THEY had only one hope of getting free. By some means they must cross
the open courtyard, and creep round to the Castle gate before the
coming dawn had time to reveal them.
On hands and knees they made for the open. With no longer the shadow of
the Castle walls to conceal them, their peril was greatly increased.
More than once they stopped and lay full length on the ground, so near
they were to discovery. It seemed as if they would never be able to get
to the point they had fixed upon, which was the precarious shelter of a
few stunted shrubs growing near to the Castle gate.
It was a long while before they could reach that security. Not long
perhaps in point of fact but an age in experience. Each time they lay
down on the hard cobblestones to avoid some new danger they expected
the dread proclamation to ring in their ears. It seemed little short of
a miracle, such was their exaggeration of events, that the escape was
not known already.
At last they were come to the place they sought, hard by the gate. And
here it was that the Providence which thus far had used them so well
seemed now to desert them. To their horror they realized that the east
was already light. The only hope of getting clear had been to slip
unseen through the gate at a moment it might chance to be open for the
admission of others. But from the first they had known that daylight
would make the risk too great to admit of any such expedient.
They must find some other way. Yet Anne well knew there was no
other way. The Castle was surrounded by walls it was impossible to
scale, except on the south side. Here the parapet was low, and for
a sufficient reason. Beyond the south wall the Castle rock ended
abruptly. A terrible chasm, hundreds of feet in depth, lurked beneath.
They had soon decided that the gate could not avail them now. Thus they
crept away to the left in the direction of the south wall, taking cover
as they went beneath a row of laurel-bushes. But no sooner had they
reached the wall than they saw, even in the gray twilight, that it was
certain death to climb it and hazard a descent of the sheer precipice
on the farther side. What could they do? Every moment it was growing
lighter.
By now Gervase had shaken off his lethargy. One who has lain weeks in
a prison and has composed himself for death can hardly be expected to
take occasion by the hand. But the fine and keen air of the morning and
the almost miraculous chance of life that had been given him had done
much to restore his numbed faculties. A resolve had already been born
in his heart to sell his life very dearly. In the last resort he was
determined to attempt the almost impassable face of the cliff.
But there was his brave companion. She seemed to read his mind. And
reading it she summoned the courage of despair. “If there is no other
way we will crawl down the rock,” she said.
“It would be death, mistress.”
The clear eyes that were so unafraid shone like stars through the gray
light. “I do not fear death,” she said in a low voice. “Rather death
than the whip or a dungeon underground.”
Dismally he realized that there was no answer to this argument. “We
will go together, mistress, wherever it be--unless--” a deadly chill
corroded the young man’s veins--“I walk back to my prison.”
“No, no,” said his deliverer tensely. “Anything rather than that.”
Every minute it was growing lighter. They crouched under the scanty
cover of the laurel-bushes, not knowing which way to turn or what to
do. All their senses were strung to catch the alarm they were ever
expecting to hear. But the miracle still endured; the alarm was not yet
given. Yet it was impossible that it could be much longer delayed.
In despair they crept farther along the wall. They must choose a
place for the grisly descent, yet even as they looked far down over
the parapet of the wall they hardly knew how to face such a hideous
alternative.
“It is certain death for us both,” said Gervase. “It is better that I
returned to my prison if you are sure there is no other way of escape.”
“Do you fear the rock?” The firm voice was low and calm.
“For you I fear it, mistress.”
The starlike eyes pierced him with their light. “For myself,” said
Anne, “I fear only to be left alive.” Very deliberately she took the
dagger from her belt. “Wherever you go,” she said as she offered it by
the hilt, “I would have you plunge this into my heart rather than you
left me.”
His cold fingers trembled on the hilt of the dagger, but even as
they touched it he knew that such a deed was far beyond his present
strength. “Better the rock than that,” he said.
“Yes, better the rock.”
Such a steadfast courage was like wine in his veins. Suddenly he flung
his arms about her and folded her to him. One slow kiss was pressed
upon the upturned mouth. Certain death awaited them, and they were
young to die, but there was now no way of life. And at least by God’s
mercy they had known one high moment which paid for all.
It was the man’s part first to mount the parapet. Shuddering in every
vein, he began to climb up to it. He was not a coward, but the desire
of life was running desperately high. The girl followed close after
him. Her will was firmer than his because her imagination was less.
Gervase had nearly reached the coping of the low stone wall when Anne
caught at his heel and drew him down again. “See,” she cried. “Is not
that a hole in the ground along there by that farthest bush?”
“It may be so,” said the young man, fearing for his resolve. “But let
us not look back. If this were done let it be done now.”
But sudden resolution had come upon Anne. Or was it that resolution was
failing her? At least with this new and faint hope she was able to draw
Gervase from the wall. His will had been strung to meet the death he
feared with all his soul, but the passion of life in his pulses heeded
her call in spite of himself.
There was a void, it seemed, gaping in the ground behind the bushes
but a few yards off. But Gervase could scarce drag his body towards it
as they crept close by the wall to see what it might be. For now he
felt with a dull sense of terror that the great moment was past. His
insurgent nerves told him that not again in cold blood would he climb
to the parapet of the wall.
From this new errand he looked for no deliverance. But as soon as they
came near they saw that the void, barely visible in the gray light, was
a hole in the ground. It seemed to be a kind of cavern or deep passage
burrowing far down into the very bowels of the earth. As far as they
could discern it was provided with rude steps of stone, and the mouth
of the cavern was protected by an iron grating.
