He led her unerringly, pushing her down the narrow stairway that had been the servants’ access to the upper floors, and thence through a small door that led into the chapel. ‘Yes, very rude,’ agreed the major. ‘Madwoman,’ he screamed back, as he climbed over the next pew, eyes darting down briefly to check for his sword. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. By and by he gathered enough courage to lean toward her. ‘Oh, Lord,’ muttered Gerald, going instantly to her aid. A little within stood a second door, or rather wicket, lower than the first, but of equal strength, and surmounted by a row of sharp spikes. At every step he seemed to be haunted by the ghost of the past.
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