dds and ends, boxes,
barrels, bottles innumerable, the relics of the hospitality of Baron
Neudeck, but at first they could see no sign of what they were seeking.
Above them shots sounded intermittently, and the roar of the distant
battle never ceased. Renwick searched feverishly while Marishka held the
candle above his head, overturning the dusty objects, and at last with a
cry of triumph found what they sought, a coil of heavy rope in a far
corner. He dragged it forth and examined it carefully. It was heavy and
long. Was it long enough? There was no way of telling except by
measuring in yard lengths, and no time to risk that.

There had been a long interval of silence on the rampart above. Had
Windt succeeded in winning his way across?

He raised the coil of rope from his shoulder with an effort and took the
candle from Marishka's hand, moving toward an arch to their left,
seeking a direct way to the boarded door into the crypt. It should be in
this direction--yes, the wine cellar--here it was--the boarded
partition. Marishka took the candle from his hand again while he
examined the fastenings--nails somewhat rusted, which would not resist
leverage. He found a piece of plank which he inserted in the edge of the
door and managed to pry it open a little, and then bracing a foot
against the stone wall, made an opening wide enough to admit them.

So far, so well. They were within the crypt, but while Marishka waited,
Renwick pulled the partition back into place to hide their mode of
retreat if the gate above were taken. Then moving rapidly along the
tunnel they reached the steps which led to the watchtower, where Renwick
snuffed the candle; and they climbed, emerging at last among the ruins
with their precious rope. If they could get down they would crawl
through the bushes and undergrowth, making their way before daylight to
the house of the peasant who had sheltered him last night. Another sum
of money would secure their immunity--at least for the present.

To the northward, the sky was vividly aglow with the reflection of the
flames of a burning house--fired perhaps by the shells of the Russians,
which still seemed to be bursting not far away. And now their acrid
fumes were poisoning the clean night-wind from the north. Below them in
the valley they still heard the sounds of passing transport, and the
hoarse calls of men. The battle for the head of the Pass was
desperate--but with such reenforcements, the Austrians w