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. CHAPTER VIII