“I can walk, or run. Oh, why did I come here? But, Phil,” suddenly, “we are locked in this place. We can't get out!” “Oh, yes, we can,” he cried, quickly. “Come with me.” He picked up the lantern, threw an arm about her and hurried toward the stairs that led aloft. Afterwards he was not ashamed to admit that he imagined he felt bony hands clutching at him from behind, and fear lent speed to his legs. Up the stairs they crowded, and he clutched at the huge handle on the door. In surprise, he threw his weight against the timbers, and a moment later dropped back with an exclamation of dismay. The door was locked! “What does it mean!” he gasped. “I left it standing open when I came down. The draft must have shut it. Don't be alarmed, Dorothy; I'll kick the damned thing down. What an idiot I was to tell no one that I was coming down here.” But his kicking did not budge the door, and the noise did not bring relief. She held the lantern while he fought with the barricade, and she was strangely calm and brave. The queer turn of affairs was gradually making itself felt, and her brain was clearing quickly. She was not afraid, now that he was there, but a new sensation was rushing into her heart. It was the sensation of shame and humiliation. That he, of all men, should find her in that unhappy, inglorious plight, ending her bold dash for freedom with the most womanly of failures, was far from comforting, to say the least. “Dorothy, I can't move it. I've kicked my toes off, and my knees are bleeding, but there it stands like a rock. We've got to stay here till some one chances to hear us,” he said, ruefully. “Are you afraid now?” “Why didn't you spring the lock when you came down? This is a pretty pass, I must say,” she said, her voice still shaky, her logic abnormal. “I like that! Were you any better off before I came than you are now? How were you going to get out, may I ask?” he demanded, coolly seating himself on the top step. She stood leaning against the wooden door, the diplomatic lantern between them. “I was going out by another way,” she said, shortly, but a shudder gave the lie to the declaration. “Do you know where that hidden passage leads to?” he asked, looking up into her face. She was brushing cobwebs from her dress. “To a cave near the old church,” she replied, triumphantly. “Blissful ignorance!” he laughed. “It doesn't lead anywhere as it now exists. You see, there was a cave-in a few decades ago--” “Is that the one that caved in?” she cried, in dismay. “So Saxondale tells me.” “And--and how did the--the--how did that awful thing get in there?” she asked, a new awe coming over her. “Well, that's hard to tell. Bob says the door has never been opened, to his knowledge. Nobody knows the secret combination, or whatever you call it. The chances are that the poor fellow whose bones we saw got locked in there and couldn't get out. So he died. That's what might have happened to you, you know.”