They looked into cold and forbidding blackness, and felt a chill air come up which made them shiver. Heinrich caught up his lantern, and held it far down in the dark opening, showing them some wooden steps which rested on a stone floor.
"We are going down there," he said decisively, putting one foot on the top step. "Mother," he said quietly, "when we are all gone, drop the stone down and make all tidy. I'll give you the sign when I come back. But perhaps I shall come along the streets. It all depends."
He was looking serious, but a smile came to his face, and with his free hand he threw a kiss to his mother, who was standing a little way back, listening, as if to know whether anyone approached the stable door, which was rattling violently with the wind.
Heinrich went down the steps swiftly, and stood on the floor below, waiting.
"Come quickly!" he cried, standing back from the steps to make room, but throwing a light on the steps for the others to know where to put their feet.
"I will go first. Come close after me, my dear," Herman said to Margaret, who turned and kissed the woman who had sheltered her.
Carefully placing her foot on the blackened step, she descended slowly, clinging timidly to the framework, but gathering courage as she went, until she stood at Herman's side, waiting for the others.
"Mother," said Heinrich, when the others were standing in a group about him, "shut up the hole at once. We will wait until 'tis done;" and the woman, going on her knees, looked down to bid them all God-speed, and a safe deliverance, before she dropped the stone into its place. They waited a little longer, and heard her replacing the smaller stones one by one, Heinrich counting each little thud.
"That's the last," he said contentedly. "Now we can start."
He led the way across the empty chamber to a door, bolted and barred; but Heinrich moved the bolts and bars, ready to open the door.