door at the extreme end of the cellar, and understood that here was her
road--a road which once entered, she must take alone.

First, it was such a small door! No child older than eleven could
possibly squeeze through it. But she was of the size of a child of
eleven and might possibly manage that difficulty.

Secondly: there are always some unforeseen possibilities in every
situation, and though she had listened carefully to Mr. Van Broecklyn's
directions and was sure that she knew them by heart, she wished she had
kissed her father more tenderly in leaving him that night for the ball,
and that she had not pouted so undutifully at some harsh stricture he
had made. Did this mean fear? She despised the feeling if it did.

Thirdly: She hated darkness. She knew this when she offered herself for
this undertaking; but she was in a bright room at the moment and only
imagined what she must now face as a reality. But one jet had been lit
in the cellar and that near the entrance. Mr. Van Broecklyn seemed not
to need light, even in his unfastening of the small door which Violet
was sure had been protected by more than one lock.

Doubt, shadow, and a solitary climb between unknown walls, with only
a streak of light for her goal, and the clinging pressure of Florence
Digby's hand on her own for solace--surely the prospect was one to tax
the courage of her young heart to its limit. But she had promised, and
she would fulfill. So with a brave smile she stooped to the little door,
and in another moment had started her journey.

For journey the shortest distance may seem when every inch means a
heart-throb and one grows old in traversing a foot. At first the way
was easy; she had but to crawl up a slight incline with the comforting
consciousness that two people were within reach of her voice, almost
within sound of her beating heart. But presently she came to a turn,
beyond which her fingers failed to reach any wall on her left. Then came
a step up which she stumbled, and farther on a short flight, each tread
of which she had been told to test before she ventured to climb it, lest
the decay of innumerable years should have weakened the wood too much to
bear her weight. One, two, three, four, five steps! Then a landing with
an open space beyond. Half of her journey was done. Here she felt
she could give a minute to drawing her breath naturally, if the air,
unchanged in years, would allow her to do so. Besides, here she had been
enj