I tried the bar of every window.

One after another they resisted stiffly, till suddenly I came on one (that below the room where I had found the strange relic of my mother months ago) which yielded a little in my hand, and seemed to invite me to test it again.

The second time it gave more, and after a while, being eaten through with rust, it broke off.
The bars on either side of it proved equally yielding, and though some cost more trouble than others, I succeeded in about half-an-hour in breaking away sufficient to effect an entrance.

The window behind the bars was easily forced, and once more I found myself standing inside Kilgorman.
It would be a lie to say that I felt no fears.

Indeed every step I took along the dark passage helped to chill my blood, and long before I had reached the door of the great kitchen I wished myself safe outside again.
But shame, and the memory of that pathetic message from my dead mother, held me to my purpose.