For half an hour, cold with fear and nervousness, she sought for the traditional spring, but her efforts were in vain. There was absolutely no solution, and it dawned upon her that she was doomed to return to the upper world defeated. Indeed, unless she could make those in the castle hear her cries, it was possible that she might actually die of starvation in the pitiless cavern. The lantern dropped from her palsied fingers, and she half sank against the stubborn door in the wall. To be back once more in the rooms above, with cheery human beings instead of with the spirits of she knew not how many murdered men and women, was now her only desire, her only petition. The contact of her body with the slab in some way brought about the result for which she had striven. The door moved slowly downward and a dash of freezing air came from the widening aperture at the top, blowing damp across her face. Staggering away from the ghostlike hole that seemed to grin fiendishly until it spread itself into a long, black gulf with eyes, a voice, and clammy hands, she grabbed up the still lighted lantern and cried aloud in a frenzy of fear. The door slowly sank out of sight and the way was open but her courage was gone. What was beyond that black hole? Could she live in the foul air that poured forth from that dismal mouth? Trembling like a leaf, she lifted the lantern and peered into the aperture, standing quite close to the edge. Her eyes fastened themselves in mute horror upon the object that first met their gaze; she could not breathe, her heart ceased beating, and every vestige of life seemed to pass beyond recall. She was looking upon the skeleton of a human being, crouched, hunched against the wall of the narrow passage, a headless skeleton, for the skull rolled out against her feet as the sliding door sank below the level. Slowly she backed away from the door, not knowing what she did, conscious only that her eyes could not be drawn from the horrifying spectacle. “Oh, God!” she moaned, in direst terror. Her ghastly companion seemed to edge himself toward her, an illusion born in the changing position of the light as she retreated. “Dorothy,” came a voice behind her, and she screamed aloud in terror, dropping the lantern and covering her face with her hands. As she swayed limply, a pair of arms closed about her and a voice she knew so well called her name again and again. She did not swoon, but it was an interminably long time to him before she exhibited the faintest sign of life other than the convulsive shudders that swept through her body. At last her hands clasped his arm fiercely and her body stiffened. “Is it you, Phil? Oh, is it really you? Take me away from this place! Anywhere, anywhere! I'll do anything you say, but don't let that awful thing come near me!” she wailed. By the flickering light he caught the terrified expression in her eyes. “You are safe, dear. I'll carry you upstairs, if you like,” he said, softly.