Were they the doors of cells, such as he had heard spoken of so often in the city, when men and women talked with bated breath of the horrors of the Holy House? And if they were, was Margaret in one of them?
The nearest door, when he ventured so far, opened as he pressed his hand against it. Looking in, he found the cell empty. It was the same with the next, the third, and the fourth, for he tried each door on either side. All were empty, but the straw lay on the floors, and the rats scrambled away when he entered. They had come to these dismal places to root among the straw for any crusts that might have been left by the prisoners who last occupied the cells.
Every place in the passage was unoccupied, and Herman ventured up twenty more steps to find himself in some open ground—a great garden bounded by some very high walls. He was so near to one of them that by the aid of the moon he could see the iron spikes which rendered escape impossible if any poor prisoner made the attempt.
He was in the greatest quandary now, for, looking along the garden, the immensity of the place set him wondering how he could possibly find Margaret. Some sixty yards away, beyond the grass and bushes, was the main building, and his darling must be there; but in which part? And how was he to enter unseen? If he passed along the passage at the top of this last flight of steps, what could he do? The cells that were occupied would be bolted and barred, and there was nothing to indicate the name of the victim on the other side of those strong, iron-sheeted doors.
He was dismayed with the thought of the hopelessness of it all.
Standing beneath a tree whose heavy branches hung round him like a tent, with an opening here and there, he watched the scene, trying to solve the problem of finding his darling. The first thing was to make a bolder endeavour yet—going into the very heart of the danger—to see where the Familiars had placed her. When that was done he must get into touch with her; and once with Margaret, none of those who kept that fearful house should hinder him from taking her away. And surely God would help him!
The moon was brilliant. She was sailing at her full across a cloudless sky, throwing deep shadows everywhere, but lighting up the open spaces like day. If anyone crossed the green expanse of grass he would know who it was if he ventured with uncovered face in the fine silvery light.
"'Tis no use standing here," he muttered. "I must take the risks. She must be found."
He went forward while he spoke, and, entering by the doorway through which he had come a few minutes before, he moved on down the passage, trying the doors. Like all the others, they were empty, and the bitter thought came that those who had last lodged there had paid the death penalty for their heresy, and the Familiars were in the city on the quest for others to take their places. Otherwise, would it be likely that he could come so far and find no one who could challenge his presence?
He came to a door like all the others—iron-sheeted, with bolts and bars on the outside and a key in the lock. He pressed against the door with his hand, but while the bars were leaning against the stonework, and the bolts were not thrust into their sockets, the door did not move.