Finding after a while that his drawing progressed but slowly, by reason of infinite joyful thoughts more allied to his nature than to his art, he relinquished rule and compass, and entered one of the two turrets opening on the roof.

It was not the staircase by which he had ascended, and he proceeded to explore its lower part.

Entering from the blaze of light without, and imagining the stairs to descend as usual, he became aware after a few steps that there was suddenly nothing to tread on, and found himself precipitated downwards to a distance of several feet.
Arrived at the bottom, he was conscious of the happy fact that he had not seriously hurt himself, though his leg was twisted awkwardly.

Next he perceived that the stone steps had been removed from the turret, so that he had dropped into it as into a dry well; that, owing to its being walled up below, there was no door of exit on either side of him; that he was, in short, a prisoner.
Placing himself in a more comfortable position he calmly considered the best means of getting out, or of making his condition known.

For a moment he tried to drag himself up by his arm, but it was a hopeless attempt, the height to the first step being far too great.
He next looked round at a lower level.