The book was _The Faerie Queene_, and Rachel had extracted it in a
Gothic spirit, because she had once heard that very few living persons
had read it from end to end; since she could not become interested in
anything, she might as well be thoroughly bored. But she never opened
the volume, for in the dark slit which it left something shone like a
little new moon. Rachel put in her hand, and felt a small brass handle;
to turn and pull it was the work of her hand without a guiding thought;
but when tiers of books swung towards her with the opening door which
they hid, it was not in human nature to shut that door again without so
much as peeping in.
Rachel first peeped, then stepped, into a secret chamber as
disappointing at the first glance as such a place could possibly be. It
was deep in dust, and filled with packing-cases not half unpacked, a
lumber-room and nothing more. The door swung to with a click behind her
as Rachel stood in the midst of this uninteresting litter, and
instinctively she turned round. That instant she stood rooted to the
ground, her eyes staring, her chin fallen, a dreadful fear in every
feature of her face.
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