"The Holy House!" he exclaimed. "My darling is there!" He went over it all in his mind again, and knew it must be so, and then he saw what had happened. The picture was vividly portrayed, and his imagination served him so well that he could see men's faces, their doings, and his darling's horror. Margaret had gone into the cavern when he left her, and had fallen into the hands of the Familiars, who had walked down this passage and in some way through this place which was blocked by an apparently impassable wall of rock. And she was taken into that place of terror--that den of infamy. It must be so, for there were those dull footprints, such as Familiars would leave, and her bracelet to show that she had been there. And every footprint pointed to the rock. None turned away from it, to suggest that they had found her here and carried her away. His blood began to boil at the thought of Margaret's jeopardy. His memory was alive to all the deeds of cruelty he had heard of, and his hands clenched tightly, while he began to think of vengeance. His fingers went to his belt, and, drawing the dagger from its sheath, he gazed at it, and vowed that if those men had hurt his darling, or stood between her and her liberty, the steel should be reddened with the blood of her tormentors. He sprang to his feet, caught up the lantern, and tested the rock as he and Engel had done when they entered the castle in the forest to search for William Tyndale. He scanned it thoroughly, but for a long time saw no trace of any opening. At last he observed what looked like a crack, and drawing the dagger from his belt again he thrust the point at it. The thin, keen-edged blade went in some little distance, and he moved it upwards. It ran up and up, till it would go no farther. He turned the blade, and ran it from right to left for the space of a couple of feet. Then down the left side the dagger moved. At the bottom the blade travelled easily towards the right. That was proof that there was an opening in the rock, and he believed that the rock would move. But how? Was there a spring anywhere that must be touched before it would shift inwards and towards him? He began to search for it. With the lantern's aid he scanned the surface, inch after inch, intent on finding this spring, for he meant to get in, taking the tremendous risks, to look for his darling and bring her away, if he could find her, whatever the cost. Nearly an hour went, and although he began to despair he could not bring himself to give up the attempt. Margaret must have been carried through that space which was nearly four feet high, and he, too, would go and bring her from the Holy House, even if he had to fight his way inch by inch. What could frustrate him when his dear one was there?