"Do not despair," said Henry; "I will go to the town now at once, to
make known our suspicions that he has met with some foul play. I will
set every means in operation that I possibly can to discover him. Mr.
Chillingworth will aid me, too; and I hope that not many days will
elapse, Flora, before some intelligence of a most satisfactory nature
shall be brought to you on Charles Holland's account." "Go, go, brother; go at once." "I go now at once." "Shall I accompany you?" said Marchdale. "No. Remain here to keep watch over Flora's safety while I am gone; I
can alone do all that can be done." "And don't forget to offer the two hundred pounds reward," said the
admiral, "to any one who can bring us news of Charles, on which we can
rely." "I will not." "Surely--surely something must result from that," said Flora, as she
looked in the admiral's face, as if to gather encouragement in her
dawning hopes from its expression. "Of course it will, my dear," he said. "Don't you be downhearted; you
and I are of one mind in this affair, and of one mind we will keep. We
won't give up our opinions for anybody." "Our opinions," she said, "of the honour and honesty of Charles Holland. That is what we will adhere to." "Of course we will." "Ah, sir, it joys me, even in the midst of this, my affliction, to find
one at least who is determined to do him full justice. We cannot find
such contradictions in nature as that a mind, full of noble impulses,
should stoop to such a sudden act of selfishness as those letters would
attribute to Charles Holland. It cannot--cannot be." "You are right, my dear. And now, Master Henry, you be off, will you, if
you please." "I am off now. Farewell, Flora, for a brief space." "Farewell, brother; and Heaven speed you on your errand." "Amen to that," cried the admiral; "and now, my dear, if you have got
half an hour to spare, just tuck your arm under mine, and take a walk
with me in the garden, for I want to say something to you." "Most willingly," said Flora. "I would not advise you to stray far from the house, Miss Bannerworth,"
said Marchdale. "Nobody asked you for advice," said the admiral. "D----e, do you want to
make out that I ain't capable of taking care of her?" "No, no; but--"

"Oh, nonsense! Come along, my dear; and if all the vampyres and odd fish
that were ever created were to come across our path, we would settle
them somehow or another. Come along, and don't listen to anybody's
croaking." CHAPTER XXIX. A PEEP THROUGH AN IRON GRATING.--THE LONELY PRISONER IN HIS
DUNGEON.--THE MYSTERY. [Illustration]

Without forestalling the interest of our story, or recording a fact in
its wrong place, we now call our readers' attention to a circumstance
which may, at all events, afford some food for conjecture. Some distance from the Hall, which, from time immemorial, had been the
home and the property of the Bannerworth family, was an ancient ruin
known by the name of the Monks' Hall. It was conjectured that this ruin was the remains of some one of those
half monastic, half military buildings which, during the middle ages,
were so common in almost every commanding situation in every county of
England. At a period of history when the church arrogated to itself an amount of
political power which the intelligence of the spirit of the age now
denies to it, and when its members were quite ready to assert at any
time the truth of their doctrines by the strong arm of power, such
buildings as the one, the old grey ruins of which were situated near to
Bannerworth Hall, were erected. Ostensibly for religious purposes, but really as a stronghold for
defence, as well as for aggression, this Monks' Hall, as it was called,
partook quite as much of the character of a fortress, as of an
ecclesiastical building. The ruins covered a considerable extent, of ground, but the only part
which seemed successfully to have resisted the encroaches of time, at
least to a considerable extent, was a long, hall in which the jolly
monks no doubt feasted and caroused. Adjoining to this hall, were the walls of other parts of the building,
and at several places there were small, low, mysterious-looking doors
that led, heaven knows where, into some intricacies and labyrinths
beneath the building, which no one had, within the memory of man, been
content to run the risk of losing himself in. [Illustration]

It was related that among these subterranean passages and arches there
were pitfalls and pools of water; and whether such a statement was true
or not, it certainly acted as a considerable damper upon the vigour of
curiosity. This ruin was so well known in the neighbourhood, and had become from
earliest childhood so familiar to the inhabitants of Bannerworth Hall,
that one would as soon expect an old inhabitant of Ludgate-hill to make
some remark about St. Paul's, as any of them to allude to the ruins of
Monks' Hall. They never now thought of going near to it, for in infancy they had
spoiled among its ruins, and it had become one of those familiar objects
which, almost, from that very familiarity, cease to hold a place in the
memories of those who know it so well. It is, however, to this ruin we would now conduct our readers, premising
that what we have to say concerning it now, is not precisely in the form
of a connected portion of our narrative. *       *       *       *       *

It is evening--the evening of that first day of heart loneliness to poor
Flora Bannerworth. The lingering rays of the setting sun are gilding the
old ruins with a wondrous beauty. The edges of the decayed stones seem
now to be tipped with gold, and as the rich golden refulgence of light
gleams upon the painted glass which still adorned a large window of the
hall, a flood of many-coloured beautiful light was cast within, making
the old flag-stones, with which the interior was paved, look more like
some rich tapestry, laid down to do honour to a monarch. So picturesque and so beautiful an aspect did the ancient ruin wear,
that to one with a soul to appreciate the romantic and the beautiful, it
would have amply repaid the fatigue of a long journey now to see it. And as the sun sank to rest, the gorgeous colours that it cast upon the
mouldering wall, deepened from an appearance of burnished gold to a
crimson hue, and from that again the colour changed to a shifting
purple, mingling with the shadows of the evening, and so gradually
fading away into absolute darkness. The place is as silent as the tomb--a silence far more solemn than could
have existed, had there been no remains of a human habitation; because
even these time-worn walls were suggestive of what once had been; and
the wrapt stillness which now pervaded them brought with them a
melancholy feeling for the past. There was not even the low hum of insect life to break the stillness of
these ancient ruins. And now the last rays of the sun are gradually fading away. In a short
time all will be darkness.