"Remember your promise, lady, and do not make a noise. We have arrived
at our journey's end, and if you will take my arm, I will lead you
along, instead of carrying you."
Leoline was rather surprised to find the journey so short, but she arose
directly, with silence and dignity--at least with as much of the latter
commodity as could be reasonably expected, considering that boats on
water are rather unsteady things to be dignified in--and was led gently
and with care out of the swaying vessel, and up another flight of
stairs. Then, in a few moments, she was conscious of passing from the
free night air into the closer atmosphere of a house; and in going
through an endless labyrinth of corridors, and passages, and suites of
rooms, and flights of stairs, until she became so extremely tired,
that she stopped with spirited abruptness, and in the plainest possible
English, gave her conductor to understand that they had gone about far
enough for all practical purposes. To which that patient and respectful
individual replied that he was glad to inform her they had but a few
more steps to go, which the next moment proved to be true, for he
stopped and announced that their promenade was over for the night.
"And I suppose I may have the use of my eyes at last?" inquired Leoline,
with more haughtiness than Sir Norman could have believed possible so
gentle a voice could have expressed.
For reply, her companion rapidly untied the bandage, and withdrew it
with a flourish. The dazzling brightness that burst upon her, so blinded
her, that for a moment she could distinguish nothing; and when she
looked round to contemplate her companion, she found him hurriedly
making his exit, and securely locking the door.
The sound of the key turning in the lock gave her a most peculiar
sensation, which none but those who have experienced it can properly
understand. It is not the most comfortable feeling in the world to know
you are a prisoner, even if you have no key turned upon you but the
weather, and your jailer be a high east wind and lashing rain. Leoline's
prison and jailer were something worse; and, for the first time, a chill
of fear and dismay crept icily to the core of her heart. But Leoline had
something of Miranda's courage, as well as her looks and temper; so
she tried to feel as brave as possible, and not think of her unpleasant
predicament while there remained anything else to think about. Perhaps
she might escape, too; and, as this notion struck her, she looked with
eager anxiety, not unmixed with curiosity, at the place where she was.
By this time, her eyes had been accustomed to the light, which proceeded
from a great antique lamp of bronze, pendent by a brass chain from
the ceiling; and she saw she was in a moderately sized and by no means
splendid room. But what struck her most was, that everything had a look
of age about it, from the glittering oak beams of the floor to the
faded ghostly hangings on the wall. There was a bed at one end--a great
spectral ark of a thing, like a mausoleum, with drapery as old and
spectral as that on the walls, and in which she could no more have lain
than in a moth-eaten shroud. The seats and the one table the room held
were of the same ancient and weird pattern, and the sight of them gave
her a shivering sensation not unlike an ague chill. There was but one
door--a huge structure, with shining panels, securely locked; and escape
from that quarter was utterly out of the question. There was one window,
hung with dark curtains of tarnished embroidery, but in pushing them
aside, she met only a dull blank of unlighted glass, for the shutters
were firmly secured without. Altogether, she could not form the
slightest idea where she was; and, with a feeling of utter despair, she
sat down on one of the queer old chairs, with much the same feeling as
if she were sitting in a tomb.