mighty hope, I began to grope my way along, and found that the way sloped
up and down. I turned and groped up it. On, and on, and on, and at last I
brought up suddenly against iron bars, and knew where I was. And never,
sure, to any man was the feel of iron bars so grateful as was the touch of
these to me.

I shook them gently, but the gate was locked. I strained my ears for any
sound inside, strained them so that I heard the breaking of the waves on
the rock below the window at the other end of the rock chamber.

Then I cried softly, "Carette!"--and listened--and thought I heard a
movement.

"Carette!" I cried again.

And out of that blessed darkness, and the doubt and the bewilderment, came
the sweetest voice in all the world, in a scared whisper, as one doubtful
of her own senses--

"Who is it? Who calls?"

"It is I, Carette--Phil Carré;" and in a moment she was against the bars,
and my hands touched her and hers touched me.

"Phil!" she cried, in vast amazement, and clung tight to my hands to make
sure. "Is it possible? Oh, my dear, is it truly, truly you? I knew your
voice, but--I thought I dreamed, and then I thought it the voice of the
dead. You are not dead, Phil?" with a doubtful catch in her breath, as
though a doubt had caught her suddenly by the throat.