He stood for a moment looking
at the recess, and then, as he took a hasty step forward, he started,
and a sharp hiss of indrawn breath came from his lips. A sudden sound
had struck upon his ear, a grating noise, then silence, then light
footsteps. In a moment Rosmore had blown out the candle, his one idea
being to hide himself; fear caught him, the darkness was so great. Who
was it? What was it coming towards him with those stealthy steps? Nearer
they came, and from one of the arches a faint glimmer of light, as
though the old walls were growing luminous, and a man carrying a lantern
entered the chamber and stood there, raising the lantern above his head.
It was Sir John Lanison. A little sigh of relief escaped from Rosmore.
He had only flesh and blood to deal with, a man full of foolish
superstition. He, too, must have come seeking treasure, but which way
had he come, and how had he found the courage to embark on such an
adventure? Must two participate in this treasure after all! No, however
great it might be, Rosmore wanted it all. He would not share it with any
man. A word growled in the darkness would terrify the superstitious Sir
John; he would flee as though ten thousand devils were at his heels, or
perchance the sudden terror might kill him.
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