success in this his
endeavour.

Up, up into the darkness of the vaulted roof he passed, and then a
yawning hole above their heads, which looked too small to admit the
passage of the slab upon which they stood, swallowed them up, and they
found themselves passing upwards through a shaft which only just
admitted the block upon which they stood. Up and up they went, and now
the creaking sound grew louder, and the motion grew perceptibly slower.
They were no longer in a narrow shaft; a black space opened before their
eyes. The motion ceased altogether with a grinding sensation and a jerk,
and out of the darkness of a wider space, pitchy dark to their eyes,
came the sound of a familiar voice.

"Gaston -- Brother!"

Gaston sprang forward into the darkness, heedless of all but the sound
of that voice. The next moment he was clasping his brother in his arms,
his own emotion so great that he dared not trust his voice to speak;
whilst Raymond, holding him fast in a passionate clasp, whispered in his
ear a breathless question.

"Thou too a prisoner in this terrible place, my Gaston? O brother -- my
brother -- I trusted that I might have died for us both!"

"A prisoner? nay, Raymond, no prisoner; but as thy rescuer I come. What,
believest thou not? Then shalt thou soon see with thine own eyes.

"But let me look first upon thy face. I would see what these miscreants
have done to thee. Thou feelest more like a creature of skin and bone
than one of sturdy English flesh and blood.

"The light, Roger!

"Ay, truly, Roger is here with me. It is to him in part we owe it that
we are here this night. Raymond, Raymond, thou art sorely changed! Thou
lookest more spirit-like than ever! Thou hast scarce strength to stand
alone! What have they done to thee, my brother?"

But Raymond could scarce find strength to answer. The revulsion of
feeling was too much for him. When he had heard that terrible sound, and
had seen the slab in the floor sink out of sight, he had sprung from his
bed of straw, ready to face his cruel foes when they came for him, yet
knowing but too well what was in store for him when he was carried down
below, as he had been once before. Then when, instead of the cruel
mocking countenance of Peter Sanghurst, he had seen the noble, loving
face of his brother, and had believed that he, too, had fallen into the
power of their deadly foes, it had seemed to him as though a bitterness
greater than that of death had fallen up