ed to give up search for the cleft, and steal down to the
houses and see what I could learn there. And yet I was drawn most strongly
to that cleft in the rock.

If only I could find it and satisfy myself!

My wandering thoughts and wandering body came to sudden and violent pause
at bottom of a chasm. I had stepped incautiously, and found myself a mass
of bruises on the rocks below. I felt sore all over, but I could stand and
I could stretch my arms, so no bones were broken.

I rubbed the sorest bruises into some approach to comfort, and wondered
where I had got to. I could feel rock walls on either side, and the rocks
below seemed roughly levelled. With a catch of the breath, which spelled a
mighty hope, I began to grope my way along, and found that the way sloped
up and down. I turned and groped up it. On, and on, and on, and at last I
brought up suddenly against iron bars, and knew where I was. And never,
sure, to any man was the feel of iron bars so grateful as was the touch of
these to me.

I shook them gently, but the gate was locked. I strained my ears for any
sound inside, strained them so that I heard the breaking of the waves on
the rock below the window at the other end of the rock chamber.

Then I cried softly, "Carette!"--and listened--and thought I heard a
movement.

"Carette!" I cried again.

And out of that blessed darkness, and the doubt and the bewilderment, came
the sweetest voice in all the world, in a scared whisper, as one doubtful
of her own senses--

"Who is it? Who calls?"

"It is I, Carette--Phil Carre;" and in a moment she was against the bars,
and my hands touched her and hers touched me.

"Phil!" she cried, in vast amazement, and clung tight to my hands to make
sure. "Is it possible? Oh, my dear, is it truly, truly you? I knew your
voice, but--I thought I dreamed, and then I thought it the voice of the
dead. You are not dead, Phil?" with a doubtful catch in her breath, as
though a doubt had caught her suddenly by the throat.

"But no! I am not dead, my dear one;" and I drew the dear little hands
through the bars and covered them with hot kisses.

"But how come you here, Phil? What brings you here?"

"You yourself, Carette. What else?"

"Bon Dieu, but it is good to hear you again, Phil! Can you get me out? They
carried me off this morning--"

"I know. I reached Sercq this morning, and Krok brought us the word an hour
later. I have been trying ever since to find where you were