been watching him through a hole in the tapestry was
gone. The firelight no longer shone on a reflecting
surface.

And instantly Dick awoke to the terrors of his position.
Hatch's warning, the mute signals of the priest, this eye
that had observed him from the wall, ran together in his
mind. He saw he had been put upon his trial, that he
had once more betrayed his suspicions, and that, short of
some miracle, he was lost.

"If I cannot get me forth out of this house," he
thought, "I am a dead man! And this poor Matcham,
too -- to what a cockatrice's nest have I not led him!"

He was still so thinking, when there came one in haste,
to bid him help in changing his arms, his clothing, and
his two or three books, to a new chamber.

"A new chamber?" he repeated. "Wherefore so?
What chamber?"

"'Tis one above the chapel," answered the messenger.

"It hath stood long empty," said Dick, musing. "What
manner of room is it?"

"Nay, a brave room," returned the man. "But yet"
-- lowering his voice -- "they call it haunted."

"Haunted?" repeated Dick, with a chill. "I have
not heard of it. Nay, then, and by whom?"

The messenger looked about him; and then, in a low
whisper, "By the sacrist of St. John's," he said. "They
had him there to sleep one night, and in the morning --
whew! -- he was gone. The devil had taken him, they

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