Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction; Shakespeare, William, 1564-1616 -- Fiction
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.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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