On one side was a massive door, secured with huge bolts, and evidently leading into a vault or cellar. But scarcely had Markham time to cast one glance around him in the subterranean, when the candle flickered and expired. At the same moment a hollow groan echoed through the basement. Richard started: he was in total darkness—and a momentary tremor came over him. The groan was repeated. His fears vanished; and he immediately concluded that the Resurrection Man, wounded and suffering, must be somewhere near. At that idea, all sentiments of aversion, hatred, and abhorrence,—all reminiscence of injury and wrong, fled from the mind of that generous-hearted young man: he thought only that a fellow-creature was in anguish and in pain—perhaps neglected, and left to die without a soul to administer consolation! Reckless of the danger which he might incur by alarming the inmates of the house, he determined upon rousing the porter in order to obtain a light. He turned from the scullery, and was rushing up the stone steps in pursuance of his humane intention, when he suddenly came in violent contact with a person who was descending the same stairs. CHAPTER CXLI. THE SUBTERRANEAN. The violence of the concussion threw Richard backwards; and in a moment he felt the rough hand of a man grasp him by the throat. "Who is it?" was the demand simultaneously put to him. "I will answer you when we are on equal terms," replied Markham; and, hurling the man away from him, he sprang upon his feet. "Now—stand off," he cried; "for I am not to be injured with impunity." "I don't want to injure you," said the man. "But who are you? I know by your voice that you're not one of us." "You then are an inmate of this house?" observed Markham, fencing with the other's question. At that instant another hollow groan echoed through the subterranean. "She lives!" cried the man; and in another moment Markham heard him drawing back the bolts of the massive door which he had observed in the scullery. Richard groped his way towards him, and said, "_She lives?_ whom do you allude to? Surely there cannot be a female imprisoned——" "Be silent, in the name of heaven!" interrupted the man, in a whisper. "The life of an unhappy woman depends upon your secrecy—whoever you may be." "Then would I rather aid than harm you and her, both," answered Markham. Another groan was heard; and Richard could now distinguish the direction from which it came. But still the massive door remained unopened. "This bolt,—this bolt!" muttered the man in a tone expressive of commingled rage and despair. "Oh! for a light!" "Can you not procure one?" demanded Richard. "Stay," said the man—"a good thought! There should be candles somewhere here—and matches. By Jove! here is a candle—and, on this shelf—yes—here are matches also!" The man struck a light.