During the trip through the cellars, Dorothy had learned that the secret passages to the outside world began in the big chamber under the tower.  Lady Saxondale had unwittingly confessed, while they were in the room, that two of the big rocks in the wall were false and that they were in reality doors which opened into the passages.  One of the passages was over a mile long, and there were hundreds of steps to descend before one reached a level where walking was not laborious.  The point of egress was through a hidden cave up the valley, near the ruins of an old church.  Where the other passage had once led to she did not know, for it had been closed by the caving in of a great pile of rocks.

With a determined spirit and a quaking courage, Dorothy vowed that she would sooner or later find this passage-way and make a bold dash for liberty.  Her nerves were tingling with excitement, eagerness and a horror of the undertaking, and she could scarcely control herself until the opportunity might come for a surreptitious visit to the underground regions.  Her first thought was to locate, if possible, the secret door leading into the passage.  With that knowledge in her possession she could begin the flight at once, or await a favorable hour on some later day.

That very afternoon brought the opportunity for which she was waiting.  The other women retired for their naps, and the men went to the billiard room.  The lower halls were deserted, and she had little difficulty in making her way unseen to the door that led to the basement.  Here she paused irresolutely, the recollection of the dismal, grasping solitude that dwelt beyond the portal sending again the chill to aer bones.

She remembered that Turk had hung the lantern on a peg just inside the door, and she had provided herself with matches.  To turn the key, open the door, pass through and close it, required no vast amount of courage, for it would be but an instant until she could have a light.  Almost before she knew what she had done, she was in the drafty, damp stairway, and the heavy door was between her and her unsuspecting captors.  With trembling, agitated fingers she struck a match.  It flickered and went out.  Another and another met the same fate, and she began to despair.  The darkness seemed to choke her, a sudden panic rushed up and overwhelmed her fainting courage, and with a smothered cry of terror she turned to throw open the door.  But the door refused to open!  A modern spring lock had set itself against her return to the coveted security of the halls above.

A deathly faintness came over her.  She sobbed as she threw herself against the stubborn door and pounded upon its panels with her hands.  Something dreadful seemed to be crawling up from behind, out of the cavernous hole that was always night.  The paroxysms of fear and dread finally gave way to despair, and despair is ever the parent of pluck.  Impatiently she again undertook the task of lighting the lantern, fearing to breathe lest she destroy the wavering, treacherous flame that burnt inside her bleeding hands.  Her pretty knuckles were bruised and cut in the reckless pounding on the door.