home; but the girl--the poor girl!--she must get away!" He closed the
window, and prepared for his descent into the well.

Removing his shoes, he put on a pair of soft felt slippers, and then,
with candle in his hand, a box of matches and a revolver in his
pocket, entered the closet, and opened the scuttle in the floor. A
mouldy smell rose upon the air, and Henley recoiled at the thought of
what might be in waiting below. He had not the slightest idea of how
he should open the door at the bottom, but would make a careful study
of the situation, hoping that a solution of the difficulty would
present itself. The steps creaked dismally as he placed his weight
upon them, and it was necessary to use extreme caution to avoid
breaking through the more rotten ones. He had not descended more than
a dozen, when there was a terrible crash above his head, and he found
himself in absolute darkness. The trap had fallen as upon the
previous night, he having forgotten to fasten it back, and the wind
had blown out his candle. Henley hastened back up the stairs, fearful
lest the noise had waked some one in the house, and without
relighting his candle threw himself upon the bed to await
developments. After listening for some minutes, and hearing nothing,
he became convinced that no one had been disturbed; and so, creeping
out of bed, and lighting his candle by the dying embers in the
fireplace, started in afresh. This time he was careful to fasten back
the scuttle door, and in doing so discovered that one of the great
iron hinges was loose. It was more than two feet long, and with very
little difficulty he managed to wrench it off, thinking it might
possibly be of service in forcing the door at the bottom. He was
careful this time to let the scuttle down quietly after him, thinking
it safer to do this than to prop it open.