"About six o’clock our thief called, ’Breakfast is served,’ and we tumbled out of our covers, dazed. ’The sun is up,’ said the thief, as he lit the candle; and this was our eighth day since my father left us shut in the cave. The candles were giving out, despite our most economical care, and this day we ate in darkness. I suppose this may have upset me, since I began to have for the first time strange fears. I wanted to keep touch of some one. I thought I felt things go by me. I was afraid, and yet neither as a child nor as a man have I been called timid. Indeed, I was not altogether sorry when the baby cried; and, as the thief said, he cried very solid. Somehow I also felt that my mother was growing weak, and was feeling the long strain of doubt and danger and deep darkness. Even the Duke grew downcast, or at least ceased from his efforts to encourage my mother and to cheer up his son and me. Our thief alone never gave up. He insisted on taking the child from my mother, and crooned to it amazing lullabies. And to us he sang queer ballads, and once, when we rested for two hours, he told us some astonishing tales such as I shall some day delight to relate to you. They were very queer stories, I assure you. "When our sorry meal was over, and the wine was circulating hope with our blood, our thief proposed to try to take those ways which seemed to lead along under streets. I do not see now why this should have seemed desirable, but it did, and we were busy all that day following this clue, if such it were, by waiting until we heard the sound of wagons. It was time we got somewhere; for although we still had a fair allowance of food, it was no more than would serve with economy for two days longer. Still more alarming was it that our candles were giving out. "About five that afternoon of July 28th we came to a full stop where a long tunnel ended in a _cul-de-sac_. It was a weary way back, and as for us boys, we held on to one another and choked down our tears. The thief seemed to understand, for when we again got to the turn we had last taken, he gave us in the dark a good dose of wine, and saying, as he lit the lantern candle, ’Rest, Madame; I must see where now to go,’ he ran down the next alley of stone, and we heard the sound of his feet until they were lost. Overhead the rumble and roar of wagons were no longer heard, and the stillness was as the darkness, complete.