I stood, with fingers still grasping the knob, listening.  There was a click, as though a heavy key was being turned in the lock, and then withdrawn.  Following I heard her quick breath of relief, and a half-suppressed sob.  The sound made her seem all woman again.

“Miss Hardy!” I called, my lips at the crack of the door.

“What is it?” the answering voice tremulous.

“I want to tell you that you are a brave girl, and that I do not in the least blame you.”

There was a moment’s hesitating silence, as though my unexpected words had left her speechless.  Her breathing told me her lips were also close to the door.

“I—­I am so glad you said that,” she returned at last.  “This—­this has been so difficult to do.  But you know I mean to do it, to hold you here; you realize I am terribly in earnest?”

“Yes—­but for how long?”

“Until late to-night; then you can do us no deep injury.”  Her voice became firmer.  “I shall remain on guard here.”

I heard her move away from the direct neighborhood of the door, her steps sounding distinctly on the polished floor.  Then something heavy, probably a chair or bench, was drawn forward, following which all was silence.  Although I could see nothing the situation in the hall was clear.  Confident escape was impossible in any other direction the determined girl had taken up her position opposite the door, prepared for a long vigil.  All feeling of anger, even of irritation, had by this time left me.  The slight falter, the womanly softness of her voice, had robbed me of all resentment, and I was conscious merely of admiration for her courage and loyalty.  But I desired intently to stand equally high in her memory, and in order to do so must exhibit my own wit, my own resources in emergency.  I felt the door—­it was of solid oak, with no spot of weakness evident, even the key-hole being concealed by a metal flap on the outside.  The room itself was small, the walls tinted red, and contained no furniture except a narrow bed and one straight-backed chair.  Light was admitted through a small window, placed so high in the wall I was compelled to stand on the chair to look out, a mere round opening through which it would be impossible to squeeze my rather stalwart body.  It was almost a typical prison cell, apparently affording not the slightest opportunity for escape.  I had a pipe in my pocket, and matches, so I lit up, and lay back on the bed, reviewing the situation.

I am not of the disposition which surrenders easily, and my long experience as a scout had inured me to difficult ventures.  Almost invariably there are means of escape, if one is fortunate enough to discover the point of weakness and possesses sufficient time in which to work.  Yet as I lay there, my eyes anxiously scanning those bare, solid walls, my brain working coolly, the problem appeared unsolvable.  The door, of hard-wood, fitting tightly into the jambs,