She was gazing with eager eyes at the narrow door that had shut her in with him whom she had dared so much to find and save.
She saw with some dismay that its inner surface was just what it had appeared when she had moved her fingers over it in the dark—perfectly smooth, without seam, knob, or lock, and no apparent way of moving it from its place.
Van Zandt gave her the lamp to hold, and put his shoulder to the immovable door, but his whole strength availed nothing against its grim solidity.
Then he spent an anxious hour trying the steps and the sides of the door in an effort to find its mysterious open sesame.
Not an iota of success rewarded his frantic efforts.
But he would not give way to despair.
"I shall have to cut our way out," he said. "But, as I have no hatchet, it will be slow work with my jack-knife. You may have to hold that lamp for hours, ma'amselle, while I whittle a hole in the door big enough for you to creep through."
"That is nothing. I shall not be tired," she replied, bravely.
But she was not called upon for this exhibition of patience.