While Herman was groping his way along the passage the forester worked hard to relieve Tyndale of that incubus which made free movement an impossibility. But his mind was on the younger man's danger, and he thrilled at the almost certain consequences. "He must not do that mad thing," he muttered, rising from his knees and tossing the file on the floor. "He must not, my friend," said Tyndale weakly, rousing himself from his stupor. Engel did not pause, but hurried along the passage with the lantern in his hand, leaving the others in darkness. He overtook Herman as he was smoothing his hand over the stone door to find the knob which would open it. "What's wrong?" Herman asked anxiously. "Is Master Tyndale dead?" "No. But he has spoken, and he thinks with me that you must not attempt this mad thing." "I shall attempt it, none the less, Otto. There's food to be had, and I mean to get it. The good man's life is worth the risk. The world has need of him." Herman fingered his dagger while he spoke, and felt its point to know how keen it was, and Engel, seeing the gleam in the other's eyes and the determined look in his face as the light of the lantern played on it, knew that it was vain to endeavour to turn him from his purpose. "Go softly, then," he whispered, while he, too, felt about for the hidden spring. "Ha! it is here. I'll hide the light first, before we open the door." He turned and saw a niche in the rock where the lantern light would be completely shaded, if anyone chanced to be in the passage. Then, with his hand again on the spring, he thrust the door away, barely, while the two men peered through the slit. The passage was dark and silent. There was no sound save the distant shouts of men who were calling to each other in connection with the night's piracy. "Slip through and look the other way," the ranger whispered, and Herman, venturing, stood in the corridor. "Go back and file away at those fetters," he whispered back. "Roye is there, and as I came away, although I was leaving them in darkness, he was beginning to work at them for dear life," the answer came. A moment later Herman was alone, and the door was drawn into its place, as it had been before, when the search for the dungeon was being made. The passage was dark. The page was somewhere in that part of the castle still. He must have thought he had been dreaming about the streak of light across the floor, for now he was whistling lustily, and breaking off for an occasional snatch of song. The increasing faintness of these sounds assured Herman that the boy was going farther and farther away, somewhere in that part where the steps led down to the now empty dungeon.