“Quick!” she cried, touching my arm, forgetful of her aversion, “quick—let us go down before they return!”
I needed no second warning; I caught her hand in mine and we fled down, down—past the landing, where we heard their cries, far off now—down into the darkness below, until we came to the door at the foot of the stairs. I tried it, but it would not yield, it was fastened on the outside; a trick, no doubt, of the mutineers. It was so dark there that we could only see each other dimly, but I felt her horror and dismay and shook the door with all my strength, but it would not open, and then we heard a shout above us, either the same rioters returned or others came. I threw myself against the door, and in doing so stumbled to one side and felt something yield. There was a clamour on the landing now, and they might come either way. I turned and felt the wall beside me, found a latch, lifted it, and a door—narrow and low, but a door—opened inward. The place was dim, but I could see a stair, and I seized the princess and lifted her across the threshold just in time to escape the flare of a torch above us. I set her gently down on the steps, and, swinging the door to, found a bar beside it, dropped it in the socket, and secured it firmly. For a moment, at least, we had a bar between us and the rioters. Then I turned and, half carrying Daria, I descended five or six steps and found my feet on the ground, and here I was forced to pause and look about me.
We were in a cellar, and a large one, the floor was of earth, reeking with dampness, and above the dark vaulted ceiling hung with great brown cobwebs. It was lighted by narrow openings, wide as a man’s hand, high up, on a level with the pavement of the court-yard and distributed at intervals for the sake, not only of light, but of ventilation. But, even with these, it was exceeding dim and mouldy, and smelled too, of liquor, for it was lined at one side with great wine-butts. The cellar, which was longer than it was wide, extended under, at least, an eighth of the palace, and on the farther side there must be an opening into the court, which would afford us an avenue of escape. I listened attentively, and hearing no one at the door by which we entered, I concluded that our pursuers must have lost track of us, and gone upward instead of down. Satisfied that I had nothing to fear, for the moment, from that quarter, I began to search hastily for a door to let us out of the palace, and midway, on the farther side, I found it—a strong low door, secured within by a cross bar and furnished with a grille; opening this cautiously, I peeped out. The door, being level with the floor of the cellar, was beneath the ground, and outside a rough flight of five or six stone steps led up into the court-yard. So far escape seemed easy, but the upper step being still a foot below the grille, allowed me to look over it into the space beyond, and the first thing that caught my eye—on the very step itself—was a blood-red hand, severed from some man’s arm and clenched still, with a long lock of hair in its rigid fingers, showing that it had not given up, even in death. A little further off lay a body, the rich dress disordered, the feet—stiff and straight—turned toward me. And close at hand a gang of Streltsi seemed to be on guard; perhaps, five or six in all, too many certainly for one man, and that man hampered by a woman. While this conviction forced itself upon my unwilling mind, and I saw that we were no nearer an escape from the trap than before, I became aware that the princess had followed me across the cellar and stood close behind me. The comparative quiet without had deceived her and she was in no mood for delay.
“Come, sir,” she said excitedly, “take me to my father!”
I turned and shook my head.
“Not yet,” I replied.
“Not yet?” she repeated wildly. “If we delay, they will kill him—he is in the Golden Hall, so said the czarevna—and they will kill him! I must go to him. Where is your honour, sir?” She added sharply, “You promised!”
The light shining in at the grille showed me her disdain.
“Yes, I promised,” I said coldly, taking in every detail of her face and figure, beautiful and commanding and scornful even here; “I promised, but now it is impossible.”
“I do not believe it,” she cried passionately; “let me go!”