“I cannot bear it,” she whispered to herself even while creeping forward, her hand upon the wall.  “I will close my eyes” was her next thought.  “I will make my own darkness,” and with a spasmodic forcing of her lids together, she continued to creep on, passing the mantelpiece, where she knocked against something which fell with an awful clatter.

This sound, followed as it was by that of smothered voices from the excited group awaiting the result of her experiment from behind the impenetrable wall she should be nearing now if she had followed her instructions aright, freed her instantly from her fancies; and opening her eyes once more, she cast a look ahead, and to her delight, saw but a few steps away, the thin streak of bright light which marked the end of her journey.

It took her but a moment after that to find the missing page, and picking it up in haste from the dusty floor, she turned herself quickly about and joyfully began to retrace her steps.  Why then, was it that in the course of a few minutes more her voice suddenly broke into a wild, unearthly shriek, which ringing with terror burst the bounds of that dungeon-like room, and sank, a barbed shaft, into the breasts of those awaiting the result of her doubtful adventure, at either end of this dread no-thoroughfare.

What had happened?

If they had thought to look out, they would have seen that the moon—­held in check by a bank of cloud occupying half the heavens —­had suddenly burst its bounds and was sending long bars of revealing light into every uncurtained window.

VI

Florence Digby, in her short and sheltered life, had possibly never known any very great or deep emotion.  But she touched the bottom of extreme terror at that moment, as with her ears still thrilling with Violet’s piercing cry, she turned to look at Mr. Van Broecklyn, and beheld the instantaneous wreck it had made of this seemingly strong man.  Not till he came to lie in his coffin would he show a more ghastly countenance; and trembling herself almost to the point of falling, caught him by the arm and sought to read his face what had happened.  Something disastrous she was sure; something which he had feared and was partially prepared for, yet which in happening had crushed him.  Was it a pitfall into which the poor little lady had fallen?  If so—­But he is speaking—­mumbling low words to himself.  Some of them she can hear.  He is reproaching himself—­repeating over and over that he should never have taken such a chance; that he should have remembered her youth—­the weakness of a young girl’s nerve.  He had been mad, and now—­and now—­

With the repetition of this word his murmuring ceased.  All his energies were now absorbed in listening at the low door separating him from what he was agonizing to know—­a door impossible to enter, impossible to enlarge—­a barrier to all help —­an opening whereby sound might pass but nothing else, save her own small body, now lying—­where?