me, rather than otherwise, for if anyone was concealed therein it would be down below, where the light streaming into the upper passage, as I pressed back the frame to gain room for my body, would be unnoticed.  There was no hesitancy as to what I must do.  Now I had discovered this secret passage it must be thoroughly explored.  The safest way was to burrow through the dark, trusting to hands and feet for safety, and prepared for any encounter.  Whoever might be hidden away there would certainly possess some light, sufficient for any warning I needed.  Every advantage would remain with me concealed by darkness.

If I felt any premonition of fear it was not serious enough to delay progress, nor did I pause to consider the possible danger.  Wherever Coombs had gone, he was not likely to remain absent for long, nor could I expect Mrs. Henley to remain with Sallie a moment longer than she deemed necessary.  This was my opportunity and must be utilized promptly.  Standing on the sofa arm I found little difficulty in pressing my body forward into the aperture, until, extending at full length, the picture settled noiselessly back into place against the wall, excluding all light.  After listening intently, fearful lest the slight scraping might have been overheard, I arose to a crouching position, able to feel both the sides and top of the tunnel with my fingers.  Inch by inch, silently, my soft breathing the only noticeable sound, I worked forward, anxiously exploring for the break in the floor, which I knew to be only a few feet distance.  Even then I reached it unaware of its proximity, experiencing a sudden, unpleasant shock as my extended hand groped about touching nothing tangible.

I was some time determining the exact nature of what was before me.  There were no stairs, nor did any shafts of a ladder protrude above the floor level.  Only as I lay flat, and felt cautiously across from wall to wall, could I determine what led below.  All was black as a well, as noiseless as a grave, yet there was a ladder exactly fitting the space, spiked solidly into the flooring.  My groping fingers could reach two of the rungs, and they felt sound and strong.  With face outward I trusted myself to their support, and began the descent slowly, pausing between each step to listen, and gripping the side-bars tightly.  The blackness and silence, combined with what I anticipated discovering somewhere in those depths below, set my nerves tingling, yet I felt cool, and determined to press on.  Indeed, deep in my heart I welcomed the adventure, even hoped it might end in some encounter serious enough to arouse me to new thoughts—­especially did I yearn to learn something definite about Philip Henley.  This to me was now the one matter of importance; to be assured that he was living or dead.  Nothing else greatly mattered, for nothing could again efface from my memory the woman he had called wife.  Right or wrong, I knew she held me captive; even there, groping blindly in that darkness, every nerve strained to its utmost, my thought was with her, and her face arose before my imagination.  Unexpectedly, unexplainably love had come into my life—­the very love I had laughed at in others had made me captive.  And I was glad of it, reckless still as to what it might portend.