I was dimly conscious of a face gazing intently down through the small aperture, yet, with the swaying of that loosened rope, the slipperiness of its grassy strands between my fingers, I found little opportunity for glancing upward while slowly winning toilsome way toward the light.

It was as hard a struggle for life as I ever made, my heart almost ceasing to hope, when I finally felt a hand close firmly upon the collar of my jacket.

With that help, I struggled on, until, panting and exhausted, I sank upon the skin-carpeted floor of the apartment from whence I had been hurled into that living tomb.
Half turning as I fell, I gazed into the face of my rescuer, endeavoring to smile as my glad eyes met those of Eloise de Noyan.
"Oh, hush!" she sobbed.

"Do not speak of what you have suffered, for I read it all in your eyes.

Oh, my poor, poor boy! I thank the merciful Christ you are still alive.