thread of light, pale and close to the floor—the light, doubtless, of a chamber within glimmering above the door-sill; he made his way towards it, careless what hand might be stretched out to arrest his course; before he reached it, the sweet imperial tones of a voice that thrilled him like an electric touch rang through the solitude:
"Back!—or your life or mine ends. It matters little which!"
The voice was clear as a bell and rich as music, but it vibrated with a meaning that struck like steel to the heart of the man who loved her;—it told him all.
With the force of a giant he threw himself against the door, guided to it by the light that gleamed beneath against the stones. Passion lent him herculean strength; the bar within was drawn, but the weight of his pressure suddenly flung on the panela sent both bolts and sockets back, wrenched from their fastenings, while the wood was shivered beneath the crash, and a dusky yellow light flared in his eyes from the cell within.
Across the broken half of the door, still jammed by its Staples to the floor, he saw Idalia; such light as there was, was on her where she stood close pressed to the bare stone wall, upon her face loathing and
