Harold seized him as he came.
'Where is Stephen ?' he cried in a quick, low voice.
'In the vault below there.

She dropped her light and then took mine, and she dropped it too.

Let me go! Let me go!' He struggled to get away; but Harold held him tight.
'Where are the matches ?' 'In my pocket.

Let me go! Let me go!' 'Give me them--this instant!' He was examining the frightened boy's waistcoat pockets as he spoke.

When he had got the matches he let the boy go, and ran down the steps and through the open door into the crypt, calling out as he came: 'Stephen! Stephen dear, where are you?
It is I--Harold!' There was no response; his heart seemed to grow cold and his knees to weaken.