San Antonio light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1911-1993, 1925-12-27

the voice of her submerged sell,
that knew so much and was wise
also, with the undivulged knowl-
edge of others. Her forefinger
fitted itself to the tiny pit and
pressed inward. Something yield
ed. There was a faint sound be-
tween a muffled hinge-c: eak and
a sigh. An odor of dead air stole
outward and there was the sense
of void.
"The Masters magic door has
opened for you," said Sidonia's
submerged self. "You have found
it because his knowledge is your
knowledge. Be quick"
And the girl CROPPED forward
into the cape of the secret entrance
that smelt like a cellar that had
been sealed for twenty years.
"Shut the wall behind you,"
prompted her other self, and her
fingers, assured by the faith that
grants eyeless sight, sought for the
pit of the inner door-spring, and
found it, and with another soft
sigh the tall, coffin-shaped stone
that had swung inward closed
gently, door-fashion, and there was
nothing but blindness that
pressed upon the eyes like weights.
She was safe-from love and
hate. Assuredly the Master
stretched out the arm of his pro-
lection above his own! All the
warmth of her life lay slain in her.
She was incapable of amazement.
Anything might happen, as in the
sequence of dream, but it could
not hold any real significance, for
there was no hope.
Putting out her hands, she felt
the walls of the place. With me-
chanical caution she moved, for
her submerged self watched over
her always heedfully, though her
real self was careless with the
despair of pain. For a few PAGES
the way was level, and then her
bare feet found the lip of step.
1t was the first of great number.
In utter blindness she descended,
her palms pressed to the stone
work.
The steps ended. The strait pas
sage-unseen, but felt-continued,
curving like a worm. Had she
traversed mile? 1t was all the
same to her. Again, and then
again, her travelling hands encoun-
tered surfaces of metal nail-stud-
ded. Who could say what might
lie behind these ancient and mer-
CHESS doors, secret as the grave?
A step, a series of steps, leading
upward. A trapdoor. 1t was not
very difficult to lift. All! This
darkness, indirectly star-leavened,
was day-like after the blindness it
replaced. And the smell of the
frosty air, keen as knife-edge,
was like water outpoured for
thirst. Sidonia saw. She breathed.
The shapes of obscure things were
Immediately before her, a roof was
over them and beyond was the
night whose moon had set. Climb
ing upward and out by way of the
trapdoor she skirted the barrier
that vaguely upreared itself.
Under a sharp-pitched, shingled
roof, fronted a cobbled space on
which a multitude of cold stars
looked down. Above it rose the
outer wall of the Counts massive
fortress-dwelling. The crucified
Christ nailed to His cross was
thanked by wooden figures of the
Virgin and st. John, and before
this nearly life-size tableau of an
guish a tribute of flowers was al
ways laid in their season and can
dies, stuck upright in their own
mellow wax, burned there on high
festival days, Now all was dim.
The anxious flame of worship had
died down to an indistinguishable
spark, that would rekindle when
the first passers-by in the morning
grayness knelt in faith as limpid
as the diamond drops of melting
frost. and yet as vital as their own
coarse-flavored breath made pal
pable by the cold. Yet beneath
the roof of the Calvary something
moved. Surely no midnight wor-
shipper daring sacrilege to lay
cl.nging hands upon the sacred,
carven group?
Sidonia recognized her sur
roundings. She had paused by the
figure of st. John, having come
from behind it, where, in the lit
tie space unvisited by any person,
lay the entrance to the hidden
way. The cold was bitter. No life
stirred under the stars. She looked
at the shapes of the Crucified, of
a bleached wilderness against the
dark wood of the cross. Its atti-
tude of suffering, as in the forest,