The door was reached, and they passed beyond it, leaving the horrors of the underground dungeon behind.
Every nerve in Frank’s body was at a high tension, and he was ready for anything they might encounter.
They came into a long, low room, the walls of which were bare and whitewashed. The room was unfurnished and gloomy, with no opening windows to admit light and air.
Igela led the way through this room and into a passage, where she paused to listen, her hand trembling on Frank’s arm. He grasped her fingers, and gave them a reassuring pressure.
Then they stole along the passage, making as little noise as possible. Past a door that looked into an empty room they made their way, and, as they came to a strong door, Igela made him put out the light.
In the darkness his arm stole around her, and she let him hold her thus while she listened.
Being satisfied that all was well, she opened the door, and a rush of air smote Frank in the face, telling him that the door opened to the outside world.
How grateful that fresh air was to the boy who had been imprisoned in a place that was close and dank! He drew it into his lungs with a keen sense of delight, and he seemed to become himself once more—cool, nervy, self-reliant.
But they were not yet on the street, as he quickly discovered. They were in the court which he had once before crossed that night.
There was no moon, but the stars told that the night was well spent, and morning approaching. Igela seemed to read the stars, for she whispered: