She passed
along the great gallery to the left, and paused a moment at the cross
gallery, and then recollected my directions clearly, and followed the
passage to the right.
There are doors at each side, and she had forgotten to ask me at which
Madame's was. She opened several. In one room she was frightened by a bat,
which had very nearly put her candle out. She went on a little, paused, and
began to lose heart in the dismal solitude, when on a sudden, a few doors
farther on, she thought she heard Madame's voice.
She said that she knocked at the door, but receiving no answer, and hearing
Madame still talking within, she opened it.
There was a candle on the chimneypiece, and another in a stable lantern
near the window. Madame was conversing volubly on the hearth, with her face
toward the window, the entire frame of which had been taken from its place:
Dickon Hawkes, the Zamiel of the wooden leg, was supporting it with one
hand, as it leaned imperfectly against the angle of the recess. There was
a third figure standing, buttoned up in a surtout, with a bundle of tools
under his arm, like a glazier, and, with a silent thrill of fear, she
distinctly recognised the features as those of Dudley Ruthyn.
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