Even in the daytime she had often noticed how those old planks creaked and cracked beneath her weight.  Now, in the dead silence of the night, they emitted such sounds that her heart sank within her.  She stopped several times, convinced that she must be discovered, but all was hushed and still.  It was a relief when at last she reached the ground-floor, and was able to feel her way along the passage to the door.

Shaking in every limb from cold and fear, she put her hand to the lock; the key was not there.  She tried the nail; there was nothing there.  Her wary gaoler had evidently carried it away with him to his room.  Would it occur to him to do the same in the case of the back door?  It was very possible that he might have overlooked it.  She retraced her steps down the passage, passed Mrs. Jorrocks’ room, where the old woman was snoring peacefully, and began to make her way as best she could through the great rambling building.

Running along the basement floor from front to back there was a long corridor, one side of which was pierced for windows.  At the end of this corridor was the door which she wished to reach.  The moon had broken through the fog, and pouring its light through each opening cast a succession of silvery flickering spots upon the floor.  Between each of these bars of uncertain light was an interval of darkness.  Kate stood at the head of this corridor with her hand against the wall, awed by the sudden sight of the moonlight and by the weird effect which was produced by the alternate patches of shadow and brightness.  As she stood there, suddenly, with eyes distended with horror, she became aware that something was approaching her down the corridor.

She saw it moving as a dark formless mass at the further end.  It passed through the bar of light, vanished, appeared once more, lost itself in the darkness, emerged again.  It was half-way down the passage and still coming on.  Petrified with terror, she could only wait and watch.  Nearer it came and nearer.  It was gliding into the last bar of light Immediately in front of her!  It was on her!  God of mercy, it was a Dominican friar!  The moon shone clear and cold upon his gaunt figure and his sombre robes.  The poor girl threw up her hands, gave one terrible scream of horror, which rang through the old house, and sank senseless to the ground.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

A CHASE AND A BRAWL.

It would be impossible to describe the suspense in which Tom Dimsdale lived during these weeks.  In vain he tried in every manner to find some way of tracing the fugitives.  He wandered aimlessly about London from one inquiry office to another, telling his story and appealing for assistance.  He advertised in papers and cross-questioned every one who might know anything of the matter.  There were none, however, who could help him or throw any light upon the mystery.