His quiet, kindly smile implied his serene disbelief in any confessible thing. “My God!” he said again. “One can’t tell. She became aware that at regular intervals a light flashed upon her face and a bodiless eye regarded her, and this, as the night wore on, became a torment. Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. Cautioning the knight, if he valued his neck, to tread carefully, Jonathan then descended a steep flight of steps; and, having reached the bottom in safety, he pushed open a door, that swung back on its hinges as soon as it had admitted him; and, followed by Trenchard, entered the night-cellar. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman.
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