" Her written words were:
"Bid Sir Lionel take you to the north tower instanter; it's all O.K.,
warm as toast and lighted, so the ghosts won't have a show; but you
will. Such a picnic! As soon as I can tire out, Sir Peter in our waltz
I'll be on hand. B. EVERLY."
"Well, darling, what say you?" and the handsome Saxon head is bent for
her reply.
"Yes, Lion, dear, and at once. It just occurs to me it may throw some
light on a mysterious conversation I overheard in the library, and
which the excitement of the night had well nigh caused me to forget."
"Indeed; then we shall hasten, love."
And turning their steps in the direction of the tower, first through
corridors bright with the light from myriads of gas jets, which lit
up Vaura's warm beauty and the brown sheen of her hair, followed
by admiring, loving, or envious eyes, they now reach the more
dimly-lighted halls, and turn into one at the foot of the spiral
staircase, which they ascend slowly, Lionel's arm around his fair
companion, her trail skirts thrown over her left arm.
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