"Poor soul, poor soul!" murmured Lily in divine pity and compassion for the unknown prisoner.
As she sat musing sadly her eyes fell absently on the carpet beneath her feet. It had evidently been laid down the night before in a great hurry, for it was unevenly spread, and was not tacked down. There was no carpet in the room she had occupied before. Why had old Haidee been so particular about placing one here?
"It is rather strange," she thought to herself. "Haidee had something to conceal. I will look under that carpet."
She glanced toward the key-hole, fearing that argus eyes might be watching her. No one was there. She rolled up a piece of wrapping paper that lay carelessly upon the floor and pushed it into the opening.
"Now I will see what that carpet hides," said the brave girl to herself.
She advanced to the corner of the room and slowly turned back the corners of the gay flowered carpet as far as the middle. She was rewarded by more than she expected. The carpet had been drawn over a trap-door in the center of the room. It had recently been used, too, thought the girl, for it was free from dust and a small crevice appeared at one end. She inserted her fingers in the opening thus found, and cautiously pushed against it. The door slid back under the flooring lightly and easily, and disclosed below Lily's room a long and narrow winding stairway. It looked gloomy and dark, as if the footsteps of the wicked alone trod over its hidden way, and with a shudder Lily pushed the door back into its place, carefully replaced the carpet, removed the paper from the key-hole, and sat down with a wildly-beating heart and trembling limbs.
"That stairway evidently leads to the dungeon of that poor chained prisoner," was her inward comment. "Who can it be that Haidee has immured there? Perhaps another victim of Dr. Pratt and Harold Colville. Oh! God, that such infamous villany should go unpunished beneath the sky of heaven!"
She walked to the iron-barred window, and looked out through the grating.
The sun was shining in the blue heavens—the tangled old garden, refreshed by the storm of the previous night, was a wilderness of bloom. Untrimmed, the roses spread their wild, loving arms over the ground, or climbed heavenward by whatever frail support they could reach. Vines broken down from their frames blossomed luxuriantly on the ground, and ran across the winding path. A high stone wall ran around the whole place, shutting out all the bloom and sweetness from the curious gaze of any who might chance to pass. Poor Lily inhaled the fragrant air that rose to her window with a heart-wrung sigh. What sunshine and sweetness and beauty were outside of her horrible prison—what grief, what desolation, perhaps even madness, within.
The fresh pure air infused new courage into her fainting heart; the memory of those mournful, anguished wails became less dreadful as her courage rose.