Knocking and calling produced no response, and within all was perfectly quiet.
Hesitating no longer, he drew back as far as the wall would allow him, and ran with his foot against the door.

The rotten woodwork cracked, and a second onset forced the lock away.

In the middle of the floor Waymark lay, just as Slimy had left him nearly twenty-four hours ago.
Abraham scarcely ventured to draw near; there was no motion in the fettered body, and he dreaded to look closely at the face.

Before he could overcome this momentary fear, there was a quick step behind him, and, with a smothered cry, Ida had rushed into the room.

She was on her knees beside Waymark, her face close down to his.
"He is alive!" she cried.