They did not wait upon one another’s word, but at once and together put
forth all their strength to remove this barrier. It was so heavy that
it scarcely yielded at first. But sheer desperation armed them, so that
at last they were able to move the grating sufficiently to permit first
one of their slender bodies and then the other to squeeze through the
narrow opening into the total darkness that lay beyond.
By the time they had descended three steps they could see nothing.
Absolute night yawned under their feet. The unknown, terrible and
immeasurable, began slowly to receive them. Whither they were going
they did not know. Where the cavern led, what they would find at the
end of it or what they were likely to encounter by the way were matters
about which it was vain to speculate. All that they knew was that
for the time being they were very precariously delivered from a more
instant peril.
It might be perhaps that they were going to a doom more terrible, since
the unknown is ever more sinister than the known. For aught they knew
the stone steps might carry them through that appalling darkness to the
verge of a deep well or some abyss that would shatter them in pieces as
surely as a fall from the rock itself.
Sheer desperation urging, however, they prepared to descend step by
step into the noisome earth. Gripping each other’s hand tightly, they
started very slowly to go down the steps. And now it was that they had
cause to regret bitterly that the lantern which had guided Anne to the
prison had been left under the Castle wall as being a thing that had
already served its turn. At this moment its help would have been beyond
price.
Holding each other by the hand, their hearts violently beating, they
yielded themselves to the care of Providence. The descent was sheer,
slow and terrifying. Bats, undisturbed for many a long year, began to
hover round them. They could not see anything; a foul miasma hardly
allowed them to breathe; each step they took was likely to be their
last, but not for a moment did they pause in their descent.
They were like a pair of twin souls in the avernus. The sense of
nameless fear enfolding them was awful, overmastering.
“Whither does it lead?” said Gervase at last, his whole being now in
revolt.
“I know not,” said his companion. “But so long as we are like this,
hand in hand together, there is surely no need to care what lies
ahead.”
Such an answer, spoken with the clear force of a noble resolution,
thrilled in his heart. The courage that was his by nature, which the
bitterness of his recent pass had overthrown, came back to him. If
death must come, let it come to them now as each held the hand of
the other. They began to move more quickly, and now with a sort of
recklessness, far down into the chasm that yawned darker and darker
below them. Minutes passed; step succeeded step, yet still they had not
come to the final one.
Would this descent never end? Would they never again see the light?
The desire to know what lay ahead grew so intense as to be almost
unendurable. This dreadful suspense through which they were passing was
neither more nor less than torture.
It began to seem certain that they would find themselves in some pit
or oubliette or forgotten dungeon underground. In that case there was
some hope of concealment, in which they might lie through the day. And
if their pursuers had not the wit to find them, when the darkness came
they might again ascend to the courtyard, and carry out their first
design of escaping through the Castle gate.
At last, after at least a full hour of this torture by hope, the steep,
narrow, winding stone stairs came suddenly to an end. It was impossible
to go farther ... a wall confronted them. It would appear that the
descent ended in a cul-de-sac. Before accepting this as a fact,
however, Gervase gave the wall a kick in order to attest its nature. To
his surprise he found it to be made of wood.
That fact served to tell him that here was not the natural end of
those strange stone stairs. Something lay beyond. Conceivably this wall
was a door. But so heavy was the darkness that it was impossible to
tell.
Gervase set to work with the dagger his companion had given him, in
order to see if he could not pierce this barrier and gain a clue to
these hidden mysteries. But the point of the weapon was delicate and
the wood was tough. It was impossible to make any progress. At last,
realizing the attempt was vain, in a kind of despair he hurled the
whole weight of his strong frame against the door in the faint hope
that it might yield.
Sometimes it happens that when a man has grown utterly desperate, an
inspired accident shows him the way! Gervase had looked for no result
from that reckless, despairing fling of his shoulders against that dark
wall, but to his surprise an odd creaking and cracking at once arose.
The wood was rotten with age. In the next instant, to the unspeakable
joy of Gervase and his companion, a faint worm of light came creeping
through a rent in a door.
Daylight lay beyond! So cruelly had their nerves been fretted by the
slow descent into cavernous darkness, that they could have cried out
for joy at the light. Together they hurled their strong young shoulders
against the door. Further rendings and tearings followed. Then came an
ominous crack, and there was a breach in the door wide enough for them
to pass through.
Their eyes were blinded by a flood of golden light. It was broad day,
and once again were they breathing the air of morning. But where were
they. They had come, it seemed, into a small paved yard. In front of
them was a wall and a line of low buildings. In the middle of the yard
was a large farmer’s wagon containing a number of sacks of corn. To
this vehicle a pair of horses was attached.
They crept very cautiously out of the door in the rock, and not then
until they had first made sure that the yard was empty.
“This is the yard of the Castle brewhouse,” said Anne. “There is a door
yonder which opens into a lane that runs down to the river.”
They ran swiftly across the yard, found the door unbarred, and at once
were free of the Castle precincts. They were now in a long, narrow
lane. It needed but a swift glance to tell them there was not a soul in
sight. Thereupon they took to their heels and started to run down the
lane for dear life.
It was more than a mile in length and it led straight to the river. It
was narrow, muddy and uneven, winding through swampy marshland over
all manner of rough ground. But in spite of the many difficulties it
presented they dashed so fiercely along the lane that it seemed as if
their hearts must burst.
Providence was with them still. All the way to the river they did
not meet a soul. Great as was their good fortune, it was yet less
remarkable than it appeared, since the path they had taken was a rude
cart-track rather than a road, with a tall hedge growing on either side.
At last the Trent in all its morning splendor lay before them. With
sides heaving and breath sobbing, they flung themselves beside it,
burying their faces in the icy grass.