A slight touch sufficed when
the right place was known. She pressed it hard with her hand; the
panel swung open, and behind it gaped a dark, narrow passage leading
to the secret chamber of Caroline.
She entered without hesitation, knowing whither it led. It was damp
and stifling. Her candle burned dimmer and dimmer in the impure air
of the long shut-up passage. There were, however, no other
obstacles in her way. The passage was unincumbered; but the low
arch, scarcely over her own height, seemed to press down upon her
as she passed along, as if to prevent her progress. The fearless,
wicked heart bore her up,--nothing worse than herself could meet
her; and she felt neither fear at what lay before her nor remorse at
what was behind.
The distance to be traversed was not far, although it seemed to her
impatience to be interminable. Mere Malheur, with her light heels,
could once run through it in a minute, to a tryst in the old tower.
La Corriveau was thrice that time in groping her way along it before
she came to a heavy, iron-ribbed door set in a deep arch, which
marked the end of the passage.
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