He heard the
sound of retreating footsteps, but not a glimmer was visible, and he
feared to follow lest he might be entangled in some inextricable
labyrinth. He recollected to have heard a vague sort of tradition, that
a subterraneous passage once led from the hall to the Ribble bank,
whereby the miners had in former days kept their operations secret.
These were the haunts, too, of poachers and deer-stalkers, who made use
of such hiding-places to screen their nocturnal depredations. He might
be gotten unknowingly into one of their retreats, and he knew the
character of such men too well to venture farther into their privy
places without leave. But it was strange this ugly and insane thing
should be kept here. Its outlandish accent, too, as far as Gregory could
distinguish, was still more unaccountable; and that his young mistress
should hold any intercourse with such a misshapen mockery of the human
form was a mystery only to be resolved by a woman! After all, his first
conjecture might be true, and this delicate sprite the ministering demon
to some magician who brooded over the treasure.
He grew more timorous in the dark.
Pages:
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915