I had come to the very end—­to that moment when my limbs refused longer to support my swaying body, when my tortured brain was picturing scenes of hellish ingenuity.  Ah! look! see! yonder comes now another to torment my soul.  O God!  Mark that grim, gray face floating against the wall!  Away, you foul fiend!  I am not yet your prey!  But see! see how the ghastly horror grows!  It is as large as a man; and mark those long, gaunt arms reaching up until they meet overhead.  Suddenly it seemed to shed a strange, unnatural radiance over the cave.  I imagined I saw things about me.  What, Mother of Mercies, can it be?  Daylight!  Oh, good God! do my eyes actually look upon the day once more—­the sweet, sweet, blessed day?  Surely it is but a dream; yet no! it must truly be light streaming down from above.

I staggered to my feet, trembling so that I was compelled to clutch the wall for support.  Swinging and swaying down toward me through the dim light, now in the radiance, anon in the shadow, twisting and turning like a great snake, a grass rope steadily dropped ring by ring until its loosened end coiled on the stone floor.  I saw it, never believing the testimony of my own eyes, until my trembling hand had actually closed upon it.  Then, with the touch in my fingers, the hot tears gushed from my blinded eyes, the tension on my brain gave way, and I was Geoffrey Benteen once more.  A cautious whisper pierced the silence.

“If you remain alive, have you strength to mount the rope quickly?”

So parched and swollen were my lips I could not answer, yet managed to take stronger grasp upon the cord, and, finding it firmly held above, made earnest effort to climb.  ’Twas a desperate undertaking for one who had passed through the strain which had befallen me; but now, the trembling having somewhat passed, I found myself not entirely devoid of strength, while an intense desire to escape from that hell made me willing to venture.  I was dimly conscious of a face gazing intently down through the small aperture, yet, with the swaying of that loosened rope, the slipperiness of its grassy strands between my fingers, I found little opportunity for glancing upward while slowly winning toilsome way toward the light.  It was as hard a struggle for life as I ever made, my heart almost ceasing to hope, when I finally felt a hand close firmly upon the collar of my jacket.  With that help, I struggled on, until, panting and exhausted, I sank upon the skin-carpeted floor of the apartment from whence I had been hurled into that living tomb.

Half turning as I fell, I gazed into the face of my rescuer, endeavoring to smile as my glad eyes met those of Eloise de Noyan.

“Oh, hush!” she sobbed.  “Do not speak of what you have suffered, for I read it all in your eyes.  Oh, my poor, poor boy!  I thank the merciful Christ you are still alive.  Yet I know not how long that demon in form of woman may be absent; besides, her savage guards are everywhere.  The slightest sound might bring one to the door, and it will be better that she believe you her victim, buried forever in that foul grave.”