"It's a little more than three hundred yards," he replied. They were
advancing through the low, narrow stone-lined passage. She steadfastly
ignored the hand he held back for support. It was not a pleasant place,
this underground way to the outside world. The walls were damp and
mouldy; the odor of the rank earth assailed the nostrils; the air was
chill and deathlike.
"How do you know?" she demanded quickly.
"I have traversed the passage before. Miss Calhoun," he replied. She
stopped like one paralyzed, her eyes wide and incredulous. "Franz was my
guide from the outer gate into the chapel. It is easy enough to get
outside the walls, but extremely difficult to return," he went on
easily.
"You mean to say that you have been in and out by way of this passage?
Then, what was your object, sir?" she demanded sternly.
"My desire to communicate with friends who could not enter the
city. Will it interest you if I say that the particular object of my
concern was a young woman?"
She gasped and was stubbornly silent for a long time. Bitter resentment
filled her soul, bitter disappointment in this young man. "A young
woman!" he had said, oh, so insolently. There could be but one
inference, one conclusion. The realization of it settled one point in
her mind forever.
"It wouldn't interest me in the least. I don't even care who she
was.
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