it for the admission of light,
and he perceived at once that through this slit alone lay his chance of
communicating with the outer world. At first it seemed as if it were to
be done by shouting, but when he learnt what little effect was produced
by his voice in the midst of such a mass of masonry, his heart failed
him for a moment. Yet, as either Paula or Miss De Stancy would probably
guess his visit to the top of the tower, there was no cause for terror,
if some for alarm.

He put his handkerchief through the window-slit, so that it fluttered
outside, and, fixing it in its place by a large stone drawn from the
loose ones around him, awaited succour as best he could. To begin this
course of procedure was easy, but to abide in patience till it should
produce fruit was an irksome task. As nearly as he could guess--for his
watch had been stopped by the fall--it was now about four o'clock, and
it would be scarcely possible for evening to approach without some
eye or other noticing the white signal. So Somerset waited, his eyes
lingering on the little world of objects around him, till they all
became quite familiar. Spiders'-webs in plenty were there, and one in
particular just before him was in full use as a snare, stretching across
the arch of the window, with radiating threads as its ribs. Somerset
had plenty of time, and he counted their number--fifteen. He remained
so silent that the owner of this elaborate structure soon forgot the
disturbance which had resulted in the breaking of his diagonal ties,
and crept out from the corner to mend them. In watching the process,
Somerset noticed that on the stonework behind the web sundry names and
initials had been cut by explorers in years gone by. Among these antique
inscriptions he observed two bright and clean ones, consisting of the
words 'De Stancy' and 'W. Dare,' crossing each other at right angles.
From the state of the stone they could not have been cut more than a
month before this date, and, musing on the circumstance, Somerset passed
the time until the sun reached the slit in that side of the tower,
where, beginning by throwing in a streak of fire as narrow as a
corn-stalk, it enlarged its width till the dusty nook was flooded with
cheerful light. It disclosed something lying in the corner, which on
examination proved to be a dry bone. Whether it was human, or had come
from the castle larder in bygone times, he could not tell. One bone was
not a whole skeleton, but i