The stair was a winding one, and once led no doubt to some vaults below the ground-floor.

Raffaelle descended first, taking in his hand the sconce of three candles, which he held above his head so as to fling a light down the steps.

John went next, and then I followed, trying to support my brother if possible with my hand.

The stairs were very dry, and on the walls there was none of the damp or mould which fancy usually associates with a subterraneous vault.

I do not know what it was I expected to see, but I had an uneasy feeling that I was on the brink of some evil and distressing discovery.