the present is, that ye should go home this afternoon, and I’ll look out another place for you when I can.”
Fain was I, ye may guess, at that word.
My aunt packed up my things for me, and the three pounds that was due to me, to bring home, and Squire Crowl himself came down to Applewale that day, a handsome man, about thirty years ald. It was the second time I sid him. But this was the first time he spoke to me.
My aunt talked wi’ him in the housekeeper’s room, and I don’t know what they said. I was a bit feared on the squire, he bein’ a great gentleman down in Lexhoe, and I darn’t go near till I was called. And says he, smilin’:
“What’s a’ this ye a sen, child? it mun be a dream, for ye know there’s na sic a thing as a bo or a freet in a’ the world. But whatever it was, ma little maid, sit ye down and tell all about it from first to last.”
Well, so soon as I made an end, he thought a bit, and says he to my aunt:
“I mind the place well. In old Sir Olivur’s time lame Wyndel told me there was a door in that recess, to the left, where the lassie dreamed she saw my grandmother open it. He was past eighty when he told me that, and I but a boy. It’s twenty year sen. The plate and jewels used to be kept there, long ago, before the iron closet was made in the arras chamber, and he told me the key had a brass handle, and this ye say was found in the bottom o’ the kist where she kept her old fans. Now, would not it be a queer thing if we found some spoons or diamonds forgot there? Ye mun come up wi’ us, lassie, and point to the very spot.”
Loth was I, and my heart in my mouth, and fast I held by my aunt’s hand as I stepped into that awsome room, and showed them both how she came and passed me by, and the spot where she stood, and where the door seemed to open.
There was an ald empty press against the wall then, and shoving it aside, sure enough there was the tracing of a door in the wainscot, and a keyhole stopped with wood, and planed across as smooth as the rest, and the joining of the door all stopped wi’ putty the colour o’ yak, and, but for the hinges that showed a bit when the press was shoved aside, ye would not consayt there was a door there at all.
“Ha!” says he, wi’ a queer smile, “this looks like it.”
It took some minutes wi’ a small chisel and hammer to pick the bit o’ wood out o’ the keyhole. The key fitted, sure enough, and, wi’ a strang twist and a lang skreak, the boult went back and he pulled the door open.
There was another door inside, stranger than the first, but the lacks was gone, and it opened easy. Inside was a narrow floor and walls and vault o’ brick; we could not see what was in it, for ’twas dark as pick.
When my aunt had lighted the candle, the squire held it up and stepped in.
My aunt stood on tiptoe tryin’ to look over his shouther, and I did na see nout.
“Ha! ha!” says the squire, steppin’ backward. “What’s that? Gi’ ma the poker—quick!” says he to my aunt. And as she went to the hearth I peeps beside his arm, and I sid squat down in the far corner a monkey or a flayin’ on the chest, or else the maist shrivelled up, wizzened ald wife that ever was sen on yearth.
“By Jen!” says my aunt, as puttin’ the poker in his hand, she keeked by his shouther, and sid the ill-favoured thing, “hae a care, sir, what ye’re doin’. Back wi’ ye, and shut to the door!”
But in place o’ that he steps in saftly, wi’ the poker pointed like a swoord, and he gies it a poke, and down it a’ tumbles together, head and a’, in a heap o’ bayans and dust, little meyar an’ a hatful.
’Twas the bayans o’ a child; a’ the rest went to dust at a touch. They said nout for a while, but he turns round the skull, as it lay on the floor.
Young as I was, I consayted I knew well enough what they was thinkin’ on.
“A dead cat!” says he, pushin’ back and blowin’ out the can’le, and shuttin’ to the door. “We’ll come back, you and me, Mrs. Shutters, and look on the
