THE DARK PASSAGE
The panel was turning round! slowly, but most surely turning round,
much in the way that a turnstile moves, as if on a pivot or pin running
from top to bottom of the wood.
Charles could hardly believe his eyes, which, indeed, after that
stinger from the bowstring, were for a minute or two not so trustworthy
as usual. He very soon, however, saw clearly enough that the panel
really was open, and now stood half-way inside the room, half-way
outside in the shadowy space beyond.
So amazed was he that for a short time he could not stir hand or foot,
and only stood staring at the panel. But if he had never seen such a
thing before, it was no great marvel, for not many people had done so.
He had not only heard of, but seen, panels that lifted above into the
walls, window-sash fashion, and panels that slid back sideways into
grooves, and in the hope that such panels might be found in that room,
he had spent hours in pushing and shoving and poking about the edges
and frameworks of the carvings till his little fingers ached again.
Then a hundred times he had cried, “Open, Sesame!” as Ali Baba did, but
nothing had come of it. Yet now, here, in the most unexpected manner it
had happened, and accordingly, like people in general, big or little,
when on those rare occasions that which their heart most longs for
comes to pass, he stood as if he was dazed and unable to believe it
true. He soon, however, found his wits again, and slipping down from
the chair, he crossed the floor and peeped into the dark space, though
gingerly enough, lest the panel should think proper to snap to, and
treat his nose as badly as he had treated poor Minerva’s.
Then he carefully examined the condition of that good lady, and found
her to be not at all herself as he had hitherto had the pleasure of
her acquaintance. To be sure she sat bolt upright as ever, as far as
her shoulders, but her head hung down now all dingle-dangle. Was her
neck broken? No; it was not as bad as that, it was dislocated, and hung
wobbling by a sort of metal hinge to which there seemed some wires and
a steel spring attached.
[Illustration]
Well, certainly, thought Charles, as he looked, those Flemish craftsmen
must have been very clever fellows. He did not however stop to think
much about anything, for the belfry over his head began to sound with
a terrific clangor as he stood in the opening. Five o’clock, and at
five his supper was always brought him, and after that he had to
go to bed. There was not a moment to lose, and, after a very brief
consideration he stepped back into the room, and took off his doublet,
putting it in a corner of the window-seat. Being such sultry weather
all he wore under the doublet was the little shirt of fine cambric;
then—but hark! voices! Why, bless your heart, yes, the merle’s voice,
and the harvesters all rejoicing in the soft cool air which the waning
day had brought. Quite a little breeze, in fact, as it came rustling
and ruffling up from below to where Charles stood in the queer dark
nook outside the panel; but his eyes were growing accustomed to the
darkness now, and he could see that he was standing on the top of a
staircase which wound down and down out of sight. There was one thing
he had forgotten, in all his excitement, and a thing of the utmost
importance too. His sword. He would not encumber himself with his armor
or other weapons, but as a soldier and a gentleman his short sword he
must have; and he went back again and, picking it up from the floor, he
stuck it into his belt, for he needed both hands free. Then slipping
out once more upon the shelf of a landing, for it was no more, he drew
the panel to. Had he been able to see then on its other side, he would
have seen Minerva’s helmeted head pop up and settle itself all right
and tight on her shoulders, as if nothing had happened, but by that
time he was at the bottom of the staircase. It did not reach beyond a
turn or two, and ended in a long always-downward-winding passage barely
three feet wide and hardly higher.
Through this scudded Charles as well as he could, like a rabbit in
a burrow, always down and down, and twisting and turning, guided by
the glimmering of daylight which entered by little holes pierced at
few-and-far-between distances in the thick stone wall on his left hand.
Still on and on he went the downward way, till at last the air began to
turn from cool to clammy, damp, and cold, and he stood still to listen,
for there came a sound through the deadly silence. It was the trickling
of water, and he guessed he must be close upon the moat.
The next moment he found his right hand was touching cold moss-covered
stone instead of dry wood as hitherto. His heart fluttered like the
wings of a bird, but he stepped on, feeling every inch of the way. In
this manner he descended several stone steps that were slippery with
ooze and felt jagged and crumbling under his feet. At the bottom of
the steps he found himself standing on smooth and level ground, and,
pausing to take breath, he listened again. The water was over his head,
he could hear it gurgling slowly and solemnly on, and all round him was
pitchy darkness, but far on straight ahead he saw, or fancied he saw, a
gleam of reddish light.
[Illustration]
Plucking heart of grace, he moved on again, and soon the fancy became
a certainty. It was the light of the sun now nearing the end of his
course, and it was piercing the bars of a grating. From fluttering,
Charles’s heart now stood still, for a great dismay seized him. What if
that grating closed in the passage? Why, then, since he had noticed
that there was no handle or mark of any kind at the back of the panel
in the Cedar Room, he would not be able to open it, even if he dared to
go back, and so he would be caught like a rat in a trap! It wanted some
courage to go on and make certain, and only after a second or two he
found it, and, groping his way on, reached the grating, to find that
it was as he had thought so possible. The grating was just high and
wide enough to allow of a person getting out of it. It stood on the top
of a steep narrow flight of stone steps, and as Charles mounted these,
the afternoon sunlight broke upon it from the outside, and he saw that
it was chained and padlocked; but as he took hold of the padlock, it
fell to pieces in his hand, all eaten through and through with rust.
Then he saw that the links of the chain were equally useless, and as
he gave the grating a push they all rattled and fell helplessly to the
ground.
For a moment more the gate stuck hard, but with another tremendous push
of Charles’s shoulder, it yielded with a screech, and swung back as far
as a heap of mud and rotten leaves allowed it to go, and this was far
enough to allow of Charles’s slender little body squeezing through.
When he got outside, he found himself—where? Ah! that was the puzzle of
it. That he was beyond the moat of course he knew, but was he beyond
the garden walls? If he was not—but he was, a good way beyond, right
out in the fields; for though he was cooped up in a round sort of a
bricked-in place like a well, and could see nothing but a close tangle
of gorse and bramble overhead, he could hear the voices of the country
folk, the neighing of horses, and the creaking of wagon-wheels hard by.
And all at once as he listened the voices broke out in a loud cheery
chorus. “Harvest Home,” sang the men, women, and children, while dogs
barked, and the birds sang louder than ever:—
“Harvest Home!”
Merrily sing we all, “Harvest Home!”
And Charles knew that he was free.