"I cannot conceive the meaning of all this," whispered
Miss Grizzy to her sister as they went along. "Something must be wrong;
but I said nothing to dear Sir Sampson, his nerves are so easily
agitated. But what can be the meaning of all this? I declare it's quite
a mystery."
After ascending several long dark stairs, and following divers windings
and turnings, the party at length reached the door of the _sanctum
sanctorum,_ and having gently tapped, the voice of the priestess was
heard in no very encouraging accents, demanding "Who was there?"
"It's only us," replied her trembling friend.
"Only us? humph! I wonder what fool is called _only us!_ Open the
door, Philistine, and see what _only us_ wants."
The door was opened and the party entered. The day was closing in,
but by the faint twilight that mingled with the gleams from a smoky
smouldering fire, Lady Maclaughlan was dimly discernible, as she stood
upon the hearth, watching the contents of an enormous kettle that
emitted both steam and odour. She regarded the invaders with her usual
marble aspect, and without moving either joint or muscle as they drew
near.
"I declare--I don't think you know us, Lady Maclaughlan," said Miss
Grizzy in a tone of affected vivacity, with which she strove to conceal
her agitation.
"Know you!" repeated her friend--"humph! Who you are, I know very well;
but what brings you here, I do _not_ know.
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