We walked to the church-entrance, hastily. He searched for the key. He hadn't it. I put my hand out, and touched it in the door. "See here! I'm right!" and as I spoke, I drew a match across the stone step. The wind put out the flame. I guarded the second one with my shawl, and lighted the lamp. "Open quickly, before I lose it," I said. He did, and we went in,--in through the vestibule, where I first had seen this man, tolling the bell for his mother's death,--up the aisle, where I had gone the day I saw the thirsty, hungry, little mouse. I felt afraid, even with this strong man, for I did not know where I was going. We drew near the pulpit,--the pulpit in which Aaron preached. "She is not here," Mr. Axtell said; and he looked about the empty pews, feebly lighted from my small flame. He started forward as he spoke. "Don't leave me," I said; and I put my hand within his arm. What we saw was a change in the pulpit, an opening, as if some one had destroyed the panelled front of it. "Come," I said; and I drew near, and put the lamp through the opening, showing a few stone steps; perhaps there were a dozen of them; at least, they went down into undefined darkness. "What is this, Miss Percival?" "I don't know,--I have never seen it before; but I think it leads to the tower. You will find her there. Come!" and I went down the first step, with a feeling far stronger than the prisoner's doomed to step off into interminable depths, in that Old-World castle famous for wrongs to mankind,--for I knew my danger: he does not, as he comes to the last step, from off which he goes down to a deep, watery death. Mr. Axtell was aroused. He took the lamp from my unsteady hand, and, bidding me come back, went down before me. At the foot we found ourselves in a stone passage-way. It seemed below the reach of rains, and not very damp. Once I hit my foot against a stone, and fell. As Mr. Axtell turned back to see if I was hurt, he let the light fall distinctly on the ground. I saw a letter. He went on. I groped for it, one moment, then found it, and put it, with the torn piece of envelope to which it might belong, within my pocket. We came, at last,--a long distance it seemed for only a hundred feet,--to steps again. There were only three of them. Mr. Axtell held the lamp up; there was an opening. I shaded the light immediately, and whispered,-- "She's up there, I'm sure. Don't alarm her." "How can I help it?" he asked. I had as little of wisdom on the point as he; but I heard a noise. I saw a glimmer of light, as I looked up; then it was gone. I put my head through the opening, then reached down for the lamp. I held it up, and called,-- "Miss Axtell!" No answer. "We shall have to go up," her brother said. I entered the tower, the place I had so loved before,--and now seemed destined to atone for my love by suffering. "Don't let the light go out, Mr. Axtell," were all the words spoken; and we went up the long, winding stairway.