Through a labyrinth of many passages he led her, over ground that was
often rough and slimy with that sound of running water in their ears,
sometimes near, sometimes distant, but never wholly absent. Now and then
a gleam of light would come from some distant crevice, and Dot would
catch a glimpse of the rocky corridor through which they moved--catch a
glimpse also of her companion walking with his free stride beside her,
though occasionally he had to stoop when the roof was low. He did not
look at her, seldom spoke to her, but the grasp of his hand held her up
and kept all fear at bay. Somehow fear in this man's presence seemed
impossible.

A long time passed, and she was sure that they had traversed a
considerable distance before, very far ahead of them at the end
of a steep upward slope, she discerned a patch of sky.

"Is that where we are going?" she asked.

"Yes," he said.

She gazed before her, puzzled. "But where are we? Are we still in the
mine?"

"No. This is the smugglers' warren." She caught a hint of humour in his
voice. "The stream flows underground all through here--and very useful we
have found it."

She gave a great start at his words. "You--you are not a smuggler!" she
said.

He drew her on. "I am a good many things," he said, easily, "and the king
of this rat-run amongst them. There's no one knows it as well as I do."

Her heart sank. "You said--you said yesterday--you had lived straight!"
she said, in a low voice.

"Did I? But what does it matter to you how I live?" With a touch of
recklessness he put the question. "If Fletcher Hill managed to put the
official seal on me, what would it matter to you--now?"

There was almost a note of anger in his voice, yet his hand still held
hers in the same close, reassuring grasp. She could not be afraid.

"It would matter," she said at last.

"I wonder why?" said Bill Warden.

"Because--we are friends," she said.

He made a sharp sound as of dissent, but he did not openly contradict
her. They were nearing the opening, and the ground was rough and broken.
She stumbled once or twice, and each time he held her up. Finally they
came to a flight of steps that were little more than notches cut steeply
in the rock.

"I shall have to carry you here," he said.

Dot looked upwards with sharp dismay. The rocky wall rose twenty feet
above her, the rough-hewn steps slanting along its face. For the first
time her heart misgave her.

"What a dreadful pl